HUNGRY GERALD

SJ’s teenage Japanese nephew, Taku, whose home is in Tokyo, has been visiting with SJ and family. Taku wanted to see an American baseball game and so it was off to the Yankee Stadium. Things looked grim for the Yanks that day but in the later innings, Ichiro Suzuki, the Japanese star, made an appearance. Ichiro, in the ninth, got a hit. Harassed the opposing pitcher with threats of a stolen base and then scored the winning run for the Yanks. Taku was overjoyed. This pleasure was topped the following day when Taku went fishing in Long Island Sound off New Rochelle. Caught a lot of porgys. (An earlier PEI fishing expedition was disappointing — hefty currents kept the mackerel from biting and not one fish was pulled from the choppy waters). This all brought back memories to HG. One happy year (probably 1939 or 1940), HG went fishing off City Island (HG’s first fishing experience) and caught three fish. HG also went to Yankee Stadium that year to see the Detroit Tigers play the Yanks. HG’s hero, the Jewish home run hitter, Hank Greenberg, starred for Detroit. Hank hit a homer that day. Memorable. This was one of the few days in which HG was disloyal to the Yankees. As part of their community relations program, the Yanks took a Bronx elementary school to a game once a season. HG munched peanuts (free) and gloried in the heroics of the Yanks of that golden age (DiMaggio, Henrich, Gordon Crosetti, Rolfe, Ruffing, Gehrig etc.). In maturity, HG has lost pleasure in watching baseball and has transferred fandom to the NBA.

SJ introduced the assembled Freeman/Riva clans to Alabama White Sauce Chicken sandwiches last night. A wonder of a dish, just right for happy, informal family feasting. It was accompanied by lots of first of season hot buttered corn on the cob. As HG’s late Mom would say when she wanted to describe the ultimate in deliciousness: “Nu, nu, don’t ask!!” The chicken and corn were preceded by some “Kyoto” style, pickled mackerel sashimi. As previously reported, when Exquisite Maiko first arrived on Prince Edward Island, she picked up numerous fresh mackerel right from the fishing boats at Naufrage harbor. Some were eaten that first night with scallion and ginger, others were air-dried and salted for grilling and a portion were marinated and slightly pickled. They were equally delicious as first-night sashimi with the mackerel flavor intensified by the marinade and the texture gaining a firmer mouth-feel. But, the SJ chicken was the star; Here’s how SJ made the wondrous Alabama Chicken:

Okay, SJ here. This post, by the way, marks the 1000th HUNGRY GERALD post so it is rightfully a collaborative posting between HG and myself (I humbly “edit” HUNGRY GERALD and provide the illustrations to HG’s wonderful writing). Sooo….I first heard of Alabama White Sauce Chicken sandwiches in Saveur Magazine (complete with recipe). It sounded so delicious but oddly none of my friends from Alabama have ever been able to confirm that this dish is actually a part of Alabama’s culinary heritage. Whatever the case, it is a delicious sandwich and this is how I go about making it: spatchcock a chicken (or two) and cut into quarters. Mix a tablespoon each of salt, cumin, coriander, black pepper, garlic powder, celery seeds and a teaspoon of cayenne. Take half this mix and rub into the chickens — when done wrap in plastic and let sit in fridge for a couple of hours. Meanwhile, prepare the white sauce! Take 2 cups Hellman’s Mayo and mix the remainder of the spice mix into it. Then add a half cup of the STRONGEST white horseradish you can find and a quarter cup of apple cider vinegar. Add 2 tablespoons sugar. Mix it all up well. Divide the sauce in two dishes (one for basting the chicken and one for serving with the chicken) After about two hours take chicken out and let it come to room temperature. If you have a smoker, get it ready or if you have a bbq and can get some nice hickory or apple wood chips in there, do that! If you only have an oven, then…you know what, use that as it will still be great. Cook your chicken low and slow at about 225 degrees basting it every 30 minutes with your white sauce. After about 2 hours it should be ready. Shred the chicken discarding the bones (feel free to munch on the skin) and serve on a hamburger bun with dill pickle chips, cole slaw and a hefty dollop of the white sauce! Enjoy!

A lovely Easter/Passover vacation where HG spent delicious time with Son Jeremy and his family. SJ is one of nature’s originals. A unique sensibility that encompasses music, literature, food, family and many other things. HG is blessed to hang out with this remarkable guy. And, wow, wow, can SJ cook!! The other morning SJ sautéed shallots and combined them with buttery, softly scrambled eggs (with just a touch of sour cream folded into them). The perfect companions were British bangers (from Kaune’s Market) and English Muffins (plenty of butter in those nooks and crannies.). For the evening meal, SJ did pork ribs. Rubbed with his secret ingredients. Roasted in the oven at low temperature for a number of hours. Smoked in the gas barbecue with clippings from the HG/BSK apple trees. The result: Smoky, juicy, spicy, killer ribs. Yes, SJ is beloved by HG. SJ is a person of character. A caring father. A devoted husband. A person of taste, creativity and morality. HG blesses his loins (with some modest help from BSK) that brought this wonderful human being into this very imperfect world.

SJ and family–wife Exquisite Maiko, son Haru (age 7) and daughter Teru (age 2)–are here in New Mexico for Passover/Easter vacation. Among the joys for HG is hanging out with Haru, a quirky, original, fascinating fellow. Unlike his father, a guy who likes to cook and eat (a barbecue specialist), and his mother, a super skilled chef (more about her in a following post), Haru is not (understatement) passionate about food. Ribs, pizza, pasta, ice cream bars are his staples and when not available nourishes himself with milk and cookies. Despite his limited menu (and limited protein intake), Haru has plenty of physical and intellectual energy. While in New Mexico, Haru paddles about the lap pool for hours, hikes in the Barrancas (scenic cliffs) with his father, feeds the fish in HG/BSK’s somewhat murky pond, helps HG make the nightly blaze in the fireplace (Haru has dubbed himself “Prince of Fire”). When truly interested in a subject, Haru’s memory and concentration are startling. His latest interest is the American Presidency. Last night he recited, in chronological order, all of the American Presidents. Even the obscure (Pierce, Fillmore, Tyler, Arthur, etc.) were remembered with laser-like precision. For the next hour, Haru entertained everyone with little known facts about the Presidents. Fascinating. When HG has a little guy like Haru around, HG reaps rich grandpop rewards.

SJ Here. For the last two months I have been on a quest to change the meaning of my “S” to skinny. This has meant avoiding sugars, pasta, bread, starches, etc., like a truly modern (and unhappy) man. For the most part the temptations have been negligable (although I have been dreaming of steaming bowls of Pasta laden with anchovies and garlic) except for one: the Pecan Bars (dubbed Crack Bars by those in the know) served up at my local coffee spot, Panade. Panade is one of the great neighborhood spots — a fixture of North Chinatown / LES — with an owner, Yvette, who not only serves up great coffee, “puffs,” and sandwiches but is also a true emissary of our hood: everyone knows her, she knows everyone and thus the disparate worlds of Chinatown are melded in her small storefront. Every morning when I get my coffee a display of these Pecan Bars mocks me — they are the perfect baked good — nutty with pecan goodness, rife with the flavors of butter and toffee, moist and slightly chewy. Sweet, but not cloying. Nothing beats them as a mid-day treat (or mid-morning or mid-night or mid-dusk or in the mid of really anything) and they raise a mighty alarm to my will power every day that I force myself to go without. So, generous soul that I am, if I cannot have them I would like to entreat all you loyal Hungry Gerald readers to make a trip south of Delancey and try the vaunted Panade Pecan Bar — truly the best cookie in New York City.

The Russian Tea Room on New York’s W. 57th Street (next door to Carnegie Hall) celebrated Christmas every day. The owner, the delightful Sidney Kaye, decided he liked the way Christmas decorations enhanced the restaurant so they never came down. Red and green forever. It was just one of the restaurant’s eccentricities like the forgetful old female waitpersons (many had been ballerinas in pre-revolution Russia) and the ever changing hat check girls (Madonna was one). During the Christmas season it was HG/BSK’s dinner choice after a movie at one of the nearby art cinemas. Their meal was always the same: Eggplant Orientale (the RTR’s version of baba ghanoush). Karsky Shashlik (succulent lamb kebabs) with rice pilaf. Raspberry Kissel (a raspberry compote topped with whipped cream). A bottle of Pommard or Pomerol (affordable then). HG knocked off some chilled vodka with the eggplant and cognac with coffee. BSK was more abstemious. If the weather was very cold or appetites had a sharp edge, HG/BSK preceded the meal with bowls of steaming dark red borscht decorated with a dollop of sour cream and accompanied by flaky piroshki (meat filled pastries). As a special treat, HG/BSK would take their kids to RTR for a Christmas holiday brunch (with SJ decked out in one of RTR’s loaned — and invariably over-sized — sport jackets) of butter drenched blini with red caviar and sour cream. Gifted Daughter Lesley R. pays tribute to this memory every Christmas Eve by making superior blini which the family tops with red caviar or smoked fish. Not to be outdone,on Christmas Day morning SJ makes very superior potato latkes (a modest nod to Chanukah) which get similar delicious treatment. Holiday feasting at its best.

As part of Exquisite Maiko’s birthday dinner the other night, SJ prepared a real oldie-but-goodie: a gratin of cheese, onions and newly picked Prince Edward Island potatoes. A time honored rustic French dish that does not get enough play these days. It is called Gratin Dauphinois if cream is used as the braising/binding agent and Gratin Savoyard if beef stock is used instead. Thinly sliced potatoes are placed in a heavy casserole that has been strewn with chopped garlic. Butter, cheese and cream (or beef broth) are added and it is cooked in a moderately hot oven. The heat is turned up at the end (or the dish is placed under the broiler) so a nice brown crust is developed. It is the definition of comfort food. SJ added shavings of cheddar and swiss cheese to the dish as well as sliced onions. SJ used milk instead of heavy cream in the dish. Made SJ unhappy. Felt it made the gratin watery instead of unctuous. Too picky. HG found it super delicious. Gratins usually accompany roasted meat. HG finds this a mite heavy. HG likes a gratin to stand on its own, accompanied by nothing but a green salad and red wine. Garlic lovers might try to find James Beard’s recipe for a gratin. HG recalls his gratin utilized olive oil, a bit of white wine and many, many cloves of thinly sliced garlic. Guaranteed to keep Count Dracula at bay.

SJ returned to Prince Edward Island after his labors in steamy New York. SJ was accompanied by a surprise, a surprise carefully concealed from HG: a visit from the joyous, golden presence of Restaurateur Daughter Vicki. The excellent woman did not come empty handed: Wine, cheese, salumi, artisan pasta were amongst the treats she brought. Three days of feasting began with each family member displaying their culinary chops. Exquisite Maiko sourced a dozen mackerel, so fresh they were still frozen in rigor-mortis, from a Naufrage Harbor fisherman who refused to accept any money for his catch. She deftly produced mackerel-3-ways: tataki (roughly chopped raw fish with scallion, ginger and soy sauce); Shime Saba (marinated mackerel filets served with ginger and scallion); Sashimi (beautifully sliced raw fish with a sauce of ponzu and EM’s own secret Onion Dressing). EM also produced a variety of salads: fresh water shrimp with avocado, soy-sauce and wasabi, cellophane noodles mixed with strips of egg crepe, etc. And, to show off her mastery of the flame EM cooked some tiger shrimp to perfection in the Spanish style with crispy garlic and a dusting of smoked pimenton. BSK countered with BSK’s spectacular sauteed sea scallops. Naturally, scores of Colville Bay and Savage Harbor oysters were consumed. Ears and ears and ears of seasonal corn on the cob (shucked by Grandson Haru and cooked using BSK’s infallible method) and the first tomatoes of the PEI season (with local feta cheese) were on the table. SJ produced a great platter of herbaceous linguine. This was the SJ technique: SJ chopped every herb in the garden (basil, mint, sage, parsley, marjoram, etc.); sliced 2 cloves of garlic paper thin (in the Goodfella’s style), added some chopped anchovy and mixed it all together with salt and pepper. He then heated about a 1/2 cup of olive oil until it was almost smoking and poured it over the herb-anchovy- garlic mixture causing a huge sizzle and the release of an extraordinary fragrance or herbs, garlic and olive oil. Tossed it over warm pasta and mixed it all up. SJ also produced some very good pizza topped with sliced potatoes, olive oil and mix of goat cheese and mozzarella. Restaurateur Vicki did a knock-your-socks off pesto. RV bought a huge bag of the freshest basil from the Charlottetown Farmers Market and using methods learned from RV’s husband, chef Marc Meyer, did a pesto that had sublime texture, taste and aroma. The ambrosial mixture clung to every fold of the special pasta RV brought from New York. Yes, these were three days of incomparable family fun and festivity.(Sadly, daughter Lesley R. and family were back in Rhode Island and so LR couldn’t contribute her exemplary Italian/Provencal dishes and delicious countenance). And, what did HG contribute to this delightful extravaganza? HG ate. HG drank. HG made judicious and complimentary comments. True artists, after all, need an appreciative and knowing audience and HG was glad to oblige.

Le Stella is a brasserie/bistro on Avenue Victor Hugo in the very affluent, posh 16th Arondissement of Paris. Few tourists among the conservatively dressed, well mannered clientele — mainly residents of the neighborhood who are as conservative in politics as they are in dining habits. No Asian, Italian, Spanish or (heaven forbid) American influences have invaded the kitchen. The menu is pure Eternal France. As one food writer has put it: “The dishes are what Grandma would have cooked (if she was a very good cook) or what would be on the menu if you took Grandma out for Sunday dinner.” Like any proper brasserie, Stella has a vast bank of oysters, other bivalves and crustaceans outside the entry door, manned by guys with striped shirts, fisherman’s hats and shucking instruments (of course, a rugged Breton fisher-guy selling oysters is a clear signifier of the freshness of the seafood). HG/BSK have often launched their dinners there with some oysters and a bowl of bulots (sea snails) with freshly made mayonnaise. If HG wishes a light repast he moves on to pickled herring with potato salad. Then soupe de poisson (with some assertive rouille). Cheese course is rich St. Marcellin (accompanied by a glass of the very nice house Bordeaux). Finale is the sumptuous Ile Flottante. A glass of Vielle Prune (a strong digestif). At other times HG chooses steak tartare with pommes frites; tripes a la mode de caen; blanquette de veau; choucroute (a Wednesday special); tete de veau (admittedly a special taste); grilled pig’s foot. And, there are times when HG switches from an oyster starter to diving into sizzling escargots or the more delicate pleasures of smoked salmon with blini or a frisee salad. A happy choice is to share a carre d’agneau (rack of lamb) with BSK, a lady who is an adventurous eater but has not developed a passion for tripe or the interior and exterior of a calf’s head. Service, under the supervision of manager Christian, is friendly and professional. One warning: On a visit to Stella (without HG/BSK) intrepid SJ ordered the Andouilette, a house specialty. SJ thought this was a spicy, New Orleans-type pork sausage. Wrong. Stella’s Andouilette is a chitterling sausage, a sausage with rather intense barnyard odors and the distinct flavor of pig shit. Like fressing up tiny little song birds, this is one French food passion HG (and SJ) doesn’t share.

www.LauHound.com is one of HG’s and SJ’s favorite food blogs. While it is indispensable for lovers of Chinese and other Asian food, the reviews touch on a wide range of deliciousness (even introducing HG and SJ to the best Greek pastries in NYC). Lau’s restaurant reviews have unusual depth, analyzing anywhere from six to a dozen of a restaurant’s offerings. But, like any restaurant reviewer, Lau is not infallible. He recently called Hong Kong Cafe the best restaurant in Chinatown. Based on that praise, SJ (and famille) and HG’s Restaurateur Daughter Victoria dined there. Their unanimous verdict: Ungood; however SJ’s faith in Lau is unshaken — every restaurant can have an off night, and SJ will give Hong Kong Cafe a second chance. What makes reading Lauhound a delight is his straightforward prose, devoid of any hint of irony or humor — a sort of Friday (from Dragnet) of culinary delights — “Just the food ma’am.” He can be unconsciously funny. HG was beguiled and amused by his recent review of Main Street Imperial, a Taiwanese restaurant in the Flushing neighborhood of New York. In particular Lau discusses a dish of “Putz Fish” with seemingly no mention or understanding that “Putz” is the Yiddish word for penis (turns out the Taiwanese “Putz” is a berry or fruit — in Lau’s own words “The thing that I ended up liking the best about this dish was the putz; it reminded me of a sweet olive”). Irregardless of Lauhound’s lack of Yiddish skills, HG and SJ will continue to look forward to his posts and discovering wonderful food based on his acute observations.