HUNGRY GERALD

HG rarely waves the flag, believing, to paraphrase Dr. Johnson, that patriotism is the last refuge of fools and knaves. However, when it comes to steak, HG is a red-blooded, Yankee Doodle boy. Nothing compares to American steak (prime,of course). HG never had a good steak in Paris. Much lauded steak frites in a Paris bistro would get thumbs down from discerning New Yorkers (men and women who learned to eat steak on Steak Row and at Peter Luger’s). Alec Lobrano, the most informed and fair minded of Paris food writers, likes the steak at Le Severo in that city. HG and BSK sampled the steak there and found it only passable. However, steak tartare at Severo and at Le Stella and many other Paris eateries is exemplary. German restaurants in New York prepared great steak tartare in years gone by (Luchow’s covered its steak tartare with a generous layer of black beluga caviar). The great raw beef dish disappeared along with New York’s most fabled German restaurants.

If you rent an apartment in Paris, visit the Hugo Desnoyer butcher shop in the 14th and buy a rump steak (Lobrano’s suggestion) and grill it at home. And, if you’re renting a New York apartment, pick up a New York strip at Lobel’s on Madison Avenue. One pound strip: $47.98. (Hey, you only live once).

Had some great New York strip steaks last night (bought the meat at Whole Foods). BSK does the steak in her own original way. Cast iron pan, of course. Thin layer of kosher salt. BSK turns the heat to high. Heats the pan for a few minutes so its hot enough to create a good, crusty sear. On go the steaks, a minute on each side. Then, innovative BSK begins turning the steaks every forty seconds or so. When BSK thinks they’re ready a small cut is made in order to be sure. The end result is a steak that is dark, reddish pink throughout. Not bloody, but, rare and juicy. Bovine heaven. Good companion to a big red wine from the State of Washington. Last night’s choice was The Velvet Devil. Yum.

A supreme Steak last night was brought on by many days of fish, mussel, clam and lobster eating. HG likes steak done only one way, the HG way (see earlier post “How To Cook A Steak”). This is a once a month treat. HG picked out the biggest rib steak from the nice organic beef lady from the PEI Farmer’s market. HG’s trusty big, black cast iron pan got a layer of kosher salt. Heat was turned on very high and the windows are opened (this is a smoky process). The steak was seared until a nice crust developed on each side. Turned the heat down to medium and cooked the steak for a few more minutes. (HG likes steak very rare but not raw, saignant not bleu). Meanwhile, a can of Goya white beans was gently simmered and a small pan of garlic and olive oil warmed. When ready, HG poured some olive oil and grated garlic over the steak. The beans got the same. A glass of old vine Zinfandel was poured.

Yes, the world is a cruel and violent mess. Yes, the American ship of state is getting leaky. But, at HG’s table the peace of the carnivore reigned.

Christ Cella was a New York steak house on East 44th that was a lure for athletes and big eaters. At lunch one day, HG spotted the late Howard Cosell, boxing promoter Don King (of the electric hair) and that deadly jump shooter, Jerry West. HG stopped at West’s table and told him he was forgiven for all the bad things he did to the Knicks. Jerry was amused.

HG always had the same two meals at Christ Cella. In the fall and winter (HG did not dine there in summer, preferring lighter victuals): A scotch sour (freshly squeezed lemon juice); lobster cocktail with Remoulade sauce; New York strip steak (Christ Cella had the all time beefiest, best and biggest steaks in the civilized world) accompanied by salad with Roquefort dressing. Beverage was black and tan (Ballantine India Pale Ale mixed with Guiness Stout—half and half).

In spring HG replaced the steak with a platter of grilled shad, shad roe, bacon, home fried potatoes, sharp tartar sauce and cole slaw. HG never had dessert. Heartier souls knocked off giant portions of New York cheesecake. The admen in the restaurant preceded their meal with two or three martinis.

Yes, indeed, happy drunken high cholesterol days. Those martini drinking, cigarette puffing guys are, of course, a memory like Christ Cella itself.