HUNGRY GERALD

Was it a French gourmand (or possibly just HG) who mused: “Dinner without an entree (appetizer) is like making love without foreplay” ? Yes, an appetizer is a good idea. But, it must be modest so as not to blunt ardor for the main event (okay, okay, that’s the end of the semi-naughty references). So, here are a few of HG’s favorite starters. Three chilled Colville Bay oysters on the half-shell. Spanish Piquillo peppers with a bit of fresh mozzarella/buratta drizzled in good olive oil and Maldon Smoked Sea Salt Flakes. A slice of Italian prosciutto with a ripe, fresh fig. A slice of Serrano ham on thin buttered bread. A dab of Alaskan salmon red caviar (best purchased online from Zabar’s) topped with creme fraiche on a buttered slice of lightly toasted Pepperidge Farm Thin White bread. A chunk of schmaltz herring (from Russ & Daughters) rolled in chopped onion and downed with a shot glass of icy vodka. Slice of smoked salmon (Nova Scotia or Scotland) with capers, olive oil and ground pepper. And, here’s a suggestion by HG for something you may not have tried: Cook a small bit of Angel Hair or Capellini pasta. Top it with a sauce made of olive oil, finely chopped raw garlic, a few sardines, a squeeze of tomato paste, coarse salt and plenty of ground black pepper. So good that you might be sorry you’re not having it as your main dish.

Last day in Paris (alas, alas). Went to the elegant Bon Marche department store (annual sales are going on) where Left Bank fashionistas do their shopping. Beautiful clothes for women, men and kiddies, but they certainly are’t giving them away. Prices are astronomical — even with the on sale reductions — during this time of weak American greenbacks. Disheartened, HG left the clothing and wandered through the Bon Marche Epicerie, the great food hall. This is pure food pornography. Enough to make a dedicated foodie weak at the knees. The ultimate in smoked salmon (sorry, Russ and Daughters). Fantastic cheese, breads and sausage (sorry, Zabar’s). Orgasmic pates (sorry, Vancouver Oyama). The wine “cave,” like the Maltese Falcon, is “the stuff dreams are made of.” Particularly liked the four figure magnums of rare Bordeaux.

For dinner, HG/BSK put French food fantasies aside for a delightful dinner at Shin Jung, a Korean restaurant just footsteps from HG/BSK’s Rue Clapeyron apartment. Nice rose wine. Juicy pork and vegetable dumplings. Crispy kimchi pancakes. Quick fried, egg-battered slices of zucchini. Very generous platter of salmon and yellowtail sashimi on a bed of shredded daikon radish. Spicy barbecued pork served in a hot cast iron pan and accompanied by bowls of rice and the traditional Korean array of kimchi and other pickled good things. For dessert there was ginger ice cream doused with ginger flavored vodka. Nice conclusion. No, this isn’t the kind of powerfully flavored food you get in Manhattan’s Koreatown or the Sunnyside section of Queens. But, the service is sweet; your fellow diners are nice to look at and the noise level –and cost–is modest. A refreshing detour from French cooking.

A Christmas wander many decades ago on the then un-gentrified, rough-around-the-edges Upper West Side of New York City: With the kids well insulated against the cold, HG/BSK strolled north on Broadway. Passed Zabar’s, the temple of great smoked fish, bread and cheese. Much smaller then. Passed the New Yorker cinema (perpetually playing “The Sorrow and the Pity”). Passed The Symphony (then a movie house, not a performing arts center). Passed The Thalia (the tiny, eccentric movie theater that showed only the great classics–foreign and domestic). Passed the Senate Cafeteria (the place where Holocaust survivors drank endless cups of tea and provided habitué I.B. Singer–who relished the Senate tunafish salad–with material for his Nobel Prize-winning fictions). Passed the 96th Street newsstand (the best and busiest in New York). Arrived at the destination on 98th: The Great Shanghai Chinese Restaurant. Friends and their children were waiting. What a lovely way to spend a Christmas holiday late afternoon — gathered around a big round table with hungry pals devouring savory Chinese food. The Great Shanghai was large and loud, ruled by an imperious Chinese lady. The food was wonderful and the menu was both expansive and very inexpensive. The kids loved the dumplings and noodle dishes. The adults concentrated on the seafood — exceptional lobster, shrimp, scallop and crab dishes. Plus whole fish steamed with ginger, garlic and black beans or fried and topped with a fiery Szechuan sauce. After farewells, HG/BSK and the kids (who were anticipating dessert) picked up sweet good things at Babka Bakery on 79th and ice cream at adjacent Gourmet Treats. Yes, it was the Sixties and America was involved in domestic turmoil and bloody, wasteful war (So, what else is new?) but HG/BSK could put peace marching and civil rights activism aside and enjoy the delights of food and family.

Have you looked at caviar prices recently? Only Russian oligarchs, New York landlords and unindicted hedge fund operators can afford the Russian-Siberian-Iranian sturgeon eggs. Long gone are the days when HG bought a pound of beluga for Christmas Eve feasts. However, salmon have eggs, too. And, red salmon caviar from Alaska is affordable. Zabar’s in New York sells the good stuff for $70 a pound and a pound goes a long way. Salmon caviar is versatile. Great with softy scrambled eggs topped with sour cream or Greek yogurt. Wonderful in a baked potato with an exuberant amount of butter and sour cream. Splendid when topping SJ’s state of the art potato pancakes. Best of all: With blini or crepes fresh off Gifted Daughter Lesley R.’s Rhode Island griddle. Grandson Haru (now in the picky picky eater stage) becomes a boy of appetite when confronting a bowl of red caviar. Gobbles it au naturel. Cheapo caviar — herring, cod and whitefish eggs — are horrid. Stick to salmon.

Watch out Barney Greengrass, Zabar’s, Russ & Daughters. The By the Bay Fish Mart in St. Peter’s, Prince Edward Island, is catching up. The proprietor, HG’s favorite fish purveyor, Sheryll O’ Hanley, has added smoked mackerel to the store’s pungent treats which include Nova Scotia smoked salmon and peppered salmon spears, cold smoked in the Pacific style. The smoked mackerel is remarkable. Moist. Full of flavor. Accented, but not overwhelmed, by smoke. HG has enjoyed mackerel in the form of sashimi and sushi (daughter-in-law Exquisite Maiko crafts these Japanese treats beautifully.) Gifted Daughter Lesley does broiled mackerel in a tasty Provencal manner. In Paris, HG has often relished marinated maquerau. But, HG has never encountered smoked mackerel anywhere but Prince Edward Island with By The Bay purveying the finest example. Great appetizer with a drizzle of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon and a grind of pepper. Equally nice on a bagel with cream cheese and sliced, sweet onion. Sheryll told HG her mackerel is caught off PEI and then shipped to a venerable smokehouse in Novia Scotia. Sheryll sells the fish freshly smoked, never frozen. Reminded HG of HG/BSK’s days on historic Nantucket Island. A young man sold freshly smoked bluefish door-to-door. It became so popular he expanded his operations and soon only frozen was available. Sad. It neither tasted the same nor did it texturally hold up. HG hopes that his favorite smoked mackerel avoids that ignominious fate.

Browsing through a delightful food and drink writing anthology, Second Helpings–A Taste of The Glenfiddich Awards, HG came upon an extreme example of English eccentricity: A glowing testimony to a greasy, unhealthy high caloric pub treat called Chip Buttty. HG mused that “Chip Butty” would be an appropriate name for a gay porno actor. The culinary Chip Butty is a sandwich. It is composed of heavily buttered white bread. Indeed, the bread should “ooze” butter. The sandwich filling is French fries, preferably fried in lard or beef suet. A dash of malt vinegar, a squirt of ketchup and sprinkles of salt and pepper complete this treat. HG presumes this should be consumed in a pub with tankards of warm brown ale. Football (soccer) on the telly. Drunken football chants being chanted. Possibly, HG is being harsh. After all, HG is a lover of some pretty reprehensible and messy treats like the chow mein sandwiches served on hamburger buns you can still procure from Nathan’s Famous hot dog stand at New York’s Coney Island. And, at Sammy’s Romanian Restaurant on New York’s Lower East Side, HG likes to smother fried “half dollar” potatoes and other dishes with abundant amounts of golden chicken fat. Unhealthy, greasy — but not truly eccentric — is an HG sandwich favorite: Salami and eggs on an onion roll (pletzel). The salami (heavily fatty and garlicky Jewish salami available from Zabar’s and Katz’s Deli in New York) should be cooked with scrambled eggs pancake style. Onions fried until crisp in chicken fat are a nice addition.

The search for a Jewish rye bread that could match the unique, slightly sour, crusty flavors that emanated from the loaves sold in the Jewish bakeries of HG’s youth has been a long, frustrating and ultimately unsuccessful search…Until now. Peter H., presently visiting HG/BSK in Prince Edward Island brought the gift of Zabar’s caraway seed rye bread house-baked at Zabar’s under the personal supervision of the store’s president and chief executive, Saul Zabar. Zabar’s, of course, is the New York landmark on the Upper West Side — a store that attracts thousands of customers weekly for its vast assortment of smoked fish, cheese, coffee, housewares and gourmet items of every description. When it comes to food, Saul Zabar is super demanding. He strives for excellence and that is reflected in everything from the store’s smoked salmon to its espresso beans. Rye bread, however, proved elusive. No outside source could achieve the standard Saul desired so he decided to bake the bread in house. HG tasted a slice of the loaf yesterday with cream cheese and smoked salmon. Then HG consumed a lightly buttered slice. Then an austere slice au naturel. The years fell away. HG was back in The Bronx circa 1940. Yes, Zabar’s rye bread is the real deal. But, HG (no slave to mindless nostalgia), has to admit: Saul Zabar’s product is superior to the Bronx bread of yesteryear.

In New York, Nova Scotia smoked salmon is always called, with affection, Novy. It is one of HG’s favorite foods. Less salty than traditional lox and moister than Scotch or Irish smoked salmon. When HG lived on Manhattan’s West Side, a few short blocks from Zabar’s, the great smoked fish (and other splendid edibles) emporium, HG often breakfasted on a warm bialy decked with cream cheese and topped with Novy and capers. The shores of Nova Scotia are only a few miles from HG/BSK’s Prince Edward Island home so the local fish merchant always has Novy in stock (at a much lower price than Zabar’s or SJ’s beloved Russ & Daughters). BSK likes Novy on dense black bread purchased at PEI’s Farmers Market. HG finds the bread too assertive. If no bialys or bagels are at hand, HG enjoys his Novy sauteed with chopped onions in butter and mixed with softly scrambled eggs. Either way, HG’sh Novy breakfast tradition continues to be observed from the streets of Manhattan all the way to the shores of Eastern Canada.

There are few things better than a plate of softly scrambled fresh eggs with buttered, toasted bread. Brew robust cafe au lait and a super breakfast is at hand. Unfortunately, you cannot have this dish in a diner, cafe or restaurant. Always disappointing. You must do the dish at home. Whisk together two eggs with a bit of milk (or heavy cream if you are feeling decadent). Melt butter (lots of butter — this is an indulgent dish, not a heart healthy, everyday treat like HG’s beloved Cheerios). Keep the heat very low. Add the eggs to the pan and stir gently. As mellow curds start to form, add a touch (little bit, don’t douse it) of heavy sweet cream. After the soft golden mix of eggs absorbs the cream, serve immediately. As for the bread. Forget the toaster. Grill thick slices of country bread on your range and have softened butter in readiness. For some extra zing give your plate of eggs a few drops of Tabasco or a discreet dusting of smoked Spanish pimenton. If you really want to go overboard, top the eggs with a spoonful of good quality red salmon caviar (try Zabar’s or Russ & Daughters for sourcing) and a bit of creme fraiche. Bacon (or ham) and eggs is for the common folk. This dish is the province of aristocrats, Kings and Princes.

HG has written frequently about the food heaven that was the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Yes, Zabar’s, Murray’s and Barney Greengrass remain — temples of smoked fish and other delicious treats. But, in the days long before the UWS became fully gentrified there were scores of Mom-and-Pop shops, eccentric ethnic restaurants and corner greengrocers that defined the neighborhood’s culinary bent — all have disappeared, crushed by the real estate steam roller. When HG and BSK lived on the West Side during the 1960s and early 1970s the neighborhood was a bastion of rent control. Vast, affordable apartments were legion. Naturally, this attracted writers, artists, musicians, dancers, intellectuals, etc. The neighborhood had an edge. There were plenty of muggers and drug addicts. Petty larceny was the norm. Crazies, huddled in layers of clothing during the warmest weather, wandered the streets mumbling their interior monologues. At night, hookers appeared. There was a melancholy haze over the benches on Broadway where Holocaust survivors, often displaying their concentration camp tattoos, sat ringed in exhaust fumes and polluted sunshine. The great, Nobel Prize-winning author I.B. Singer, a small, pale man in a dark suit and fedora, would chat in Yiddish with these men and women (when he wasn’t feeding pigeons). Impecunious old European refugees favored the Senate Cafeteria on Broadway near 96th Street where they argued endlessly over cups of tea. HG and BSK lived in The Hereford, a moldering 12-story apartment house between West End Avenue and Riverside Drive (glorious views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey Palisades). The building was a repository of the arts. HG and BSK’s dear friend, the composer Michael Small lived with his wife, Lynn, on the fourth floor (HG and BSK lived on the lofty 12th). The Small’s apartment was unusual. Michael’s classmate at Williams College, Charles Gwathmey, the extraordinary architect, had ripped out walls in the apartment creating an exuberant space defined by his beautifully crafted cabinetry. Michael’s grand piano was at stage center. Peter Boyle, the actor (before jumping to fame in Young Frankenstein) lived in the building and joined HG and BSK at a Chinese cooking class. Ted Solotaroff, the visionary critic and editor (founder of The New American Review and lifelong friend of Philip Roth) became a pal of HG and BSK. Here’s a vignette of life at The Hereford: Early one evening Michael summoned HG and BSK to his apartment where he played some of his score to the film Klute (a hit with Jane Fonda as a call girl-in-peril). He went on to write the scores for many memorable films induing All The President’s Men and Marathon Man. After dinner we all went to a literary event at Ted Solotaroff’s apartment. Here, we heard Richard Howard, the poet and translator, read Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess. Memorable. Sadly, Small, Boyle, Gwathmey, Singer and Solotaroff are all gone. Richard Howard is still a figure in New York literary life. And HG continues to remember it all with great fondness.