Out of Chios of the Island of Chios in the Aegean Sea, ten hours by boat from the city of Athens, came Constantine Ghialis to seek his fortune in America. His capital nudged at zero, but of ambition and youth he had a cool million. He would be an importer bringing foods from the homeland. Connections were established with an importing firm, and Constantine Ghialis succeeded in modest fashion. But it was a success in no measure to satisfy his dreams. Less than three years ago he took courage and came to a daring decision—to be a merchant and importer rolled into one, and have his own place. There you will find him, in the Italian section, 627 Second Avenue near 34th Street, a down-at-the-heel neighborhood—but the little store shines.
Being an old campaigner in the spice fields, C. Ghialis specializes in herbs and spices, with honeys getting a good-sized corner of the shelf space. Spanish saffron returns—ouch!—＄65 a pound! Don't worry, it's sold in dime packets, just a pinch, but that's more than enough to season a dish. In all there are more than 100 spices and herbs in jars, cartons, and cannisters. Here is enough caraway seed to sprinkle all the breads and cakes in the city.
Incidentally, you might like to know that caraway seed, scarce since war cut off supplies out of Holland, is a commercial crop in the states for the first time this year. California has some 300 acres, Oregon and Idaho have been growing the seed in lesser amounts.
There are miscellaneous Greek items, left-overs, of course, from prewar days. For example, heavy sweet conserves of cherry and quince, but only a little. There is Syrian orange and rose water; there is lokaum, which you know as “Turkish delight,” made by Greeks here. The shop is proud of its collection of chutneys, one a Major Grey, one of sweet fruits prepared in Bombay, British East India.
Turkey livers are being taken in the serious style they deserve. Gently cooked until just tender, they are packed in their own broth, eleven big pieces in the fourteen-ounce tins selling for ＄1.38, these, too, at Hammacher Schlemmer's. Spending that much, spend a bit more for that tin of mushroom caps broiled in butter—yes, butter, and packed right in the pixie's umbrella. Combine turkey livers and mushrooms, heat together with a finely chopped shallot, and add this to a cream sauce scented of Sherry. Serve over toast fingers or in a frail patty shell. The five-ounce tin of mushrooms sells for 71 cents.
Welcome French truffles here by way of Spain, where they made a brief stop to be packed in Spanish Sherry—selling now at Ellen Grey's, 800 Madusib Avenue.
Those plums growing on the straggling bushes among the sand dunes of New England's rugged coast provide one of the most peculiar and delicious flavors ever caught in a jelly kettle. Bloomingdale Brothers, Lexington Avenue and 59th, have a stock of this jelly down from Medfield, Mass., pound jars 39 cents. It's a jelly clear as a dewdrop, the deep red of stained glass, tender under the spoon. In its flavor is a blending of the bitter and the sweet. Even the ripest plum carries a tinge of bitterness of the tongue, as though something of the meager life of the bush had tinctured the sweetness of the fruit. The jelly is to serve with game or any roast bird. Try a dab with the meatball for a fine lift to the flavor, a new excitement for the meal.
It doesn't sound sensible to suggest Gimbel's crowd-pushing grocery department at 33rd Street and Broadway as a place to go chasing for “Sweet Content,” but that's where you'll find it—in loaf form, the name of a whole-wheat bread made by Mrs. Henry S. Patterson of Suffern, N. Y. This rough bread, molasses flavored, was originally developed by the baker's doctor-husband for his own health and pleasure. The doctor first sampled the loaf at the table of an aunt, the daughter of the late Mark Hopkins, president of Williams College for more than fifty years. The formula for the bread, long a favorite at the Hopkins' Williamstown table, came in for changing before it quite pleased the doctor. It was made and remade to suit exactly his palate.
“Try my bread,” the doctor urged friends who gathered at his table. One slice and voracious appetites developed. Neighbors asked to buy, and the business began, directed by Mrs. Doctor. It was she who named the loaf and designed the label, with its pine-circled pond and the Ramapo Mountains beyond—the “contentful” view from her kitchen. This bread is the sturdy type, plain as plain boiled potatoes. It slices well if sliced thick. One slice fills you up. The three-quarter pound loaf sells for 15 cents.
If you want the works when it comes to dried fruits, make a pilgrimage to lower Manhattan and that old-time store of Black and Koenig, 52 Dey Street. Here's the line-up for choice in fancy grades, super sizes: Sultana style raisins, Thompson seedless raisins, mixed fruits, California nectarines, Santa Clara prunes, Oregon prunes, California pears, California apricots, sweet dried cherries, glacé citron in halves, diced fruit mix, pulled figs, black Mission figs. Did we leave anything out that should have been mentioned?
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