This is turning into a food blog to some extent. Sorry about that, but for all the bad stuff I said about Eataly, I don’t want to give the impression that there’s nothing to eat in NYC.
The truth is, there’s so much to eat in NYC you can’t possibly get through it all.
Sometimes, the fun is just to walk into a place and order from the counter, especially these little hole in the wall dives with their health department ratings tucked up a bit obscurely.
I figure I’ve had all my shots. Like in school, I’m satisfied with a B- or above. C or below and it’s probably not worth the risk.
As a result, I had an incredible slice of chicken and broccoli pizza for lunch while walking down the street the other day. I went into a place that seemed somewhat busy (like on the interstate, look for the traffic because the locals know where to eat), and the guy at the back who was the Pizza Maestro was creating half a dozen different delicacies.
He greeted me cheerfully, asked where I was visiting from (what, is it tattooed on my forehead?? – oh, wait – I had a camera) and when I started to order immediately cut me off and said, “Nah, you don’t want dat. Here, this is just out – one of my best.” And as a result I had Chicken and Broccoli pizza which was fantastic.
The amazing thing was that while I waited this guy, who seemed to be having a good time at his job, greeted no less than half a dozen people by name and in at least 3 different languages. He flirted with the girls, chatted with the guys and changed from one language to the other without the slightest hesitation.
And some people have the audacity to think that one language is sufficient.
The day before, after I came out of B & H Photo, I decided I was going to just pick the next place that was from a different country. As a result, I ended up with Pakistani food.
Nothing was familiar. I couldn’t have told you if it was chicken, beef or fish. I could tell that it wasn’t pork because there was a sign indicating that the meat was all halal, meaning that it was prepared in accordance with Muslim law, kind of the way kosher Jewish food is prepared specially (if I understand it correctly).
Anyhow, you got a big pan of rice and two “toppings” for $7.99. The young lady looked at me funny when I asked for the least-spicy choices and said simply, “All Pakistani food is spicy. That’s what makes it Pakistani,” so I asked her to just choose her favorites for me, figuring that the Great God Prilosec would save me from my own stupidity later.
I still have no idea what I ate for lunch, but it was very good. I suspect it was goat, just because it’s white meat, she said it wasn’t chicken and pork is forbidden under Muslim law. Both had significant amounts of curry, meaning that my sinuses were cleared out for quite a while.
Who’da thunk lunch could be such a grand adventure?
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