Smart Girls

"Help Wanted" signs aren't especially common these days, so when Deshi Biryani posted one a few months ago, I took it as a positive economic indicator.

However, the restaurant didn't find the smart girl they were looking for, as evidenced by this sign a few weeks later:

Last month a new sign went up, this one searching for a "Nepalese girl." Then the management announced the restaurant is closing for repairs.

Could the smart girls have saved the place? Or are they too busy solving other problems? I hope they show up soon. Other restaurants in Jackson Heights serve biryani, but Deshi knew how to make it with the right mix of spice, vegetables, and protein. And what smart girl wouldn't like that?

Deshi Biryani

7518 37th Avenue • Jackson Heights

photos by Kate and Adeet Deshmukh

Eat, Eat, Eat for Tomorrow We Die

My desk is frequently littered with restaurant reviews or "Best of" lists (brunch, barbecue, bakeries) ripped from Time Out or New York. The clutter distresses my Virgo husband, so I slip the pages into an artist's portfolio, which I pore over the way others might ogle certain prurient magazines. "Oh, I want that!" I'll exclaim to myself as I drool over a photo of a perfectly poached egg. I keep mental checklists of places I want to eat, including one I've titled "Eat Here Before the Baby Comes."

Anthony Bourdain recently compiled a list of "13 Places to Eat Before You Die" for Men's Health. Although some of his choices are presently out of my reach (elBulli, French Laundry), I was pleased that I could already check off three of his picks: Russ & Daughters, Katz's Delicatessen, and Hot Doug's. Much can be said about the silky lox at Russ & Daughters and the tender bits of brisket the counter men at Katz's use to tempt customers. One Katz employee told me the brisket was tasty and healthy—"Clinton ate here all the time before his heart surgery," as if that would reassure me. But when I learned Hot Doug's had made Bourdain's list, I felt a surge of pride.

When Adeet and I lived in Chicago, we ate at Hot Doug's almost every Saturday. There was even a period when we'd go for lunch during the week, and photos from that time show our faces looking fuller than they do now. Bourdain explains his esteem for Hot Doug's: "This place convinced me the Chicago red hot is, in fact, superior to the New York hot dog. And it's home to two great innovations in American gastronomy: the 'foie gras dog' and the weekends-only practice of cooking French fries in duck fat. It's proof that food doesn't have to be expensive to be great."


I've enjoyed the foie gras dog, which defiantly stayed on the menu during Chicago's two-year ban on goose liver. Owner "Hot" Doug Sohn was the first to be fined for violating the ban and had to fork over $250 to the city. The dog is rich and decadent and delicious—slabs of foie gras on a Sauternes duck sausage with truffle aioli. But other specials, from the spicy Thai chicken dog to the smoked pork and crayfish sausage, never disappoint. And the dog must come with a side of fries, cooked in duck fat or not. Adeet usually orders a Chicago-style red hot along with a special such as the Mountain Man: buffalo, venison, elk, and antelope all encased in one sausage.

Part of Hot Doug's appeal is Doug, as much as his dogs. Doug, who holds degrees from both Columbia University (philosophy) and Kendall College (culinary arts), mans the counter and is quick to banter with customers. His wit can recall a Catskills comedian, and kitschy hot-dog memorabilia line the walls and crowd a large display case. The restaurant's atmosphere is playful, but the creativity and thoughtfulness that go into the sausages belie a serious commitment to good eating.

The line into Hot Doug's frequently stretches around the block, especially on Saturdays. Of course it's worth the wait, and Adeet and I try to stop in whenever we're back in Chicago. Full disclosure: for a couple of years a photo of me showing my love for Hot Doug hung next to the cash register. On a recent visit, I noticed it was missing and wondered if absence had made his heart grow fonder of another hot dogista. Instead, Doug informed me that my photo had been moved to his "Wall of Fame" (graciously located near the restrooms), so I now share space with glossy autographed photos of Styx, former Chicago Cub Ron Cey, and Saturday Night Live cast member Fred Armisen.

Perhaps I should eat at only new places instead of returning to old favorites like Hot Doug's. After all, there are ten other restaurant's on Anthony Bourdain's list I haven't tried and my portfolio is bulging with food reviews. There is so much to eat before I die, before the baby is born, before I decide I should really eat in more often...Still, when I'm in Chicago I'll continue to stand in line at Hot Doug's, daydreaming about where to eat next.

Where do you want to eat before your time is up?

Hot Doug's

3324 North California • Chicago

Russ & Daughters

179 East Houston • NYC

Katz's Delicatessen

205 East Houston • NYC

photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Sharing the Love

The streets of Manhattan are crowded with gourmet food trucks. Cupcakes, Belgian waffles, artisanal ice cream, even schnitzel—whatever your craving, chances are you can get it from a mobile vendor. Not surprisingly, many of the old-school kebab and hot dog vendors feel these newcomers are encroaching on their territory. But instead of engaging in turf wars, these nouveau vendeurs should look past the East River. Some trucks do pull over in Brooklyn, but where are the fancy food trucks in Queens?

I don't wish to appear ungrateful for the food vendors we do have. Adeet and I still enjoy weekly dinners from Sammy's gyro cart, and Roosevelt Avenue is lined with tempting taco and torta stands. But why should Manhattanites get all the haute dogs?

Recently La Gamin truck decided to share the love at the Jackson Heights Greenmarket. Le Gamin serves classic bistro fare—merguez sandwiches, croque monsieurs, pommes frites, and crepes, bien sur. As Adeet and I read the menu, we felt we'd won the food truck lottery since French cuisine is missing from our international neighborhood's dining scene.

Then a woman in front of us started meddling with the French truck mojo. She demanded to know why they were serving Nutella crepes. Didn't they know Nutella contained hydrogenated oils, a clear violation of NYC's trans fat ban? The cheery woman taking orders smiled, "Why, no, I didn't know that." The anti-Nutella woman continued to protest and finally the French chef suavely held aloft a jar of Nutella and read the label. "No, no trans fat in Nutella," he declared.

Adeet and I had grown nervous during this exchange. What if the woman annoyed the chef so much he decided he didn't want to come back to Jackson Heights? However, he appeared more amused than irked and even teased the woman, who had blushingly backed down.

We gratefully placed our order, relieved that the truck hadn't sped off in a Gallic huff, crushing our dreams of Sunday mornings filled with crepes and cafe au lait. Adeet got the merguez sandwich—spicy lamb sausage, melted Swiss cheese, and onions on a baguette. I had the lamb dog, the same merguez sausage and onions, but served on a hot dog bun. We split an order of pommes frites. We ate at the truck's narrow metal counter and savored every bite of our lunch. The sausage had the right amount of spice, enough to please our well-seasoned palates, but not so much as to make my soon-to-be-born baby kick in protest. The frites were cooked perfectly, and it distressed me that I couldn't finish them all.

I wanted a crepe but didn't have room, so we walked across the street to the Greenmarket and shopped for dinner. After buying peaches, cherries, lettuce, and quiche, we decided we had worked off enough calories for dessert. We returned to the truck and ordered a lemon and sugar crepe, but not before telling the chef how glad we are the truck came to Jackson Heights. We don't want to go back to our crepeless days!

The thin crepe, dusted with powdered sugar, didn't disappoint. But next time I'm getting mine with Nutella.

Le Gamin food truck

Jackson Heights Greenmarket • 34th Avenue and 78th Street

Sundays, from around 9:30 am to 4:00 pm

photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Look Up!

It is typical urban behavior to keep one's eyes on the ground; whether rushing down subway steps or hurrying past tourists, city dwellers often prefer a view of pavement to potential eye contact. I'm guilty of this but am often rewarded when I do look up—by the Chrysler Building's crown glinting in the sun or the blossoms finally bursting on the trees or someone smiling at me (or these days, usually smiling at my expectant belly).

Philippe Petit is a master of getting people to look up. In 1974 he walked a high wire between the Twin Towers, an event documented in Man on Wire. Adeet and I recently saw a benefit screening of the film at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine, followed by a question-and-answer session with Petit. Petit's dynamic character is evident in the documentary, but in person he's even more charismatic. He took several minutes to answer each question, his enthusiasm never flagging, and he ended the evening by balancing flowers on the tip of his nose. 

More than one person asked him how it feels to be so close to death when he's on the high wire. He scoffed, "You Americans have a death wish!" and asserted, "I have a life wish!" He claimed he doesn't think about dying when he's wire walking and distanced himself from "daredevils" who scale tall buildings for the mere stunt of it. To him, they're interested only in the death-defying aspect of their work and have no artistry. Petit emphasized that he views his wire walking as an art. When he's on the wire, he wants people to look up and feel inspired. It's poetry, not a circus trick. 

He has plans for another wire walk in Manhattan this fall. It will benefit literacy and various writers will read under the wire while he's walking. When asked where it will be, he responded coyly, "You all know libraries are associated with literacy, so where do you think?" Chances are good it will be in Bryant Park this October, so look up! You might see an artist on wire.

Man on Wire with Philippe Petit • April 15, 2009

The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine

New York, NY

photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Holi!

At first glance, Richmond Hill's Liberty Avenue looks strikingly similar to 74th Street in Jackson Heights. Both streets boast colorful sari shops, restaurants that dish up curry at recession-friendly prices, and religious goods stores with smiling Ganeshas in the window. But when Adeet and I ordered lunch at Sandy's Roti Shop, we suddenly felt that we weren't in Little India anymore. I enjoyed an aloo pie stuffed with potato curry, a Trinidadian take on the samosa, and Adeet had oxtail, peas, and rice. And instead of the Bengali or Hindi we often hear in Jackson Heights, our fellow diners spoke with a West Indian lilt.

After the West Indies abolished slavery in the 1830s, plantation owners needed a new labor source and subsidized workers from India. The Indo-Caribbean community in Queens continues many of the traditions their ancestors brought west, and Adeet and I came to Richmond Hill to celebrate the Indian festival of Holi, or Phagwah.

Holi is celebrated with a riot of color—revelers streak each other with red, pink, orange, and green powder or splash each other with tinted water. It's fitting that the the festival is celebrated in spring, when nature is again saturated with intense hues. One legend associated with the holiday tells how the blue-skinned god Krishna smudged color on his beloved Radha's fair complexion. Krishna famously cavorted with the gopis, or female cowherds, and today's merrymakers can emulate the god as they playfully "attack" each other with Super Soaker water guns and bottles of baby powder.

Adeet and I missed the Phagwah procession, but we followed the parade route to Smokey Oval Park. The streets were littered with bits of white paper and smeared with color. A woman stopped us and asked, "Do you play?" and when we nodded, she smudged pink powder on our cheeks. We paled in comparison, though, to most of the people around us. Even a dog had its white fur tinged with red.

In the park, hundreds of children and adults chased each other and smeared anyone they caught with technicolor powder. Several people ran a brisk business selling baby powder, and clouds of perfumed talc filled the air. A group of musicians danced in a circle and laughed at everyone's antics. Some of the children targeted Adeet, who soon looked as though he'd stood in the way of a Jackson Pollock canvas. A couple of people dabbed powder on my cheeks, but as we were leaving, a teenager exclaimed, "You're too clean!" and sprayed me with purple water. I shrieked and ran down the sidewalk, happy to play along.

Before heading home, we stopped in Anil's Roti Shop for more Indo-Caribbean treats. Adeet ordered a doubles—two rotis filled with chickpeas and tamarind sauce—and I had a currant roll, a flaky pastry flecked with small raisins. Later, when we got back to Jackson Heights, we went to Rajbhog for chai. I think we've discovered the best of two worlds.

To see all of the photos Adeet took during the Holi celebration, please click on my Delikatessen web album.

Sandy's Roti Shop

121-10 Liberty Avenue • Richmond Hill, Queens

Smokey Oval Park

12502 Atlantic Avenue • Richmond Hill, Queens

Anil's Roti Shop and Bakery

125-01 Liberty Avenue • Richmond Hill, Queens

Photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Free Poems

Last Saturday I convinced Adeet we should do our shopping at the Union Square Greenmarket. The lure of fresh-from-the-orchard apples didn't sway him, but when I suggested we buy mergueza lamb sausage seasoned with pomegranates and ginger from the Catskill Merino farm stand, I immediately had his full cooperation. As we wandered the market, we avoided a group of overly exuberant girls brandishing "Free Hugs" signs. But then another free offer stopped me. 

A very young looking man sat at a vintage Brother Valiant manual typewriter, clack-clacking on his classic QWERTY keyboard. He'd attached a sign offering "Free Poems" under his Valiant, though a nearby mug stuffed with dollar bills suggested donations would be appreciated. I hadn't seen any public typing since our trip to Bombay last fall, and I wanted to investigate.  

A woman standing near me had just expressed interest in a poem, and the poet asked if she had a subject in mind. After some prodding, she shyly admitted that she'd like a poem addressing the beauty she saw in the world that went unnoticed by others. She was reluctant to offer any more details, though she did say she was from Maine and now attended college in the city.

About ten minutes later, the college student from Maine had a poem celebrating unappreciated beauty. The poet read it to her, causing her to blush. She seemed pleased when he handed her the typed page, or perhaps she was relieved to no longer be the center of poetic attention.

Adeet then asked the poet if he would write a poem for Flat Stanley. My six-year-old nephew James had sent us a laminated drawing of Flat Stanley with a letter requesting that we take his "flat friend" on an adventure. We had photographed him in Union Square, and I thought Stanley (and James) would appreciate a customized poem. The poet winked at me and asked if Adeet knew Stanely wasn't real. He agreed to write about Stanley's quest for adventure after I assured him it didn't need to rhyme. He then began typing what appeared to be nothing. He explained his ribbon didn't work, so he typed on carbon paper, the words invisible to him until he released the paper. I smilingly asked if he did this full-time, but he's a public poet only when the weather's nice. He spends the rest of his time in film school. 

He wanted to know what I do for a living and laughingly brought up my job more than once as he questioned me about punctuation and spelling. However, I resisted any editorial urges when he gave me his poem; its whimsy made up for any orthographic liberties. My nephew might not appreciate it now, but he will someday. And on the next sunny Saturday, I'm going back to Union Square. Even if I don't get another poem, I'll enjoy hearing the clatter of typewriter keys.

click poem to enlarge

Benyomin Spaner: Poet/Typist

Union Square • sunny weekends

photo by Adeet Deshmukh

American Pie

In Queens, the term "all-American" begs emphasis on the word all. As the nation's most diverse county, Americans of every nationality live here. Anyone wanting proof just needs to walk down Roosevelt Avenue. The street runs under the elevated 7 tracks, and the ambience is more gritty than urban romantic. But venturing under the grimy, rattling train tracks will reward you with an international smorgasbord. In Jackson Heights, Roosevelt Avenue is home to Colombian, Ecuadorian, Mexican, Chinese-Dominican, Korean, Bangladeshi, Tibetan, and Pakistani food vendors. This weekend, Adeet and I decided to go west on Roosevelt to Woodside, where Irish and Filipino flavors accent the neighborhood.

We started with Irish breakfast at the Stop-Inn, a nondescript diner outside the 61st Street train station. We sat at the counter, crowded by trays of danishes and muffins. Adeet ordered "The Traditional," or what I might call "The Widow Maker." His breakfast included a quartet of meats: Irish bacon, sausage, black pudding, and white pudding. This protein binge was balanced by a half plate of hash browns and a stack of buttered toast. I ordered the "Irish Special," which came with sausage, fries, and baked beans. I added grilled tomato to give the meal a hint of nutritional merit.

I can usually visualize my food before it arrives, but this meal's presentation startled me. Four small sausages framed a mountain of french fries, while slices of charred but pale tomato perched bravely on top. I know it's foolish to long for a robust tomato in February, so I didn't judge the anemic fruit too harshly. I am not shy around french fries, but the sheer quantity of chips proved daunting. However, they did make a handy mop for soaking up my side of baked beans. So, what was the star of this dish? The sausage—crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. "Creamy" doesn't usually spring to mind as a qualifier for sausages, but these had a surprisingly milky taste. After I abandoned the fries, I kept enjoying "just one more bite" of sausage. The meat redeemed the meal.

After brunch, we crossed over to the 61st Street Deli, an Irish grocery crammed with canned baked beans, Barry's tea, HP sauce, and a deli case stocked with bangers and Irish butter. The wall of Cadbury products got my attention, and I ended up buying Smarties, far superior to M&Ms of any color.

We headed east on Roosevelt Avenue and turned onto 69th Street when we spotted a Krystal's Pastry sign. Bakery smells wafted into the street, and we watched hungrily as men stacked fresh buns on cooling racks. I immediately wanted one, but this was a kitchen, not a store. We turned back onto Roosevelt and found the customer entrance for Krystal's Cafe and Pastry Shop. Inside, tables full of families enjoyed their lunches while watching a Filipino T.V. show featuring young women who happily, and vigorously, shimmied around a room. Adeet had trouble looking away, but when we turned our attention to the pastry case, we settled on two savory buns (pork, chicken) to take home for dinner. At $1.50 a bun, this meal cost less than most street food.

Our last stop on Roosevelt was Phil-Am Foods, a Filipino grocery store. The checkout line took up a whole aisle, and we squeezed past other shoppers stocking up with baskets full of groceries. I was intrigued by bottles of banana sauce and bags of "Porky," pork-flavored snack chips. But I bought suman, a dessert made with cassava and brown sugar and wrapped in a banana leaf. As I waited in line, the middle-aged Filipina woman behind me sang along to the song on the radio: "American Pie." I caught myself singing along to the refrain. It was the perfect ending to an all-American day, Queens style.

Stop Inn

60-22 Roosevelt Avenue • Queens

61st Street Deli

39-67 61st Street • Queens

Krystal's Cafe & Pastry Shop

69-02 Roosevelt Avenue • Queens

Phil-Am Foods

70-02 Roosevelt Avenue • Queens

photos by Adeet Deshmukh