Dumplings vs. Dragons

Which is a greater accomplishment? Consuming dozens of dumplings in two minutes, or racing a 40-foot boat across a lake?

On Sunday Adeet and I witnessed two very different competitions at Flushing Meadow Park as part of the Hong Kong Dragon Boat Festival: a dumpling eating contest and a boat race. We arrived just in time for the high noon dumpling-off. Emcees whipped up the crowd in both Cantonese and Mandarin, punctuating their Chinese with an occasional "Let's have a round of applause!" Sandy the Seagull, the Brooklyn Cyclones' mascot, did his part by soundlessly but enthusiastically hopping around the stage.

The contest was divided into heats, and men and women competed separately. Some women in the first round looked more like workers hurrying through a too-short lunch break than contenders for the dumpling purse (a $1,000 first prize). Others, though, demonstrated classic competitive eating strategy as they sprinkled their wontons with water, making them slippery enough to swallow without the inconvenience of chewing. The men ate ravenously, but their gusto didn't match the graphic gluttony of Nathan's Fourth of July hot dog eating contest. At Nathan's, contestants sent bits of bun flying, but I didn't see any dumpling debris here. Perhaps the dumplings' small size made the contest seem somewhat demure by comparison. 

After the men's first round, Adeet and I felt too hungry to watch other people eat. We went to the makeshift food court and bought a steamed pork bun, sticky rice wrapped in leaves, and noodles. We tried getting a bubble tea, but the vendor apologetically uttered a sentence I'd never heard before: "I'm out of bubbles." We settled for plain watermelon juice, which was delicious and refreshing, but I would have appreciated a discount for the lack of bubbles. The drink cost $5, the same price as all of our food. As we finished our lunch, we overheard an emcee announce the number of dumplings devoured by the men's winner: 66. The only thing Adeet and I had managed to finish in that time was our bun. 


Next we moved on to the boat races. No emcees stirred up the spectators, but a young boy standing near us did cheer on his father, who unfortunately finished second to last. Adeet and I didn't root for any one team but enjoyed watching the boats skim across the lake. Drummers in each boat kept rhythm, and rowers matched the tempo as they pushed their oars through the water. The narrow boats had little decoration except for the elaborately carved prows. As the boats glided past us after each match, we caught a close-up of the grinning dragon heads.

As we left the park, we passed a group of well-toned, muscled racers performing stretching and balance exercises. I wondered how the dumpling eaters had warmed up for their contest. However, I couldn't dismiss the dumplingvores' accomplishments, even if I questioned their training regimen. I knew I didn't have the stamina for dragon boats or dumplings.

The Hong Kong Dragon Boat Festival
Flushing Meadows Park • Queens, NY

photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Blame It on the Bacon

Last night I crossed a line. Although my food choices don't always qualify as "healthy," I like to think I keep things in balance. For every greasy gyro, I have a salad, and despite my love for the Doughnut Plant, I eat more whole-grain snacks than sugary ones. But yesterday I headed down a dangerous path.

What happened? Adeet and I stopped at Crif Dogs on our way back home from a trip to New Jersey. As I scanned the menu, I briefly settled on the veggie dog, but my inner foodie chided me. "C'mon, you come to a hot dog joint to eat tofu?" Duly chastened, I found myself ordering the "Tsunami": a bacon-wrapped hot dog with teriyaki sauce, pineapple, and green onions. That sounded brazenly carnivorous enough to dispel any rumors of vegetarian sympathies. Adeet asked for a "Crif Dog" topped with baked beans and grilled onions. "Why not add a fried egg?" I um, egged him on. He agreed. Love and cholesterol will keep us together. I should mention that Crif Dogs deep fries their sausages.

When our food arrived, I immediately questioned what we'd gotten ourselves into. After my first bite, I started to panic. This tasted good. Too good. What if I started craving these things? For much of of the last 15 years, I didn't eat pork and seldom ate beef. Now I found myself savoring the crispy bacon that entwined the smoky sausage. The pineapple added a pleasant sweetness, though I couldn't help but wish it were fresh, not canned. The hot dog was skinny, which made me feel a little better about the fat piece of bacon wrapped around it. Adeet's hot dog looked like an English breakfast on a bun, and he devoured it with the same enthusiasm he does a traditional fry-up.

Adeet and I walked the long way back to the subway to offset some of the caloric damage, and I congratulated myself for at least skipping a side of french fries or tater tots. But I couldn't help but remember a former coworker who had a special phrase for the kind of meal we'd just eaten: "slutty" food. And then I blushed—I'd just lost my reputation at Crif Dogs.

Crif Dogs

113 St. Mark's Place • NY, NY

photos by Adeet Deshmukh

Did Someone Say "Falafel"?

I am highly suggestible when it comes to falafel. When I spot the cheap eats staple on "Best of NYC" food lists, I clear my calendar and start mapping subway routes. If I overhear coworkers ordering falafel for lunch, I eavesdrop for details. These approaches have led to the delicious (Alfanoose) and the disappointing (Hoomoos Asli), as well as the reliably good (Mamoun's). When a friend recently raved about the falafel at Naomi's Kosher Pizza and Israeli Falafel, I knew Adeet and I would soon be visiting the restaurant in Kew Gardens Hills.

To get to Naomi's, we took the express train one stop past Jackson Heights and then caught a bus to Main Street. For a fairly short trip, we covered a good deal of cultural distance. The ubiquitous Hindi and Bengali of our neighborhood soon gave way to Hebrew. At Naomi's, Jewish prayers are posted above the communal sink, Israeli educational charts decorate the walls, and a news article in Hebrew is taped to the cash register. A faux palm tree and large mural of Jerusalem remind diners of falafel's Middle Eastern origins. However, I quickly remembered we were still in New York when I heard the staff speaking Spanish. The cashier didn't initially understand me when I ordered dessert, so I switched to español and got my chocolate pastry.

But we came for falafel, not rugelach. Adeet and I both had our sandwiches topped with tahini sauce and Israeli salad. I'd get the summery tomato and cucumber salad again, but next time I'll skip the tahini. It distracted from the falafel, which, in classic Iron Chef parlance, was "the real star of the dish." I pulled the chickpea balls out of the sandwich and ate them without the unnecessary bread and sauce. They tasted fresh and not at all heavy or greasy. The falafel had such a light texture that I had to double-check that it had been fried.

I'll go back to Naomi's, but I know other pitas will cross my plate. Last night, Adeet and I ran into an acquaintance having dinner with friends in Jackson Heights. After a round of introductions, our conversation quickly turned to food. As we compared notes, two men in the group recommended Sam's Falafel and Alan's Falafel, rival vendors in Liberty Plaza. I immediately started planning how to make it to the Financial District and back during my lunch break. It might be tricky, but I'll do it. Where there's a falafel, there's a way.

Naomi's Kosher Pizza and Israeli Falafel

68-28 Main Street • Queens, NY

photos by Adeet and Kate Deshmukh