NYC Food, Volume 2

Before this year’s trip to New York, I eagerly circled many food destinations in my guidebook; but as typically happens, I resized my ambitions after arriving and feeling overwhelmed by options. During my four days there, I mainly played it by ear and stuck to restaurants that didn’t veer far off my sightseeing path. I missed out on several recommendations—Dominique Ansel Bakery, Margon (Cuban), Don Angie (Italian), Essex Street Market (various street foods)—but had a few memorable meals.

Prepackaged Sandwich - New Jersey

I spent a lengthy amount of time, longer than Google predicted, driving a rental car from the Washington, DC airport to Manhattan. This is how I learned about the series of “travel plazas” that line I-95. They were, sadly, the only things to see along that route as well as some of the only places offering food. Instead of the woodsy rest areas I am used to here in Oregon, they were identical paved parking lots, each one surrounding a plain square building with a food court inside. Many of them had gas stations next door.

Somewhere in New Jersey, I realized I desperately needed to eat, so I stopped at one of those travel plazas. Every fast-food counter had an insanely long line, even at 2:00 PM on a Thursday. I couldn’t fathom waiting that long for Auntie Anne’s or Burger King. I went to the attached convenience store and got a dry turkey sandwich, bag of chips, and iced tea. I joined a throng of other travelers eating in their cars in the parking lot, feeling mildly resentful that I had to stop at all because it only further delayed my arrival in New York. The sandwich was so plain that I couldn’t finish it, so I threw half of it into the backseat and kept driving.

Steamed Bun - East Village

After an 18-hour travel day (see my other post about this trip), I could have easily climbed into my hotel bed when I arrived at 4:30, and stayed there. But I really wanted to start sightseeing, and more importantly, eating. I’d been starved since the New Jersey sandwich. I took the 6 train down a few stops and went to a Chinese restaurant on St. Mark’s Place called Che Li. This one actually was on my “to eat” list, and close enough to the subway that the timing worked out. I started with a steamed b… no wait, I actually started with a glass of white wine to help me finally unwind. After placing my food order, I took out my Kindle and sent a picture to my husband: wine and book in the foreground, passersby on the street in the background. He wrote back, “You made it!” and I started to relax.

The server notified (warned?) me that the steamed bun was big. Truly, it was almost the diameter of a volleyball. The server scored the gently domed top to let the steam escape, and I started picking off big hunks of it with chopsticks. I knew it would quickly fill my stomach and that’s exactly what I needed then. It was like a savory angel food cake. I followed it with some fried white fish in a sweet and sour sauce with pine nuts and diced veggies. I did my best to raze that pile of food, but as a single diner eating a family-style dish, I couldn’t finish it. I’d already eaten enough to help me sail away to an early bedtime.

Bagel Sandwich - Nolita

So I’m not sure what “Nolita” means, but it was one of the neighborhoods I ended up wandering through the next morning after snaking through Chinatown to watch the early morning market shoppers. I know that’s where I was because my bank showed a charge for Black Seed Bagels Nolita. Black Seed drew me in with an A-board sign showing a shiny picture of an egg-and-cheese bagel, and name recognition because an Oregon friend had recommended the chain. I’d had something light for breakfast earlier, but I was hungry again, and I love a good portable breakfast sandwich. I lined up inside the tight little shop, placed my order, and waited by the counter as I watched employees furiously work the brick oven and giant kettle. Bike delivery people came in and out relentlessly, and I made way for them while trying not to nudge the woman sitting behind me with my backpack.

When I got my classic egg-and-cheese on a salt bagel, I moved outside to sit on a wobbly bench and unwrapped the steaming package. The egg was fried over hard (but not greasy), the cheddar was melty, and the bagel was hot and chewy. I washed it down with an iced chai that I’d been walking around with (otherwise I’d have gotten a coffee, naturally). I can still taste the chunks of salt that dotted the outside of that bagel like rare gems.

Pepperoni Pizza - Broadway

I almost didn’t see the pizza restaurant across the street from Circle in the Square Theatre, where I was seeing a show that night. I had to walk down a half flight of stairs that looked like they led toward a gated-off subway station, then I saw the neon sign reading “See No Evil”. There was no real foyer inside, so I slipped in and startled the poor server while he was entering something in the computer. The place was pretty full, so he seated me in single-person purgatory, namely at the corner of the narrow counter, around which staff members were constantly walking with hot platters.

I felt a tad out of place when I realized they didn’t sell slices and I’d have to order a whole pizza for myself. Remembering the leftovers I’d wasted at the Chinese restaurant the day before, I worried that I’d look foolish, but I was craving pizza and I liked the dark, clubby atmosphere of this place. So I ordered a pepperoni pizza, which was soon slid onto one of those little metal stands right in front of me. I carefully pulled off a slice, then another, and another until I’d eaten all but one. It was a standard, thin-crust pie with crispy-edged pepperoni: basic and perfectly delicious.

Candied Fruit - Columbus Circle

On the third day of my trip, I made for Central Park via the Columbus Circle subway station. There was a street fair happening right in front of the Trump International Hotel, with many booths hawking cheap-looking toys and others selling delicious-smelling food. Several vendors were selling tanghulu, which is the word I learned for fruit on a stick coated with hardened sugar. I bought one with strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi, and crunched on it as I wandered into the south end of Central Park. At first I found it delicious, like biting into the most authentic-tasting strawberry candy. I showed it to my son on a video call, but he is not impressed by any food that doesn’t come from a Happy Meal box. I set it aside and allowed it to start melting in the sun. It was about half-eaten and the sugar was starting to bother my teeth. Too sweet for me. I tossed away the rest before getting in line to rent a bicycle in the park.

Gambas al Ajillo - Flatiron District

Later that night I was going to see another Broadway show. Before heading up there, I wanted to stay close to my hotel in the Flatiron for dinner. On some weird principle I don’t prefer to eat at the restaurant inside a hotel where I’m staying, but on this occasion I did so out of convenience. My hotel’s restaurant was a Latin American-inspired one called Comodo. It was somewhat early and nobody else was in the place. I ordered an appetizer of garlic shrimp with grilled bread. The server said the shrimp were served with heads on—was that okay? I lied and said, “Yes.” I’d never eaten anything with its head still on, but I didn’t want to wuss out. When they arrived, I did my best to rip them apart and eat the pieces I was familiar with, just scooting the heads off to the side, making a yummy mess.

The shrimp was good, but my favorite part was dipping the charred bread into the red, garlicky sauce. I could have made a meal of that. I almost asked for more bread, but I was trying to make sure I got some servings of vegetable even on vacation, so I left room for the main course of eggplant molé. The cheesy stuffing and rich, spicy sauce on that entree made up for the fact that it was eggplant, which I don’t really enjoy unless its flavor is disguised.

Expensive Drinks - Everywhere

Every cocktail I had was eighteen dollars, and some establishments offered specialty cocktails for thirty-six dollars. An iced chai was eight dollars. A cup of drip coffee was five. A fresh-pressed juice at Cafe Luna was eleven.

Chicken Quesadilla - Newark Airport

I waited, standing with a ripping LEGO Store bag full of souvenirs, watching my quesadilla get made by a food court employee who could not have cared less about moving fast. My back was killing me by now, and I was dying to get my food so I could sit down. When I finally got it, I was shooed away from the first table I sat at (it was part of a separate restaurant, rather than the food court), so I precariously gathered my stuff again and moved twelve feet away to a permitted table. Since my son had been asking for a video chat, I pulled out my laptop and made a Google Meet call to home while I ate. I moved the camera and tried to show them the view behind me: planes parked and taxiing outside the window, and far beyond them, the faded Manhattan skyline.

It was early evening. I thought of how the city was starting to light up, how people were excitedly getting into line for the same Broadway show I’d seen the night before, and how many others, tourists or otherwise, were getting ready for their own versions of a night out. I was thirty minutes away from boarding a plane that would race against nightfall across the U.S. back to the West Coast. I would nap a little bit, watch TV shows on my phone, read books, and start missing New York City again.