A Postcard from New York
19th January, 2003
Greetings from New York, where it is very very cold and I have been eating myself silly to keep warm. Staying in the Gramercy Park area of this fabulous city, visiting my fabulous daughter. When fabulous step-daughter Gretchen in San Francisco heard I was in town, she caught a flight out too and joined me in one of the funkiest most memorable hotels I know, the Carlton Arms Hotel. We commenced walking and eating our way through NYC, primarily Lower Manhattan.
We ate Ethiopian food at Meskerem, in the Village. A group of about eight of us ordered nearly everything on the menu: a varied assortment of spicy stewy dishes that come ladled onto a huge pancake of soft, thin Ethiopian flatbread called injera, looking much like an artist's palette, the stews the colour against the background of the pancake bread palette. Meskerem is a great place to discover Ethiopian food if you are in NYC, and the price is so friendly you'll feel guilty when the bill comes. Don't miss doro wat, the Ethiopian national dish of chicken in spicy red sauce with a big egg simmering in the sauce alongside. There is a lamb dish that is wonderful, and a dish of chickpea dumplings that is amazing. The best way of eating at Meskerem is to go with as many people as possible and eat as many different dishes are you can.
Yesterday when I woke up the temperature was 7°F. There is only one thing to do in a situation like that: go out for the Polish-via-New York treat of pierogi. Pierogi are perfect winter fare, as they may possibly be the heaviest food on earth and are the only things that warm you so thoroughly that walking out into the freezing weather doesn't hurt quite so much. Eating pierogi makes you understand the allure of "stick to your ribs", they are chewy noodles stuffed with savory mashed potatoes, served under a blanket of simmered sauteed onions and billows of sour cream. You can, of course, have different types of pierogi such as meat, sauerkraut and mushroom, or kasha. I always come back to potatoes.
While I was long an aficionado of pierogi, I had been somewhat neglectful of my fabulous daughters culinary education tradition-wise. I mean, she didn't share the burning desire for pierogi that I did, as she had always eaten delicate, sophisticated Italian pasta and just couldn't see the point of eating anything so heavy: so — well, dare I say — dull? This was her perception. And then... one day last summer we wandered down a street flea market in the East Village and there was a table, with a sign: 4 PIEROGI FOR $2.00. The stand was courtesy of the restaurant Veselka, and I bought a plateful. We stood in the late summer heat, I, daughter Leah and daughter's boyfriend Jonathan (my magnificent webmaster) and ate one and a third pierogi each. We began to chew and silence fell, though I thought I heard purring from the two of them. It was at that pierogi eating moment that they became New Yorkers.
Conveniently, they live just down the street from two of the best pierogi makers: Veselka, the light and elegant pierogi, served in a pleasant and contemporary setting (2nd avenue), and the equally legendary Christine's Polish American where the pierogi are so heavy that you're fortified for a walk in the sub-zero afternoon, there is little decor and what decor there is hails from decades ago, where the tables are crowded with old Poles eating pierogi and borscht and bigos and the blonde waitress with a strong Polish accent tells me with a smile after I order: "You have ordered my favourite foods: potato pierogi, onions and sour cream, and a side order of stuffed cabbage".
I learned about Christine's from Bella, my friend Sandy's late mother. Bella loved to eat, and what she loved to eat best was Polish food (her grandaughter Ali Waks has recently opened a restaurant in Philly, named after her grandmother). Bella was right at home at Christine's: it is cheap, endearing and in addition to pierogi serves things like breakfast (the oatmeal is really good), stews, sauerkraut dishes, noodles with cottage cheese; it is the only place I know where you can find kasha, kasha varnishkes, stuffed cabbage, potato pancakes, and blintzes as side dishes. A typical Christine's combination plate is pierogi, potato pancakes and blintzes. You can get chicken soup with matzo balls there too, but to tell the truth, not a favourite of mine. Stick with the pierogi, which are poetry in pasta.
This morning we went to the weirdest brunch on this planet. Chez Le Chef on Lexington. Three hours later and we're still trying to get over it, mentally as well as physically. I mean, the restaurant had all the hallmarks of a restaurant that we really didn't want to go to: a clutter of tsotchkes and bric-a-brac, lots and lots of pastries, newspaper clippings everywhere hinting at great talent in self-promotion, and then there are the celebrity endorsements: Whitney Houston and Dr. Ruth. I should have known.
But there in the window was a sign that gets me every time: "accordion brunch". Actually it read "Parisian accordion brunch". I couldn't help myself, and made reservations. If you ever find yourself in the same situation, just walk right by — no, turn around and run, run as fast as you can.
Man, it was the weirdest restaurant, the weirdest meal. When we left, my daughter said: I feel like I have been on another planet. Daughter's boyfriend said that it was a cross between Fawlty Towers and The X-Files. The atmosphere was weird, tense... and scary in some indefinable way, though it filled up with Manhattan brunchers as the morning progressed. The French toast was good, blanketed with cinnamon sugar, and the coffee wasn't bad at all; everything else was pretty awful, or perhaps it would have been okay if it dried herbs hadn't been scattered over everything, making the Hollandaise sauce strange (though it was already cold, which was a pretty strange sensation, and the eggs were served on sundried tomato bread which just was... not right). I wasn't sure about the exact addition of the bill, either, but to tell you the truth, chef Fredric was a bit scary. We fled, and once on the street felt unsettled, having survived a strange situation together.
We agreed that the only antidote for such a brunch was a detox breakfast tomorrow at Christine's. A plate of pierogi is a good healer.
marlena
P.S. I don't want it to seem as if I've done nothing but eat in NYC. I've walked and walked and walked. And I've drunk too. The gimlet I had at The Fat Black Pussycat on W. 3rd in the Village was divine. And the Margarita (frozen, for me, thank you) at Miracle in the Village (Bleeker Street) was, well, a delicious miracle of a drink. And one final alcoholic-related note: I found Morlands Old Speckled Hen, a lovely bitter ale from Abingdon, UK, my British husband's home town. Its hard to find in Britain and here it was, right around the corner in NYC. We bought a six pack, sampled a glass or two, and everyone agrees: Morlands Old Speckled Hen rules!
Okay, I've done lots and lots of things that don't involve eating at all: I've walked in Central Park in the snow, wandered through the Guggenheim, the Met, loitered in Madison Park watching the dogs. On our day on the Lower East Side I visited the Tenement Museum, a touching real life tenement that chronicles the lives of those who lived there during the end of the nineteenth early twentieth century. A highlight for me is just across Orchard Street: Guss' Pickles (the inspiration for the pickle guy in the movie Crossing Delancy, and also featured in the film). And not only do they have crazy-good kosher dills, and not only do they have half-sour pickles, but they also have very fresh pickles that are still cucumbers really. You can't leave without crunching away at a pickle as you continue down the street. If you like olives, sauerkraut, or pickeled green tomatoes too, do not, I repeat, do not miss.