Haven’t seen these delicious snacks in New York for years (maybe banned by the anti-cholesterol crusaders and the stricter standards of today’s Health Department): Jewish rye bread topped with 1/8 to 1/4 inch of chicken fat. The base for very rare, room temperature roast beef and sliced raw onions (much coarse salt and black pepper). Kosher garlic dills on the side.
Meaty, pickled pig knuckles. A staple at Third Avenue Irish bars. Every bar had a big jar of them (many Irish bars also served hard boiled eggs). During HG’s journalism days he often supped at the Mirror Bar in the Daily Mirror building (east 45th off Third) — two shots of Imperial Rye Whiskey, one hard boiled egg, one pig knuckle, one Ballantine Ale. Meal and beverages cost a little more than a dollar.
The Jewish bars on the Lower East Side served thickly battered, room temperature fish fillets as a thirst producing giveaway. The fish was fried in chicken fat and given zest with grated garlic and a dusting of cayenne pepper. HG enjoyed this savory snack at a bar on Essex (off Delancey) favored by small time gamblers, shylocks and other unsavory types.
SJ here. New York for all of its size and population often seems like the smallest of small towns. You live here for enough time and you develop a personal circumference — where you walk, where you eat, where you live. And, if you are like me, you get to know that personal space down to its grittiest details. You learn the smells, the people, the graffiti, the cracks in the sidewalk, the empty lot that sprouts wild sorrell and the ancient Chinese woman who shuffles along with 400 crushed cans of Malt Liquor on her back. You mark this space like a lion on the Savannah by infusing it all with your personal mythology, your stories, your emotions — you superimpose a map of your own interior over the narrow map of the city that you know the best.
This is why I love Flushing. It is the opposite of my personal New York. It is a place still marked with mystery and discovery for me and like some big game hunter, it makes my forays to Flushing seeking food feel like an adventure. Well, last night I scored the Big Buck, the Big Kill when I went to Sol Hyang Lee, a noted Northern Chinese – Korean hybrid restaurant owned by ethnic Koreans who were raised in China on the borderlands between the two countries and whom speak both languages. I was tipped off to the spot by the excellent food blog Lauhound.com.
Skewers Grilling Over Hot Coals
Sol Hyang Lee specializes in BBQ skewers cooked at the table over real charcoal (a sad rarity in these new gas and electric dominated times). We ordered Mutton, Chicken and Lamb Chunk Skewers from a menu that ranged to such esoterica as pork heart and bull penis. They come 10 to an order (except for the Lamb Chunk which is cooked in the kitchen and comes two to an order but with bigger pieces). The meat is tender, well seasoned and redolent of smoke. It is served with a spice blend made up of peanut powder, cumin seed, chili powder, salt and sesame seeds. You roll your meat in the powder and eat it right up! Cumin and smoke are a beautiful combination, each complimenting the other, egging their unique properties onto higher levels. We also ordered a brace of boiled dumplings (nothing amazing, but hearty and and unstructured in a very home-made, authentic way), pitchers of cold beer, water spinach in garlic sauce and a killer dish of tiny squids served whole on a bed of dried chili pods, cilantro and garlic scapes.
Squid with Chili Pods
The waitress, who was super nice and friendly, but none too adept in English, gave us a complimentary pickled cucumber dish which snapped with heat and bits of tofu skin and rubbery, clear noodles. There was also Ban Chan (the traditional small dishes served at all Korean restaurants). This was a totally unique meal with unexpected flavours (the cumin/peanut poweder will haunt my brain for a few weeks) and the joy of discovery. Everything I had was top notch and prepared with joy and love and I can’t wait to get back and try some deeper menu items including some of their offal choices and a quail dish that people seemd to be noshing on with much joy.
HG’s usual beverage with Chinese food is beer (sometimes mixed with Guiness Stout for a Black-and Tan). Never found an agreeable wine that enhanced Chinatown cuisine. Until…
Yes, New York is world capital of culture, finance, style, skyscrapers and virtually everything else. But, to greedy HG, New York means Chinatown, dim sum, congee and other treats. So, after a night’s sleep following some 11 hours of air travel from Bologna it was off to Chinatown for a dim sum lunch with Gorgeous Restaurateur Daughter (Five Points, Cookshop, Hundred Acres) Vicki F. Destination for HG and BSK was Nom Wah (SJ recently posted a memorable piece of prose about this vintage eatery).
Talk about a trip down Memory Lane. As SJ has remarked, the old place got cleaned up but retained every bit of its funky appearance. HG was startled. It seemed nothing had changed since he first ate there some 56 (!!) years ago. Vicki ordered brilliantly and though the decor had not changed, the food was better. Har Gow and Shu Mai were among the best HG had ever consumed.
That night the trio was joined by SJ. Exquisite Maiko, Adorable Haru and Vicki’s husband and partner, Marc M. The site was Congee on 98 Bowery. Yes, there was congee. But, also fried squid, a couple of large, steamed flounders, clams in blacks bean sauce, sauteed greens, etc. Lots of food. Lots of joy.
The master of light verse, Ogden Nash, summed up his feelings about HG’s home borough in a two word couplet: “The Bronx. No Thonx.”
Obviously, the poet had not sipped, supped and dined in The Bronx during its golden food days (which lasted into the early 60’s). Every east-west shopping street (Kingsbridge Road, Fordham Road, Mt. Eden Avenue, Burnside Avenue, etc.) was dotted with great Jewish delicatessens and bakeries, Italian fruit stands (very fresh produce from Long Island and New Jersey truck farmers); purveyors of superior smoked salmon and sturgeon (these were known as “appetizing stores”). Arthur Avenue in the Belmont section was the center of Italian cuisine. Tremont Avenue and Bathgate Avenue catered to Jewish tastes. The Irish population of The Bronx was not renowned for cuisine but ran many estimable taverns on Jerome Avenue. Well, times changed and by the 70s the Bronx became a symbol of urban decay and hopelessness.
But, don’t count the borough out. Tremont Avenue and Bathgate Avenue have changed or been obliterated. But, Arthur Avenue has expanded and retained its vitality (it is a must for every foodie visitor to New York). There are a lot of very good Puerto Rican restaurants in operation. Good African restaurants have opened on the Grand Concourse. SJ vouches for the Jamaican food on White Plains Avenue and Gun Hill Road. There’s both traditional Jewish delicatessen food in Riverdale and the world’s greatest carrot cake. Obviously, the ethnicities have changed but there’s still some sizzling tastes to sample in The Bronx. And, let’s hope the championship flags will be flying again soon at the new Yankee Stadium.
SJ here. Christians have their Church bells. Muslims have the sound of the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. In my gustatory devotion, I have the sound of a dim sum cart rattling about while shouts of “Har Gow!” pierce the din of a crowded hall.
My place of worship is now the East Harbor Seafood Palace (714 65th Street in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn). Consistently packed with mostly Chinese clientele, East Harbor is modeled after the huge, dim sum palaces of Hong Kong. It is loud with crowd noise, shouting dim sum cart attendees and the badly amplified voice of the maitre d’ calling waiting diners to their tables. Expect a good 30 to 40 minute wait. Trust me, it is worth it.
I’ve tasted great made-to-order Dim Sum in Manhattan’s Chinatown and in Vancouver and always reveled in the fresh flavors and textures of that methodology. But the carts at East Harbor– owing perhaps to fast turn-around –dish out food that is every bit as fresh as those made-to-order spots and packed with even more flavor. The basics are covered to perfection — Shui Mai, snappishly fresh Har Gow, silky rice noodles, pillowy pork buns, crunchy spring rolls; but the carts keep arriving with things we’ve never seen before: finger length peppers stuffed with pork and crab, garlicky Chinese greens, tiny cockles stir-fried table side in black bean sauce, dumpling varietals with cashews and nuts, and definitely a few things I can’t even name. You see, when the carts keep coming, and you had your 45-minute-starving-to-death wait, you enter into a dim sum frenzy and begin grabbing just about anything for fear that it may all just disappear. At most dim sum spots, this fear is justified — dishes do disappear and the glum Dim Sum car attendants will look at you like a madman if you dare ask if that steamed pork rib dish is going to return. However at East Harbor dishes DO reappear and if you ask for something — crazily enough! — the staff is actually helpful! Yes, East Harbor Seafood has polite staff. They are nice! Nice to us! Nice to my son! They brought water when asked and more chili sauce and even said “no problem” and rushed off to get me some Hoi Sin sauce for my pork buns. This is an amazing thing for a Dim Sum palace — unparalleled actually!
So, the Dim Sum at East Harbor was completely top notch. I would hasten say it is the best in New York, except I know that there are some spots in Flushing that I have not yet tasted. But great dim sum AND a pleasant staff? Don’t know if that will happen in Flushing.
While noshing on our dim sum we noticed that the table next to us was filled with some mighty serious eaters. There were about 15 of them, a family — grandparents down to grand kids — and simply enormous. Each of them hitting upwards of 300+ pounds. All Italians from the neighboring community of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. And they were being brought enormous and extensive casseroles of seafood — lobsters, crabs, prawns, crayfish maybe — and eating it with unmatched gusto. Shells cracking, fingers pulling at shreds of crab meat, juices dripping onto chins — pure joy!
And I didn’t taste it. So, a trip to East Harbor for a non Dim Sum meal is in order and all HG readers should prepare to read all about it!
Writing about New York’s late, lamented Balkan Armenian Restaurant, HG recalled a disastrous breach of manners he perpetrated at this resolutely Armenian eatery. At the conclusion of a delightful meal, HG was approached by the restaurant’s very genial and welcoming proprietor, Ed Berberian. “Would you like something else?,” he said.
HG thought about the BA’s thick, sweet, comforting coffee brewed in a little copper pot. “Yes, some Turkish coffee, please.”
The air turned frigid. Berberian’s face turned to stone. He hissed, icily: “You mean Armenian coffee.” A shamed nod and murmured apology from HG.
Baseball playoffs. World Series. Pro football. Sports and autumn colors are in the air. HG has heard rumors of much improved food at various stadiums. Upscale stuff. Old fogey HG is suspicious. Still believes the best stadium food is the traditional hot dog. A great one was served at the late, lamented Polo Grounds. The Polo Grounds was located in Manhattan’s upper Harlem neighborhood, West 155th Street (Coogan’s Bluff). It was a lovable, rickety place filled with history. It was the home of the New York Football Giants and Baseball Giants. It was where Bobby Thompson of the Giants hit his home run off Ralph Branca of the Brooklyn Dodgers — “The Shot Heard Round The World” — that put the Giants in the World Series. HG had many great Polo Grounds experiences watching Mel Ott, Emlen Tunnel and many other heroic figures.
The busy men’s bathroom had an attendant — Old Sam. HG never forgot his chant: “No matter how you shake and dance the last drop always falls in your
pants. After you’ve had your little pee, don’t forget to remember me — Old Sam.”
SJ here and a disappointed one at that. After my great joy in returning to Nom Wah (see the earlier Now Wah posting) I decided to try out another reincarnated old favorite — 456 Shanghai Cuisine which has been getting superb write-ups (including a great New York Times review). I headed off to eat there with visions of extraordinary soup dumpling gallivanting through my cerebral cortex. No such luck! Soup Dumplings were somewhat bland and lacking in that funky tang of crab roe; they were undersized and honestly not soupy enough as if the chef were a miserly curmudgeon trying to save a few bucks on broth and dough. Finally, they weren’t properly heated temperature wise. Which is a bit criminal in my mind. Soup Dumplings need to be blazing! Salt and Pepper shell on shrimp were fine, yet lacking in that spicy umph that would have made me take notice and — not to sound too much like Groucho Marx — the portion size was a bit small for the price tag. Spicy Double Sauteed Pork was neither spicy nor did it have any of the velvety tenderness that one would associate with something that has been “double” sauteed — what the hell is double sauteed anyway? Maybe that one is my fault for ordering something so sloppily named. The final insult came with the Shanghai Won Ton Soup. This should have been an easy one. Alas, nothing about the Won Ton was Shanghainese and the broth tasted of bouillon cubes with a healthy dash of MSG. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe all this is due to the hype? 456 Shanghai just reopened and it has been swamped with people drawn by great reviews and nostalgia. Maybe the kitchen just couldn’t keep up with the demand? Could be! Could also be that hype is hype and next time I want some fine Chinese chow, you’ll find me in the totally amazing Food Court at the New World Mall in Flushing!
Nom Wah Teahouse — the birthplace of my dumpling obsession and the oldest Dim Sum restaurant in New York City (serving since 1920!). Back in the 70s HG and I would often spend an early afternoon there hailing the Dim Sum carts and loading up our table with varieties of dumplings, folded rice crepes and buns while studiously avoiding those scary dishes of chicken feet. We would eat and drink tea until our stacked plates began to sway like skyscrapers in the wind. Back then your check was determined by the amount (and type) of plates left on the table, and crafty HG would often “joke” with the surly waiters by “hiding” the majority of plates on his lap. A practice guaranteed to cause great embarrassment to your children. It was the spot where I first used my barely learned chopstick skills to SLOWLY convey a slippery Har Gow (shrimp dumpling) to my waiting lips. Suffice it to say that Nom Wah is responsible for making the rattle of a loaded Dim Sum cart the most hunger inducing sound that I know of.
So it was with great joy (and some real trepidation) that I read in HG’s earlier posting (“Nom Wah. A Great Tradition”) that Nom Wah had re-opened with new ownership and a revamped menu. I could not wait to try it so I gathered up Exquisite Maiko, Mr. Haru and my sister, Victoria (the Restaurateur!) — a hard-hitting posse of Dim Sum lovers if there ever was one — and headed off to the Bloody Angle of Doyers Street.
It was with real relief that we walked in and found Nom Wah to be essentially unchanged. Relief because it is just a wonderful space — a 1930s luncheon spot with red checked table clothes, coat hangers at every table and the warm patina of age. The new owner is the nephew of the previous owner and his love for the restaurant allowed him to somehow do the impossible — renovate and clean the space without changing a thing. The result is that Nom Wah verily hums with joy — It is old fashioned without seeming nostalgic or forced; it is packed with tourists, but absolutely genuine. It is in the details: the mismatched plates and tea cups that have been in service for decades, the tray of condiments (duck sauce, worcestershire sauce, Chinese mustard) that no new dim sum palace would allow on a table, the dappled surface of the mirrors, the tiny bathroom sink with hot & cold faucets. What has changed is only positive. Gone are the surly wait staff and gone are the rickety dim sum carts. In their place are made-to-order dim sum and a group of people (owner included) who just seemed happy to see you, happy that you decided to come into a restaurant that they themselves seem to love.
So…the food? Well, it is totally fine. The Egg Roll is clean and not greasy. The Steamed Pork bun was fluffy and generously stuffed with sweet & savory meat; the Har Gow were silken skinned and the shrimp snapped with freshness. The rice rolls were okay; and I happily gnawed on some steamed spare ribs. There were some menu nods to modernity with notations for “gluten-free” items, some clearly marked vegetarian and kosher options and a quite wonderful “new style” dumpling stuffed with snow pea leaves and shrimp. Without a doubt, I’ve had better dim sum in Sunset Park and out in Flushing and even at Dim Sum Go Go a few blocks away. But, for the two un-rushed hours me and my wonderful family sat in Nom Wah, talking, eating and laughing at Victoria’s stories about throwing dumplings at her first Nom Wah visit, there was simply no other place — no other restaurant! — that I would have rather been. It is an absolute testament to the great job that Nom Wah’s new owners are doing that this old standard has been reborn as a restaurant that I can’t wait to get back to.
