zin for breakfast

Wednesday Walkabout?

Okay, so I did the Tuesday Tramp. But the day after Azuri Cafe wowed me with its falafel, I found myself a few dozen blocks downtown, eating more delicious falafel. This was the day that New York became the happiest, friendliest city on earth, the day it was 65 degrees and sunny in February, the day I walked 100 blocks.

Yes, I walked from my little South Harlem apartment to Union Square via Central Park, 5th Avenue, and Broadway. Now that's a walkabout.

I didn't take many pictures because I was on a tight schedule, but I did spot this hawk in Central Park.

My initial destination was the Union Square Greenmarket, which was lovely to walk through, but what made the trip ultimately worth while was the falafel. Recently, Serious Eats did a Union Square falafel round-up, and they determined that Maoz reigns supreme. I was skeptical. How could a place with such a snazzy website serve quality falafel? And it's an international chain! From Europe, no less! Even the storefront was shiny and European-looking. Not that I'm judging or anything.

But you know what? This falafel was insanely good. I'm not the authenticity police when it comes to falafel (I'll leave that to the Dafna the Israeli and my Jordan correspondent, Leah), and it might have been the sun and the warmth and the happy people sitting around me on the steps of Union Square, but I was in falafel nirvana. Check it out:

They have a salad/sauce bar, so you get your basic sandwich (falafel with hummus and eggplant for me, but they have a few combinations to chose from) on a white or whole wheat pita, and then you get to load it up with toppings like pickles and carrots and tomato stuff and garlicky broccoli. The place was insane when I got there, but the line moved quickly, and you can't be afraid to knock some people over to get to the tahini.

I'm leaving the best part for last. Are you ready? Here it is:

SWEET POTATO FRIES! (and a sneaky plain one)

Done. Maoz, my heart is yours forever. Also, turns out there's one on the Upper West Side, so I won't have to make the 100-block trek unless I really feel like it. Which I don't think I will until it's spring in New York for real.

Tuesday Tramp

I just took a double dose of expired Nyquil, so we'll see how long I stay alive  to write this. I sound like an 80-year-old man or Kathleen Turner. Not sexy.

Anyway, the week before last, I took a Tuesday Tramp down to Hell's Kitchen, which I've decided is a perfect Manhattan neighborhood for me: lots of good food and decidedly unhip. Also the setting of West Side Story! 

I went to Azuri Cafe, which is a hole-in-the-wall falafel place on 51st and 10th. There are maybe four tables inside, and they're either up against the wall or up against the counter where everyone lines up to order, so it's tight quarters. On a weekday around lunchtime, I shared a table with some lunch-break business-suit types. There was a French dude, a hipster in flannel, and an annoying guy and girl talking about their annoying boyfriends/ex-boyfriends/psuedo-boyfriends. Is any of this important? No, I'm just setting the scene.

The man that owns Azuri is grumpy. In fact, he's been compared to the Soup Nazi, and that's why I have no pictures. But his falafel is delicious and costs $5.55, so I guess he's not too worried about business. Also, he seemed to like me a lot more after I cleaned my plate. I don't mess around when it comes to falafel.

Anyway, this baby came with a million toppings, which were actually more like fillings layered in the pita with the falafel and topped with baby pickles. I love baby pickles! And the pita was homemade and fresh, which I think makes all the difference. Is Azuri Cafe the best falafel in the city? I don't deal in such superlatives, but it was warm, gooey, and simply satsifying.

So then I walked down to Amy's Bread on 9th Ave between 46th and 47th. I've heard good things about their cupcakes, but I wasn't about to sample one without my trusty sidekick. So I went for a piece of monkey cake, which I hoped might be something similar to Monkey Bread.  

It wasn't anything like monkey bread. It was more like a hummingbird cake with bananas, pineapples, and pecans, and a cream cheese frosting, which was decidedly not a problem for me. One of the best cakes I've had in the city, definitely beating Buttercup's apple cake, which was my previous favorite. The cream cheese frosting was less sweet than most. I wouldn't mind more sugar, but that's pretty much my response to everything I eat, so take it with a grain of...um...salt.

I'm telling you, Hell's Kitchen is full of surprises.

So I walked back along Riverside Park, which is one of my favorite places to walk. Every time I'm there I end up taking dozens of pictures of the same things. Trees. Water. Sun.

What I'm Reading Roundup

Mark Bittman tells me it's okay to eat real food for breakfast, but I'm happy with my oatmeal and granola, thanks.

 David Brooks dreams of Denver and Seattle and San Diego, and apparently so do most Americans. We want newer, roomier cities with access to beaches and mountains. We want garages "filled with skis, kayaks, soccer equipment, hiking boots and boating equipment." I'm sorry, but that sounds like the suburbs to me. People in cities shouldn't have garages because people in cities shouldn't have cars. What happened to the return of urban density? Can we really have the machine in the garden?

Louis Menand reduces Postmodernism to two warring theories, "Postmodernism means that Modernism has won and we're all Modernists" versus "Postmodernism means that Modernism is so totally over," and then he talks about why Donald Barthelme seems to subscribe to the latter but really subscribes to the former. I don't even like Barthelme that much, but I was pretty interested in this diagnosis of a common misconception about Postmodernism, basically that it makes low culture into high art:

"It's sometimes said that the distinction between high and commercial culture collapsed when artists and intellectuals discovered aesthetic merit in things like jazz and the movies. But this can't have been the case...If you propose to admire a popular movie because it's formally interesting or morally exigent, you aren't changing the system of appreciation at all. There may be some new stuff above the line, but there is still a line. What killed the distinction wasn't defining pop art up. It was defining high art down....The point of Warhol's Campbell's soup-can paintings was not that a soup can is like a work of art. It was that a work of art is like a soup can: they are both commodities."

Well said, Louis. I also like this idea of co-opting the techniques of visual artists who are doing things with found material (like the soup cans) and using them in literature:

"The visual artist can deal with almost every kind of material, even sound, but the writer deals with only one kind of material: sentences. The solution, therefore, was to treat sentences as though they were found objects."

Considering writers like Barthelme (and Borges, perhaps) in this way, I have a greater appreciation for their styles. Not that I'm jumping on the Barthelme/Borges bandwagon. Although it is a very hip bandwagon to be on these days.

Coming up, as promised, this week's Tuesday Tramp.

The Tuesday Tramp...not what you think

This is the first in what may or may not be an occasional series (how's that for commitment?) that I'm calling the Tuesday Tramp. I don't have class on Tuesdays, so what tends to happen is that I sit in my room all morning, attempting to work, until I want to crawl out of my skin. Then I decide to take a walk and pick up some lunch along the way. What ensues is usually a multi-hour amble through some familiar or unfamiliar neighborhood during which I take some pictures and eat some food. Recently, I've been planning these field trips so that I hit up some of the places I've been meaning to try, and it's been fun, mostly, as long as the weather holds out.

I've been trying to expand my portfolio, so to speak. I'm far from a picky eater, but I tend to gravitate toward the same foods (ahem, cupcakes) unless I make an effort to venture out. Last week, I was inspired by this picture and various Chowhounders to tramp down to Chinatown and try something I've never had before: a fried pork bun. Fried. Pork. Bun. What a trio of bad news. I never crave meat, really, but put some bread around it and fry it and I won't say no. Except, in the end, I probably would.

This was my first stop: Dumpling House on Eldridge. Three pork buns for $1. ONE DOLLAR. SO THIS IS WHERE ALL THE CHEAP FOOD HAS BEEN HIDING! This picture makes them look big, but I'd say they're two-biters. Now keep in mind that I've never had these things before, so I can't so much "review" them as just give you my impressions. They were greasy. Really greasy. The bread was doughy and spongy--nice consistency but bland. I tried to get a shot of the porky inside, but instead the porky inside fell out. This is probably the least appetizing photo I have ever posted. In fact, I debated not posting it, but, here, for posterity, is the pork. On the floor.

The meat was pretty bland too. I wonder if maybe I should have let them cool down more. In any case, I trashed the remains and moved on to a more promising location.

Mei Li Wah Bakery on Bayard has been hailed for their roast pork buns, also known as "baked" or "brown" buns. Aren't they cute? One of these guys is almost the size of three Dumpling house buns, but it costs .80 cents. CENTS. And it's, like, A MEAL. In Manhattan. I can't get over it. If only I liked them more...

It's not that I didn't like them. I did. The baked dough had a slight crisp on the outside but was soft and yeasty and slightly sweet. The pork inside was much more flavorful, though it was too fatty for my taste. I was also curious about the Big Bun ("steamed bun with chicken, salted egg, and scallions"), so I ordered it. $1.60 for my curiosity. 

I think I actually laughed when this arrived. It was huge! Easily twice the size of the roast bun. Unlike fried and roast buns, steamed buns are soft and doughy through and through. I liked that about them, but the bread to filling ratio was much higher.

So. much. dough. Also, the contents of the bun were not exactly what the menu described. Actually, they were totally different. Maybe there was chicken, but it tasted like pork to me. And there was definitely a mushroom or two in there, and maybe some sausage. Or maybe it was dog. The other problem was the thin layer of paper glommed on to the bottom of the bun, which I didn't notice until I was halfway through. Minor annoyance? Yes. But did I mention it was $1.60?

I don't think I'll be tramping downtown very often to satisfy a pork bun craving. (Boba tea, however, is a different story). But it was educational, and I love walking around Chinatown. I would have taken a million more pictures if the streets weren't quite so packed.

Speaking of pictures, I've got a bunch from various scenic spots around the city, so look out for that. Lots of sunsets and trees. Next Tuesday Tramp is in Hell's Kitchen, perhaps the most random neighborhood in New York. Now, back to Pnin!

the terrorists are getting smarter

       

Maybe I told you about the delicious maple syrup smell that wafts through my windows every now and then. Well, it's not coming from my landlords' kitchen like I thought. Other people have smelled it, too! Since 2005! Of course, New Yorkers first assume they're being poisoned, so Bloomberg put the Office of Emergency Management on high alert. After months of CSI-style investigations and triangulations and covert operations, the case was cracked:  Blame New Jersey.  Of course.

Personally, I'm not going to complain about waking up to the smell of sweet maple-y goodness. I hope they get to work on a warm chocolate chip cookie one soon. Or bacon. Mmm.

Foreign Correspondence

 

My good friend Leah is on an "extended vacation" in Jordan, and she recently sent me an email about my blog. After tearing me a new one for writing about delicious food that she cannot eat, she offered this great tip:

Also, if you want good falafel you should visit Mafraq-----no that's not a trendy eatery on the lower east side, its the city closest to me. There's a man with a stand who is often wearing very tight shirts that I'm sure were once sold in the Tween section of a department store in the US. His sandwiches are 25 cents and come with eggplant, tahini salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, sesame extract creamy sauce), hummus on Bedouin flatbread, grilled before being served. You also might get a side of intense vomiting and diarrhea but that usually passes within 48 hours.

Thanks, Leah! You're officially hired on to head Zin For Breakfast's Jordan Division. For your next assignment, please review that sweet tea they make you drink by the kiloliter every day.

Jamba Juice Oatmeal...and Cupcakes!

Oatmeal is the ugly stepsister of the breakfast/brunch family. She is not a fluffy pancake smothered in butter and maple syrup. She is not soft and chewy french toast or hearty bacon and eggs. Even cold cereal is better looking than poor goopy brown oatmeal. And, yet, I love it so much. Apparently, so does everyone else.

Oatmeal getting all the glory these days. Is it a winter thing? Does everyone in the Northeast go ga-ga for oatmeal when it's cold outside? Starbucks debuted it as the headliner of its healthy morning menu, and it was their most popular launch ever. I tried it, and it was nothing more than a little brown packet, some hot water, and a few packages of standard toppings. I don't get it. It takes longer to drive to Starbucks and wait in line than it does to heat your own water and drown your powdery oatmeal until its the consistency of baby food. And my mom reports that she was given rancid nuts on two ocassions.

Now, Jamba Juice is fighting back. Steel-cut oats, not instant. Big-girl portions. More interesting toppings. And, most importantly, made with soy milk, not water! For me, this is huge, because I really hate the taste of oatmeal made with water.

I went to the Jamba Juice inside My Favorite Place on Earth aka Whole Foods. I chose that one specifically because there's a whole seating area and I could do my shopping afterwards. But I didn't see oatmeal on the menu, and when I asked for it, the very nice and very apologetic employees told me that they had to stop selling it because Whole Foods has their own oatmeal and wouldn't let Jamba Juice compete. Makes sense, because JJ's blows WF's oatmeal out of the water.

The very nice and very apologetic employees not only directed me to the next nearest Jamba Juice, they gave me a coupon for the oatmeal (I only had to pay $1!) and let me choose a free smoothie to drink along the way.

Mmm...fresh carrot juice.

Okay, so back to the oatmeal. The toppings to choose from are apple cinnamon compote, blueberry blackberry compote, and sliced bananas. Brown sugar goes on top of all three. I'm sure you could get it without the brown sugar or without the fruit if you want to keep things simple. I was a little worried that "compote" would mean fruit jelly, but the apple pieces were distinct and had a good crunch. It was a little sweet on its own, but when I mixed it into the oatmeal, the flavor was much more subtle. The oatmeal itself was creamy without being too rich, and the oats were distinct, chewy, and not baby-food-like at all.

Was it perfect? No. Honestly, I don't swoon over steel-cut oats like some people. I'm all about chewy, but I think they're a little too pellet-like, and I prefer rolled oats. Just not the rolled oats that I find in restaurants.

(I tried to capture some steel-cut pellets, but spoon in one hand and camera in the other = blurry photo)

I don't have much to brag about when it comes to cooking, but I do think I've found my own perfect oatmeal. It begins with Bob's Red Mill Thick Rolled Oats. The key word is "thick," much thicker than your standard Quaker Oats variety. I heat it on the stove with skim milk and a dash of salt until it bubbles, then I add cinnamon, frozen berries, and/or nuts and keep cooking, stirring until it pulls away from the bottom of the pan but still looks creamy. Lately, I've also been putting dried cherries or raisins in at the beginning, and they get really plump and juicy during the cooking process. When I'm eating out for breakfast or brunch, pass the pancakes please. But, any other morning, my homecooked oatmeal is simply perfect.

The Cultured Cupcake has launched! First review: Crumbs Bake Shop and Casino Royale. Stay tuned for another update soon!

Taim Falafel

A few weeks ago, my friend Dafna came to visit. Dafna is Israeli, and she has expert insider knowledge on all things related to the Motherland. That's why I took her to Taim. I wanted to know if it was really worth all the hype. Many say they have the best falafel in the city. We tried the falafel, and it was good, but it was the sabich that stole the show.

Sabich is big on the streets of Tel Aviv, apparently, but it's less common in the U.S. Basically, you've got your pita--at Taim, you can chose from whole wheat or white, both freshly baked--some fried eggplant, some tahini, some hummus, some salady stuff (carrots, beets?), and slices of hard boiled egg. The whole thing is topped with a pickled white sauce called amba.

So, was it good?

Sorry, I was busy stuffing my face.

If you know me, you know that I like foods that can be thrown together and eaten out of one bowl. Oatmeal with lots of toppings, for example. Brown rice topped with black beans topped with guacamole and salsa. Salads, especially at the millions of design-your-own salad bars that populate this city. There's nothing I hate more than fussy salads. Give me the blue cheese with the cucumbers and the cranberries and the walnuts and throw in some pesto chicken while you're at it. So I loved this sabich because it took some of my favorite things (hummus, veggies, eggplant, eggs) and smooshed them together in a gooey mess. And the amba on top was divine. It wasn't too thick, but it was nicely tangy with just a hint of sweet.

Taim is the Hebrew word for delicious, Dafna confirmed. She also confirmed the deliciousness of our sabich. Thanks for the help, Daf.

Note: You can read more from Dafna at her blog about being unemployed. It's called Sucky Jobs, and it will make you laugh.