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Food Trekking Manhattan
With the sun brightening The Big Apple on a clear October day, my food buddies,
Dorothy and Karl, and I decided to skip the subway and flag a taxi instead. Why
not enjoy the sunny day as we traveled the first leg of our trek - Grand Central Station to
Sammy’s Roumanian Steak House in the lower east side. Dorothy - a true New Yorker
of third generation, Karl - a Korean guy transplanted from Texas, and me - a California
valley dude living in Chula Vista, set out on our traditional “got one day together in New
York, how many food experiences can we fit in” tour.
We arrived at lunch time to Sammy’s, the iconic institution of Eastern European
Jewish cooking whose exterior poses as a worn down joint you would never dream to
step into. We entered. The walls were covered with snapshots of famous celebrity
regulars, but I wasn’t so sure we had started off on the right foot. Party decorations
left over from the evening before wearily dangled from the ceiling and the waiter, although
a charming thirty year veteran of the place, looked like he just rolled out of bed. But
when he gracefully informed us we were in a steak house then discertained the entire
menu, things started to warm up.
Each of us was thrilled by something different at Sammy's. For Dorothy it was the
communal spritzer of seltzer water placed on the table, just like the clean refreshing
spritzer-dispensed water of her childhood. For Karl it was the super garlicky super big
bone-in rib steak which the waiter pushed as Mathew Broderick’s favorite. For me it was
the shaved black radish and extremely caramelized onion salad tossed tableside with
melted chicken fat (schmaltz). My grandmother is a Romanian Jew, but she has never
made me that one. Luckily the mood was too good to start feeling deprived. We rounded
out the experience with stuffed cabbage - one large green leaf wrapped around a filling of
beef and rice, the whole thing steeped in tomato sauce, and karnatzlack - a hand-formed
skinless sausage laden with garlic and seared to a very dark brown to further develop it's
already rich flavor. The only disappointment at Sammy’s was the side dish of latkes that
were leaden and pasty. But in exchange for the rest of the experience we definitely forgave
them.
Being the type of people who adore the aroma of yeast breads baking on a crisp autumn
day, we next stopped at Kossar’s, the last bialy factory standing in Manhattan.
Conveniently located down the street from Sammy’s, Kossar’s bialy shop pumps out
holeless bagels daily in two flavors, onion and garlic. Feeling quite overindulged in
alliums (the onion family) we asked if perhaps they had a plain version. “Yes”, was the
reply. “Plain with onions or plain with garlic”. This is truly New York. For whatever
culinary sadism we opted for the garlic, but, in the name of pacing, just one to split three
ways - for the trek had just begun. The bialy was very good. Not the highlight of the
day, but very good. Certainly some lox and cream cheese would’ve made the experience
more memorable, but we had other plans. The doughnut shop next door was calling.
Neighboring Kossar’s is The Doughnut Plant - a small artisanal doughnut shop. Pear
doughnuts, the specialty of the house, were our intention, but they had already sold out.
The pistachio doughnuts looked heavenly, but one of us is allergic to nuts. So we went
for the vanilla doughnut. The bread-like interior, crossed somewhere between a chewy
croissant and brioche, was lightly topped with a sweet vanilla glaze. Dorothy didn’t care
for the texture, prefering a more orthodox doughnut style (another victim of the Krispy
Kreme occult), but Karl and I were fans.
Okay, three places down and time to get serious - pickle time. Pickling is a preservation
technique that the Jews of Eastern Europe were quite fond of. So when they started
settling in the lower east side of Manhattan around the turn of the century, they brought
their pickling traditions with them. The Pickle Guys on Essex street is an offspin of
Guss’s Pickles, a still thriving business which started as a pickle pushcart in the 1890’s.
Both places have similiar selection and quality, but we opted for The Pickle Guys where
the pickles are produced on-site. About a dozen over-sized open red barrels reveal
contents that range from cucumber pickles to pickled olives, chiles, peppers, tomatoes
and celery. We waited patiently while one lady coerced the attendant to carefully pick
out the smallest of the half-sours. “Half-sours,” she explained “because they are brined
for a shorter amount of time, therefore crispier.” I thanked her for the lesson and asked
for some half-sours, but only because the name sounded cool. But the fellow behind us, in
true New York fashion, encouraged me to “be a man” and go for the full sours. Heeding
his advice, we got a half quart of full sours and left all the other interesting looking items
for “next time”.
We decided to walk off the first leg of our trek before indulging in the briny preserved
cukes. And what better way to walk than over the Brooklyn bridge. Karl dreamt up the
neat idea that our next ritual would be eating our pickles when we reached the half-way
point. Dorothy stared him down a bit while I agreed. But to get to the bridge we
would first have to pass through China town, and who knew if we could make it through
epicureously unscathed.
Discipline must have set in because we were only lured into one China town candy
shop. Drawn by samples of every type of sour plum confection you can think of and
in search of haw berry candies, which Dorothy ached to introduce me to, it was an uncalculated
but fruitful stop. Energized by haw berries and handfuls of sour plums, which we nicknamed
Asian trail mix, we put our blinders on and bee-lined for the bridge. Next stop.....Brooklyn.
A couple of tips on walking across the Brooklyn bridge.......One, if you’re a tourist like
me, don’t meander aimlessly into the bike lane unless you enjoy being barked at in New York
accents by locals whizzing by. Two, if you’re accompanied by a Korean guy
from Texas carrying a half-quart of full-sour pickles, be prepared to dine when you reach
the halfway point. The pickles were delicious. A fine balance between salty and sour
and somewhat softened by the longer brining process of full-sours.
Our foot path continued down the bridge and over to the trendy part of Brooklyn’s Smith
street where we ducked into a tea shop as the sun went down. I disappointed myself by
ordering a chamomile tea. This trek is supposed to be about new experiences. Well, lady
luck must have been hanging out on our side of the bridge. The tea turned out to be a
beautiful local blend of chamomile and orange blossoms. Softly complex with a creamy
orange scent faintly reminiscent of a creamsicle, the tea was an experience indeed. But
Karl is not the type of person to loiter around a tea shop in the middle of a food trek, so
he led us down to the next block and into Mancora Restaurant, a Peruvian place where
we would order appetizers and I would introduce my friends to Pisco sours and puffed corn.
Peru’s version of a margarita, pisco sours are made correctly here - Pisco (Peruvian
grape brandy) and lime juice are blended with egg white to add a nice froth. For the
regular menu price, your sour will be made with lesser quality Chilean pisco, but for
a buck and a half supplement you get the nice Peruvian stuff. Hmmm? I thought
hoakie scams like that didn’t fly with the restaurant-saavy New York crowd. But
anyway, we ordered the good stuff, of course. After a round of Pisco sours, fried
plantains, and puffed corn kernels that can only be described as addictive duck food, we
shared a trio of appetizers. Papas a la huancaina, boiled potato slices smothered in
cheese sauce, were excellent. The pork tamale, beautifully presented in a dried corn
husk was favored by Dorothy and Karl. And the ceviche, of which Peru is famous, was a
mix of halibut, clams, mussels and squid marinated in fresh lime juice and tossed with
slices of fresh corn. The crisp texture of the corn contrasted the soft citrusy seafood
nicely.
Still bothered by the teasing sights and smells of China town, and motivated by the
revelation that I had never eaten a Shanghai soup dumpling, we taxi’d back over the
bridge to a bustling street where stood Yeah Shanghai Deluxe. No menus were needed.
The mission was clear. Two types of soup dumplings and a plate of bok choy braised in
none other than garlic sauce were summoned by Karl upon our arrival. Now, Karl is all
about the ritual of eating. He observed my technique carefully to make sure I partook of
the dumplings in the proper manner. Take a spoon, either empty or with a bit of vinegary
soy sauce in it. Grab a dumpling with your chopsticks and transfer it to the spoon. Bite a
small hole near the top of the dumpling, allowing some of the liquidy broth contents to spill
into the spoon. Sip the spilled broth from the spoon before sucking the rest out of the
dumpling through the hole. Finally, devour the lifeless but flavorful dumpling carcass.
Karl ordered two types of dumplings - pork and pork with crab. He wanted to see if I could
identify a difference between the two. Much to his prediction, I couldn’t.
So what is a group of culinary trekkers to do after consuming a full Romanian Jewish
lunch followed by bialy, a doughnut, full-sour pickles, haw berry and plum candies, tea,
pisco sours, tamales, ceviche, papas a la huancaina, two types of soup dumplings and
braised bok choy? The answer was almost automatic - go for ice cream.
While Karl approaches food from a ritualistic point of view, Dorothy is all about the
texture. She had previously fallen in love with the ice cream service at the Australian Ice
Cream shop on Saint Mark’s Place in the East village. The flavor selection is rather
traditional but the ice cream is scooped at just the right melting-point temperature where
frozen becomes liquid at the touch of a tongue. The shop boasts a policy of all natural
ingredients with no preservatives or artificial colors. I wasn’t sure how my mint and chip
got to be green, but I decided to wonder alone instead of challenging the staff.
As far as my friendship with Dorothy and Karl, food has played a big role in bringing us
together and keeping us together. It is our common bond. Not just the food itself but the
social aspects of dining together - sharing, ritualizing, opinionizing, teaching, discovering
and at times debating. Food turns into our main focus once every couple of years or
whenever we end up with a free day in New York.
For Jewish Cuisine:
Sammy's Roumanian Steakhouse
157 Chrystie St. (b/w Delancey and Rivington)
New York, NY 10002
212.673.0330
For Bialy’s:
Kossar's Bialys
367 Grand St. (@ Essex St.)
New York, NY 10002
212.473.4810
For Specialty Doughnuts:
The Doughnut Plant
379 Grand St. (@ Norfolk St.)
New York, NY 10002
212.505.3700
For Pickles:
The Pickle Guys
49 Essex St. (b/w Grand St. and Hester St.)
New York, NY 10002
212.656.9739
For Tea:
NY Perks, LLC
193 Smith St.
Brooklyn NY 11201
718-237-2901
www.nyperks.com
For Peruvian cuisine:
Mancora
176 Smith St. (@ Cobble Hill)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
718.643.2629
For Soup Dumplings:
Yeah Shanghai Deluxe
65 Bayard St. (at Mott St.)
New York, NY, 10013
212-566-4884
For Ice Cream:
Australian Homemade
115 Saint Mark’s Place (between 1st Ave. and Ave. A)
New York, NY 10009
212-228-5439
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Sammy's From The Street
Inside Sammy's
Sammy's Roasted Pickled Peppers
The Pickle Guys Selection
Brooklyn Bridge
Papas A La Huancaina
Ceviche From La Mancora
Yeah Shanghai Deluxe's Soup Dumplings
Baby Bok Choy in Garlic Sauce
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