Posts from the ‘Queens’ Category

May 22

Xtasis

Hot dogs, whether simple or overstuffed, mystery meat or all beef, make me queasy. Even so, I’m fascinated by what Colombians do to fast food staples. On a recent accidental foray onto Northern Boulevard I noticed that Mazorca had closed and that Xtasis had expanded from a rinky-dink storefront into a glowing, acid pink eatery triple the size.

They do a similar thing as La Perrada de Chalo but actually have fewer choices. Where Perrada goes wild with random styles like the Iraqui and Mexicana, Xtasis offers a handful of choices including Hawaiiana (ham, crushed potato chips, pineapple sauce, white cheese), something translated Super Cowboy and the Super Xtasis with hard boiled egg, bacon, thousand island dressing, avocado, chips and I’m not even sure what else. I love all edibles Hawaiian so that was it for me.

But on a burger, which are equally popular as the massive perros mixtos. I’ll admit that it’s not the best burger ever. The flavors aren’t terribly cohesive, the meat is barely perceptible in the condiment strata and it’s next to impossible to fit in your mouth. Normally, I like a toasted bun but in this presentation it induces crumbling. But it is fun, assuming gut bombing is your idea of a good time.

One peculiarity is that beef burgers are not only offered but chicken too. Oh, and that they have two sinks sitting prominently in the dining area (vaguely discernable in photo on the left). It's not like there isn't a bathroom sink, so are they implying that the food is so messy that extra wash stations are warranted?

You can also try snacky things that tend to involve wieners, eggs and yuca. If it hadn’t been so chilly and stormy, I might’ve tried a cholado, shaved ice and fruit concoctions that sometimes get drizzled with condensed milk. They seem nearly Asian but not as wacky as halo-halo.

Xtasis * 82-12 Northern Blvd., Jackson Heights, NY

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May 7

Boca Juniors

1/2 Ok, I thought the scantily clad waitresses/tiki bar combo at Listo el Pollo was surreal but Boca Juniors is downright nutty. I’ve driven (well, been the passenger) past this color crayon bright corner a million times on the way to Target, and only recently did I get the urge to pay a visit.

You know with Argentine (or Argentinean—both are correct and it drives me crazy that there’s no definitive term) restaurants that you’re going to be eating meat and lots of it. With that in mind, you have to be in the mood and I’m only up for a serious parrillada maybe every couple months. My last foray was Buenos Aires in the East Village back when it was icy out. Now it’s warm enough for a new South American carnivorous adventure.

Well, it turned out the food, while surprisingly good, is hardly the focal point. It helps if you know that Boca Juniors are a wildly popular Argentine soccer team and that this is essentially a theme steakhouse. They’ve taken the team’s blue and yellow color scheme to new levels and every square inch of the restaurant including the plates, napkins, walls, carpets as well as the waitstaffs’ shiny track suits. I was most impressed by the mulleted visage, which I’m guessing belongs to a prominent player (I don’t even know my Mets and Yankees so recognition was futile) etched into the windows.

We felt we needed to squeeze some vegetables into our meal so we went with potatoes and eggplant, laced with mayonnaise and olive oil respectively. Healthy. Berenjena y ensalada rusa, to be precise. The Italian influence I’m aware of, the Russian bit not so much though “Russian salads” seem to make an appearance in widely diverse cuisine.

I’m the only one who’ll eat blood sausage and strangely, I’m not fond of regular pork sausage. So, both dark tubes are mine and James gets the other two. I couldn’t even finish a whole one, though. You don’t always get intestines so that was a chewy surprise. After eating a couple of those, a few bites of sweetbreads and the strip of steak, I was done in. Just a steak would’ve been fine but I like picking at the odd bits, just not enough to order an entire plate of them. I made a slightly overpowering chimichurri the following night to eat the leftovers with. I was trying to be light-handed with the olive oil but the garlic does need tempering.

I didn’t realize the panqueque would be crepes, despite the word pancake implying as much. The layer cake from San Antonio Bakery (I know, Chilean not Argentine) is called pancake and filled with dulce de leche and that’s what I was thinking of. But the crepes were pretty amazing because they were also sprinkled with granulated sugar and broiled, creating a crispy crème brule style effect.

We were about to leave when the lights dimmed and most employees began gathering in the back near the bar with enormous blue and yellow umbrellas. I was like oh, it must be a birthday. Then the giant blue and yellow umbrellas came out. WTF? Staccato music was flipped on that could only be described as a fight song. With the exception of one diner who looked angry and disgusted by the disruption, many were clapping or waving napkins. Umbrella twirlers began parading between the tables, half-size soccer balls were given to kids. For pointless noise and excitement (yet, sadly no ice cream—though they did have a dessert called Don Pedro, which I think was something icy topped with brandy) it certainly beats Farrell’s. Plus, you can’t eat intestines at Farrell’s.

Boca Juniors * 8108 Queens Blvd., Elmhurst, NY

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Apr 25

Taqueria Coatzingo

This is one of those unassuming places that I thought for sure I’d mentioned before, so I’d just rattle off a mini update. It looks like I’ve never said a peep about Coatzingo, though. Allow me a few words.

Many say the specials are the way to go. I believe that but could only snack because I knew I’d have to eat dinner in the Bronx in a few hours (Joe’s Place, for which photos only will have to suffice). My between meal time would only last as long as I could kill time at the Riverdale Target (which I was imagining could be no worse than the most busted in the universe downtown Brooklyn location—it was about on par and possibly worse, all the large sizes were gone because 85% of the shoppers were also XL and beyond. I did get asked my advice on a high school graduation dress, which was cute but seemed a little casual for such a ceremony, then I remembered that I’d worn knee-high motorcycle boots to mine because I thought I was badass, so cheerily agreed, “yes, that would be a great graduation dress.”)

I did write down a few specials listed on the clear plastic encased stands on each table (actually, not our table, which didn’t seem intentional. Not to over personalize everything, but very frequently I also seem to get the only table that’s either missing a candle or has one that’s burned down to a nub). They’re not in English like the regular menu and a few stumped me. Pansa blanca and pansa negra, I think are like blood pudding. Huazontles, I had no idea, but it seems that they are a wild green similar to broccoli. I understood mushroom quesadillas and tripe tacos (which I ordered without realizing they were a special). There were about five other dishes to pick from.

I always order three tacos when I really only need two. I went right to left, and luckily, the first, tripa, was best. My hunger had waned by the time I got to the poor al pastor and it didn’t get my full attention (though, of course I ate the whole thing because I hate wasting food even if it’s $2 food that I get reimbursed for). I’ve never had a tripe taco, not because I’m grossed out but because I figured it would be boiled and boring. It wasn’t. Honestly, I’m not sure how it was prepared but the strips were meaty, gelatinous and crisp. Lots of variety in a little package. I normally like carnitas the most, for the same qualities I found in the tripe. Their rendition was as good as any.

If you're wondering what that tangle of lettuce, salsa verde, cream and carne asada is, it's a huarache, like the shoe but not. Capezios, jellies, pointy flats (god forbid, Docs) are all back or coming back, so why not the huarache?

All was fine until two “Stellas” (named for a neighbor who’s incredibly demanding, frequently wronged, disproportionately assertive) came in and made a fuss about wanting taco salad. The waitress did speak English so it wasn’t a language barrier causing confusion, though the women seemed to think that was the case. Despite our big mess of a melting pot, cultural sensitivity isn’t one NYC’s strengths. And I swear I heard some snippet about, “you don’t have to discriminate against us.” Wha? How is not having a taco salad on a menu offending anyone?

While in Hong Kong I ate at a former speakeasy Sichuan restaurant Da Ping Huo. You needed reservations, it was mildly sequestered, omakase-style ordering, and intimate (we were actually the only two diners the entire evening). While we were dining this large British family walked in off the streets and threw a fit because there weren’t any menus. It started getting very uncomfortable as they began harassing the waiter like they’d never heard of something so absurd as a restaurant without a list of dishes and prices. Finally, they left in a huff. I felt bad for the staff because they barely spoke English and then they felt bad and began apologizing to us for having to witness the situation. Sheesh, you’re the one who is ignorant so why are you making everyone around you feel like shit?

Anyway, I didn’t leave Coatzingo feeling like shit. Perhaps, just a little full. I also must note that they must be doing good business. Sure, it was filled to capacity our entire meal, but the mark of making it is their new-to-me glossy, technicolor take out menu. Thankfully, they kept the mustachioed corn ear with a sombrero logo. I like to imagine that if he had a catchy name like he should it would be Maizstro (pronounced like maestro). Anthropomorphic pitchmen aren’t so in anymore, maybe he could start a revival.

Taqueria Coatzingo * 76-05 Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights, NY

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Apr 20

Listo el Pollo

1/2 I would be talking out of my ass if I called Listo el Pollo the Colombian Hooters because I’ve never been to a Hooters. But I’d like to imagine that this Jackson Heights oddity is better than a Hooters. They’ve mastered out the ok food, made better than ok by young waitresses in skimpy attire approach. That might’ve been enough in its own right, but the restaurant also appears to be a former tiki lounge that was lightly, if at all, redecorated to reflect the Latin American cuisine.

I suppose it’s possible that bamboo, coconuts carved into monkey faces, palm trees and Sex on the Beach drinks (I was confused by a cocktail simply called Alexander—that’s like vodka and tomato juice being dubbed Mary) could be found in Colombia. On the other hand, there’s nothing Polynesian about the white, ruffly grandma curtains that make each booth feel like a private paradise. That must be the Colombian touch.

Really, the ladies’ costumes are more campy than sexy, sort of a pirate/dirndl hybrid (I witnessed something similar in Hua Hin, which I didn’t realize was a German expat stronghold and lots of the restaurants served muesli and sausages and had Thai waitresses gussied up in dirndls) composed of a short skirt and corseted top. I’m not one to be bold with photo taking so my only evidence is a stealth shot with a server in the background. Sure, there were some groups of guys there for the ogling but mostly the clientele is composed of families and couples.

In my limited but rapidly expanding Colombian food experience it seems that they truly are the masters of the large combo plate. I stuck with the roasted chicken and ordered a half when ¼ would’ve been sufficient. For $6 and change it was a bargain, coming with white rice, fat pink beans dotted with pork, and a boiled red potato (I was hoping for something starchy and fried) and a tough nugget of an arepa.

James got the whole bandeja shebang with steak, chicken, pork, yuca fries, plaintain, arepa. Maybe more, I can’t remember. We also got a little white pitcher of herbier than spicy salsa and salads with a selection of Kraft dressing packets. At least we had a choice between Italian, French and Ranch–at Honduras Maya we just got a plastic bottle of Kraft Italian, no options.

We also ordered Coronas, which came preparado, a new concept to me where they’re served in salt-rimmed glasses over ice with a slice of lime. It was no Alexander, but it sufficed.

Atmosphere can be half the battle with many restaurants, a poor one will piss me off for life even if the food is superior, while a fun one will elevate an otherwise ordinary meal. Listo el Pollo put me in an unexpectedly good mood for which I have to give them high marks. Plus, my inexpensive dinner provided me with lunch the following day.

Listo el Pollo * 8602 37th Ave., Jackson Heights, NY

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Apr 14

East Buffet

I can’t say East Buffet without thinking Eve’s Buffet. That will likely only mean anything to Portland, Oregon old-timers, skuzzy pre-90’s folks, not the current uber-indie inhabitants. Before there was Meyer Café (which could be defunct now for all I know) there was Eve’s, a dowdy little coffee shop inside Fred Meyer (the best NW grocery store ever).

Unsurprisingly, the word east also brings up Easter, which might be why I’ve been twice on that non-essential holiday (as well as on my thirtieth birthday, which was totally essential). Last year I cooked a fresh ham. This year I was burnt out; persistent eating enabled by strangers seemed the thing to do.

I had been holding off on E.B. because it’s the kind of place my mom would love, not in an ironic way, and she’s visiting in June (my mom’s been to NYC twice in the nine years I’ve lived here and I’ve gone home as many times. I don’t think that’s weird but practically everyone I know sees their parents multiple times annually). She took me to her local Chinese Buffet, Treasure Island, which was fine by Beaverton standards, but it’s no Flushing. Really, what does it matter if I go again a few months?

At 5pm on Sunday (opening hour for dinner) the vast rooms weren’t even close to crowded. They were only using one half of the restaurant. Saturdays can be a mob scene and you often get caught in the middle of wedding parties and events. I don’t mind mayhem but pile ups occur when a fresh item is brought from the kitchen. Crab legs in particular, bring out the glutton in people. I don’t think they’re worth the effort (especially if E.B. decided to start enforcing their 1 ½ hour dining maximum rule) but they seem to be the unanimous favorite. Every table had more than one plate piled high with the orange, spindly appendages. They used to serve hacked up lobster tails in a brown garlic sauce and making it to the tray before it was decimated was worse than a rush hour not letting people off the subway before shoving on scene. I’m sure cost, not a call to manners led to the crustaceans’ removal, though.

James decided that we’d need to eat five plates of food to bring the cost per plate down to a reasonable level ($27 per person). That was pretty ambitious. By my third plate, I was kind of done in but a fourth had to be forced to get a dessert course. To say that there is a lot of food is an understatement. Even with four plates, I probably only sampled 10% of what was on offer.

Two stand alone stations are devoted to warm food. There’s one for cold, which I enjoy, despite ignoring the half filled with fruit, jello and dubious gelatinous treats, one which is black and jiggly that I’m guessing is grass jelly. The other half of this stall contains spicy, oily tendons, baby octopus, sliced organ meats, raw fish, seaweed salads and the like.

Behind the cold food is a sushi counter where you can pick and choose from a wide selection rolls and sashimi. I feel like this is a thing unto itself and usually abstain or just pick one or two items. I also never touch the soup or soft serve ice cream machine and try not to load up on noodles and definitely not rice.

Kind of the middle of the fray there is a carving display where peking duck is sliced on demand. In a double decadent whammy, there are also thick, meaty rectangles of roasted, crackly skinned pork. To the immediate left is a grilling area that turns out Korean ribs, skewers, scallion pancakes and other delights.

It’s strange how these photos make the plates look like they contain less food. They seemed much, much fuller at the time. Not to say that this is skimping.

I forgot about the no noodle/rice rule, so I only picked at the dull, slightly peppery noodles then got a little scared over the no wasting food or you’ll be charged rule. I picked up some random sliced cold meat, tendons and who knows what, wakame, shrimp, two little octopi and a battered fried sardine. I’m not sure what made the mini cephalopods bright red.

Seriously, this plate was a killer. I overdid it with meat, which can’t be discerned in that pile. Short ribs, roast pork, bbq pork, chicken, everything pretty fatty. As you can see there’s also a grilled eel nigiri, raw tuna slice, green beans, a fried bean curd blob with shrimp, that crazy dish of battered shrimp with walnuts and mayonnaise, and something white, translucent and topped with sesame seeds, kind of like konnyaku.

Peking duck was amazing but I should’ve gotten it earlier because I was feeling a little ill by the time I made my way to it and the pork wedges. New rule: rich food first. Forget about pacing. Like I said, sushi seems unnecessary but I couldn’t resist a couple pieces. I also picked up a few more tendons (I don’t know why I like cartilage so much) and a cereal covered prawn.

No, Asian desserts aren’t the big draw but I couldn’t leave empty handed. Clockwise from the lavender cup: taro pudding, caramel colored layer cake I thought would be peanut butter but was mocha, lotus seed pastry, a greasy mochi type ball that only attracted me because it was weirdly green and a cheesecake-ish square.

Now, I’ll have to fast the next few months to build up my stamina for another East Buffet excursion in June. Ok, fasting is not in my vocabulary. How about I just vow not to set foot in any all-you-can-eat joints for two months. (4/8/07)

This seemed like a good spot for a celebration. Apparently, two wedding parties thought the same thing. This was my most surreal visit to date, which might be appropriate for a 30th birthday. We were seated in a room next to a wedding party with bad '50s medleys, top 40 techno and glow sticks. In order to get to the food, we had to walk through their festivities. Not that I'm complaining, we got a show with our buffet. Well worth the Saturday night wait and $25. (7/27/02)

I don't even know where to begin with this one. If heaven were a giant all-you-can-eat restaurant, it would be patterned after East Buffet. From the sheer size (two floors), neon sparklers atop the building, and hostesses with walkie talkies, you know you're in for something larger than life.

I happened to go on Easter, but there's no need to wait for a special occasion to gorge yourself silly Chinese-style (I wonder if they actually have all-you-can-eat in China). Stations are brimming with items from accepted to the novel. One contained fruit, salads, and more jiggly gelatin-based items than a church picnic. There was also a sushi bar, a meat carving area with Peking duck and lamb with mint jelly (that I'm guessing was only there for Easter), and a tour of Asia's greatest hits space that confused me with satay, scallion pancakes, Korean bbq, tempura and live shrimp in tanks–were they supposed to cook them on demand? I was also baffled by the little shell balls that people piled on plates, sucked on and spit out. Snails, I'm guessing? One section had spicy shrimp and lobster tails that people were literally fighting for, yet in the same environs were odd old-school American treats like lobster thermidor. There was also an impressive dessert counter heavy on the colorful, coconut-laden, and ricey goodies.

Highlights included various dim sum, crab legs, that scary dish with prawns, walnut and mayonnaise that tastes really good even though it creeps me out, and sushi (I never knew it could be so filling–I suppose a giant plate of anything will use up stomach space). I ate so much I didn't even have room for any of the soups, congees, or Peking duck. My only letdown was their lack of turnip cakes, which I had expected to be there. But I was appeased a bit by their half-off bubble tea special.

Take note of intimidating handwritten list of rules in the lobby with a bit about time limits and getting a 20% charge for wasting food. What does that mean, wasting food? Who would do such a thing? I smuggled out a sesame ball and feared the worst, but sometimes you've got to take risks. (4/15/01)

East Buffet * 42-07 Main St., Flushing, NY

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Feb 24

Chao Thai

Read my Nymag.com review.

Phew, I was finally able to squeeze in some non-Latin food (I was getting a little plaintained-out). Thai is my go-to happy cuisine (I really want to delve into Korean food because what I know of it I like but I just can’t figure out where to jump in. I need to find a place that wouldn’t be intimidating to newcomers but goes beyond basic kalbi and bibimbob) but there was no way I was going to attempt Sripraphai on a Friday night. I’d only been once before but recalled tiny Chao Thai having serious potential.
There was an empty table amongst the five or so on offer (unfortunately, it was closest to the frequently opened front door. Even though they had a space heater whirring, by the end of our meal we were practically frost bitten from our knees down) so it started well. It didn’t kill me but I was freaked out the vanilla scented Glade candle sitting in front of me, next to the napkin dispenser. James loves those artificial smelly things so I kept sticking it on his side of the table and he’d torment me my putting it back in its original spot. I find air fresheners to be headache-inducing, I’d much rather smell fried fish, cigarette smoke, wet dogs (ok, maybe not the canines) and the like. Luckily, this was low on the offensive scale. If it were one of those Thomas Kinkade monstrosities (two of which reside in my home), I might’ve lost my shit.
I was immediately agog over a dish on the specials list called Three Buddies Crispy Salad. They already had me at crispy because I can’t resist that fatty style of pork coming from any ethnicity. But buddies? That was the cutest thing I’d ever heard. I’m not sure what the three edible pals were exactly. The pig and the fish were the only two living components—could they be buddies with vegetables? The ingredients were fish maw, crispy pork, cashews, red onions and kind of Chinesey scallions and celery leaves. There weren’t expected herbs like mint of cilantro, though the dressing was explosively Thai with roughly chopped orange, green and red bird chiles peeping out from the pile of mysterious buddies.
A basil chile duck we ordered was also very Chinese in flavor, with a prominent star anise perfume. We had pad prik king with chicken (I got irked over James ordering a second poultry dish, but the other two items were my doing so I had to relent control, plus it was good).
It’s easy to forget about Chao Thai, and if you’re on that stretch of Whitney Avenue you might be tempted to try one of the two Indonesian restaurants across the street instead. But it’s worth a stop. The food is way better than typical Ameri-Thai, very close to Sripraphai’s caliber with a lot of different dishes. I gave it 2 1/2 shovels last time and I'm nearly inclined to bump that to 3 (if you haven't already noticed, my shovels tend to be fairly arbitrary). My only complaint would be no dessert case. Just like last time I picked up some galub jamun from Bappy Sweets up the street. Buddies and Bappy are a great combo. (2/23/07)

Feb 13

Tierras Colombianas

I’m not sure what it is with Colombians and excess (maybe it has more to do with my ordering style). Over the summer I became acquainted with potato chip, avocado, mayo, ham, bacon and tomato topped perros calientes. This weekend I met the bandeja campesina, an overflowing country plate. It makes me wonder whether a city platter would be heartier or more delicate.

I immediately liked Tierras Colombianas. The spacious all-booths set up and self-promoting paper placemats make me happy like a Latin Denny’s. Red foil paper and hearts were festively bedecking random surfaces. I particularly liked the cut out heart tucked beneath the wall art golden god like he’d crapped it out (ok, maybe he was just sitting on it). Romantic.

We ordered an arepa and chorizo appetizer despite anticipating massive entrees. Colombian arepas are smaller, paler and chewier than better-known Venezuelan versions. They don’t immediately give when cut with the side of a fork. The chorizo was tangy, green-speckled and herby and bursting with cumin. We ordered it to try a few bites, knowing it would likely end up in a doggie bag.

James’s bistec empanizado, breaded beef cutlet, which also appeared on at least half of other diners’ plates, was practically the size of a deflated football. But I got the whammy. There was nothing bucolic about the long crispy-fat strip of chicharron, thin grilled steak, maduros, white rice, soupy yellow-tinged beans, a third of an avocado, arepa and fried egg crowning the whole beautiful mess. A spoonful of genuinely spicy green salsa completed the picture.

Sure, the country plate is a couple meals in one, and that’s how I treated it. I skipped breakfast and made a late lunch and 1 am dinner out of it. Never mind that an ice cream sundae snuck in between those two feedings.

Tierras Colombianas * 8218 Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights, NY

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Feb 10

Eddie’s Sweet Shop

After naively purchasing a silky teal-and-white Proenza Schouler for Target dress and thinking it would fit (I barely met the junior sizing restrictions when I was of appropriate age), it was already evening in Elmhurst. We’d already eaten a lunch that would suffice for dinner so we needed a non-edible distraction and decided on finding a movie. (In ‘94 a friend and I determined that a great punishment for a bet loser would be having to watch Nell on the big screen alone [out of curiosity, we ended up seeing it in the theater together and while non-good it didn’t live up to our punishing preconceptions]. Norbit strikes me as the modern version of this torture. But who am I to haughtily judge the black man dressing as obese black woman genre? I am fascinated how a lady so large as Rasputia has no cellulite. The more I think about it, the more I need to see Norbit—maybe on Valentine’s Day. I don’t have any plans for Feb. 14 proper.)

Neither of us had seen The Departed (which was intentional in my case) and it was still lingering at the moderately artsy/cheap theater in Forest Hills. I couldn’t picture where it was but as we started heading up Metropolitan Avenue I realized where we were and instantly remembered that Eddie’s Sweet Shop is right across the street from the movies. And miraculously there was an open parking spot on the corner, putting us spitting distance from both establishments.

We had 45 minutes until the 8:15 pm show time and I figured anyone who would’ve wanted to see this movie had already seen it so no stress on snagging seats (I was wrong, the theater was quite full. We were also easily the two youngest viewers in the audience. And for the record, old people are just barely less vocal and distracting than the rowdy teens who dominate the Court Street multiplex near me). We totally had enough time to split a sundae.

Eddie’s hadn’t changed a bit since my first and most recent visit nearly six and a half years ago (reminders of the swift passing of time completely freak me out). It was still manned by wholesome looking teens, old-timey and trinket-filled. The number of soda fountains with counter stools and spindly curlicue chairs is rapidly dwindling. Modernly garish Coldstone Creamery has more appeal, I guess. They don't burst into song at Eddie's, though they do play an '80s radio station. I honestly don't know which is more wrong.

I find it hard to slow down and enjoy things properly so I struggled to savor my surroundings and scoops of ice cream. Surprisingly, it was James that said, “I don’t think I’m appreciating this,” which was an odd observation. I tried to concentrate and take in our shared creamy butter pecan, coffee chip and overflowing hot fudge before it melted. It’s funny that my initial inclination was to order a butter pecan and butterscotch sundae since apparently that’s what I ordered on my last visit (see, this blog is good for something, after all). The perfect accompaniment was a short glass of water. I didn’t even have to ask, the young waitress offered, “I like water with hot fudge.” True, ice water and hot fudge is a great combo.

It’s frightening to think that my next Eddie’s visit could be in another six and a half years (I’ll be freshly forty…jesus christ). Though since the next NYC Trader Joe’s is bizarrely planned for a spot just a few blocks away, I’ll likely be back before 2013. (2/10/07)

Feb 2

Malagueta

I was semi-secretly relived that when I arrived in Astoria around 8pm, the restaurant had run out of the Saturday-only feijoada. I felt a little bad because I’ve never tried the Brazilian national dish and not many places in NYC do it, instead they frequently opt for the rodizio-style parade of skewered meat until you’re ill approach (which reminds me of what I think was my second Valentine’s Day celebration with James when he took me to Churrascaria Plataforma, which seems more wrong now than it did at the time. I’ve grown picky with age—I used to be thrilled to be taken out anywhere. Valentine’s days never end up being terribly romantic, at least in my world, but all-you-can-eat grilled beef certainly doesn’t help matters). I’d eaten Argentine parillada the evening before and had used leftover skirt steak and sausage enhanced with an egg and potatoes for breakfast (eating light is a tough concept for me) so I was meated-out for the rest of the weekend.

At Malagueta, a warmer, cozier place than I’d expected, I tried the moqueca de camarao, a Bahian-style shrimp stew with palm oil, onions, peppers and coconut milk over rice. More Afro than Latino. I always thought dende was one of those sure to kill you fats but at least they were being authentic. Sometimes I hate it when restaurants use olive oil when it had no place in the cuisine. The dish was fairly light, slightly New Orleans-ish and thankfully free of grilled meat.

For an appetizer, I had fried cheese-rice balls with an orange dip that’s similar to what accompanies a Bloomin’ Onion. That’s a good thing but I felt a little guilty so I split them with James even though he had a green pea soup of his own. I’m not sure how Brazilian these fritters were, but Malagueta isn’t purist. They use the term continental to describe some of their cooking, but that phrase has such derogatory connotations. James’s pork loin with mashed potatoes and bacon vinaigrette wasn’t like bad hotel food.

Everyone around us was mad for the chocolate mousse, to the point where diners waiting for seats were saying, “I hope you save some chocolate mousse for us” to the waitresses. Strange. I’m not nuts for pudding-ish sweets, too soft in the mouth, no texture. But we got the mousse anyway and well, it tasted like rich chocolate. No complaints.

Malagueta * 25-35 36th Ave., Astoria, NY

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Jan 20

La Vuelta

I’ll admit to Long Island City dining ignorance. I don’t feel too bad because there’s not a whole lot of it to be informed about. I suspect that will change as condos continue popping up in the area and new residents bring higher standards.

But I recently started reviewing restaurants for Latina.com. (Hey, why not? I just hope it’s not a conflict to post my own takes here. I mean, these aren’t terribly useful and tend to be more about me than anything. What I’m paid to do is short, sweet and service oriented. Totally different beasts.) I need to represent diversity in neighborhood, culinary style and price range. It’s going to be tricky covering ten a month (that’s a lot of rice and beans, papi) because I’m accustomed to eating Asian (I know, that’s about as broad as Latin American) whenever possible and I started watching my damn points last week (yes, Weight Watchers. It’s laughable, I realize. But heck, if I even managed to shed a measly half-pound a week, that’ll be 26 gone by Christmas. I’m a turtle not a hare.) and lord knows I can’t turn down free food.

I get the sense that La Vuelta does a brisk lunch and happy hour business and is trying to expand their reach. They recently started opening on Saturdays and will add Sundays next month. When we arrived around 8:30pm on a Saturday there were only two other tables occupied. It’s not surprising since the block is less than bustling.

The food is all over the place (geographically, not haphazardly) with Argentinean skirt steak, cubanos, empanadas, nachos, and the like. We tried empanaditas, four tiny cheese filled pastries with salsa and two larger pork style crescents with bbq sauce. Not bad. James had said skirt steak, which came with mashed potatoes and chimmichurri. I went for grilled shrimp with coconut rice and a jalapeno-pineapple mojo (don’t tell anyone, but I’m not crazy about a lot of Western rice dishes. Biryani and nasi lemak: uh-huh. Paella and risotto: eh). They weren’t able to make the advertised pisco sours (no pisco) but caipirinhas and rioja sufficed.