Little India in NYC

At the behest of, well, just about everyone, S and I finally made a trip to Jackson Heights to see what all the fuss was about. Verdict? Not much.

Sure, Patel Brothers is great. We got lots of spices and made aloo mattar last night, which we mopped up with some precooked aloo parathas, since I am categorically unable to get the hang of traditional breads. And there are lots of stores glistening with ostentatious jewels of all kinds, and there are curry-a-minute shacks a grotty as those found in the back lanes of Old Delhi, but for some reason, some how, it just doesn't ring true.

In Chicago, when I went to Devon, it felt like I was stepping back into the insane traffic of the subconty; it felt like an outpost of civilization in a otherwise upturned world. In New York? I spent hours gazing at the RED palak paneer (red? since when is spinach RED?!) waiting for the buffet-hungry consumer in its ubiquitous chafing plate, feeling outside, outside, always outside. I know that yes, I'm technically not Indian, and yes, maybe I should feel like an outsider, but ... I can't put my finger on it; something just felt wrong to me there.

Any suggestions? Places to go for a delicious, authentic slice of South Asia? Or am I just being fussy, projecting my suspicions that Little Italy is really a tourist's playground, onto other supposedly "ethnic" (a term I don't particularly want to employ here, but so be it) neighborhoods?

Salivating in anticipation

I love burritos, I love crepes, I love manicotti, so it's no surprise that I love another log-shaped delight, this one South Asian: puttu, a cylinder of steamed, compressed rice sprinkled with flakes of coconut and usually served alongside kadala, a spicy chickpea stew.

I've only had the dish in Kerala, but apparently, it's popular in Tamil Nadu and Sri Lanka -- or so holds The Village Voice, which tipped me off to a must-visit venue: Bownies, 143-05 45th Ave., in Flushing, Queens; they note, "Sri Lankan food in Queens at this luncheonette, serving the broding, spice-laced 'black curries' (pick lamb); mellow, coconut-laced fish curries (pick kingfish); and breads like appams (weekends only) and outsize rotis that make Ceylonese cooking delightfully unique."

... I think I know where I'm headed this weekend. Smell ya later, Colombian bakeries of Sunnyside! I need a little spice in my life!

NYT: Telling us things we should have known about a year ago

Only three months after the Indian embassy announced that the first consignment of mangoes exported from India to the U.S. was on its way, The New York Times is reporting the trend.

And they offer such enlightened reportage such as Nandu Patel's observation, "My customers are really happy." Patel is the manager of Patel Brothers, a grocery in Jackson Heights that is capitalizing on the desire for a taste of home by selling a box of 10 mangos for $30. (When I left Delhi, mangos were about Rs 60 [~$1.50] a pound.)

Brava, NYT. Good thing you waited three months to get the story right.

In other breaking news, Vice President Dick Cheney shot a man in the face.

Words can't express ...

... how hard I laughed when I saw this image in the latest issue of The Village Voice.

Mr Zoey adds:

Bhaaji aa ki?

Should I be enjoying this ironically?

The other day at work, someone started a long yarn about how she saw a restaurant the other day that served rice pudding. And only rice pudding.

I half thought she was joking (still getting accustomed, again, to the American brand of wry cynicism) until, when taking the inimitable husband on a whirlwind tour of the Lower East Side, we chanced upon Rice to Riches.

What I suppose are considered tongue-in-cheek flavors -- Sex Drugs and Rocky Road? Corner of Cookies & Cream? -- seem a bit pat. It's novel, yes, that the proprietors can support themselves by selling a product that frankly probably isn't that great by merely appealing to the fact that if you build it in a cool neighborhood, hipsters will come; at the same time, are we really so post-everything that people will pay $6 for a cup of pudding topped with fruit?

It's a hell of a town

That's right, I'm coming at you live from Sunnyside, Queens -- NYC at its finest. Not even a last-minute bout of gastroenteritis could keep me from my motherland, and now that I'm here? Pleased as a little pea.

But don't fret -- this blog won't die, it will simply be repositioned. Not only will I be trying to discover the city, I'll be exploring from a somewhat skewed perspective: I'm an insider in that I'm American and I've spent a bit of time in New York in the past (local vs. express trains? I'm all over it), but I'm an outsider in that living in India (not to mention marrying an Indian citizen) has shifted my perception of my identity.

For example, coming home from work yesterday on the 7, I was reminded of Delhi's notoriously crowded buses; unperturbed by squishing myself between a Hispanic woman and a coochie-cooing couple, my ears instantly pricked: I heard Hindi.

I turned to my left, and there were two men, holding hands (a custom which I imagine baffled some of my fellow travelers), discussing which station to get off at. I cocked my head toward them, considered interrupting, then remembered the power that passing under the radar can grant you sometimes -- so I smiled, turned away, and jumped off at my stop.

On the way home, I passed a Japanese/Nepalese restaurant.

I think I'll like it here just fine.

Picture is from Union Square, February 2006. Apologies for the crappiness.

NYC: No visa needed

That's right, upwardly mobile India: Why visit one of the world's greatest cities when you can live in it -- without even straying from the Mumbai-Nasik Highway?

Hindustan Buildwell Pvt. Ltd. assures us, "Plot purchased by many film/TV stars." Well, thank god for that -- I wouldn't want to share my living space with someone who hadn't appeared for an eight-second cameo in the item number of box-office bomb.

And can those five boroughs; this New York City includes a helipad, mini golf course, a "gymnasium equipped with the latest tools to keep you in shape," and an "entertainment club."
Frankly, this whole thing looks a lot more like someone's wet dream of a stripmall in small-town USA. I'm just saying, if anyone tried to get a hipster from Brooklyn to book a flat in this development, I think he'd run screaming and impale himself upon the razor-sharp edge of his acerbic wit.

(And, moreover, why do we have to build up this myth of America as the promised land? Most of my Indian friends and loved ones say that Americans have rather distorted views of what India is -- bride burnings, poverty, tie-dye -- but this certainly isn't an accurate depiction of a rather flawed land, either.)