Eating Manhattan

 

When we filed into Taj, a thoroughly unassuming little Curry Row eatery in the East Village, our goal was merely to fill up on curry and naan and maybe a mango lassi, if the price was right. But that’s the great thing about New York – given half a chance, it will definitely exceed your expectations.
We were a group of four and we had just embarked on a broke kids’ culinary tour of New York City, with Taj as our first stop. As we took our seats, we were greeted by not only the earthy aroma of curry and tandoori, but also the vibrant thrill of traditional Indian folk music. No piped-in Bollywood soundtracks here; Taj’s music came from a live duo, seated on cushions and playing instruments I didn’t know the names for.
And then there was Lena, our gracious host. A short, smiling woman, she could barely contain herself as we were settling up. “Lucy Liu!” she exclaimed. “Lucy Liu and Dexter are filming here, Thursday!” she rushed on, bursting with excitement.
“Lucy Liu will run through my kitchen. I get to yell at her, ‘Get out of my kitchen!’” She mimed shaking a spoon at the sprightly Liu.
We all smiled, caught up in her enthusiasm. Indian food and impending movie stars – we were off to a good start.

 The East Village was home to most of our gastronomic adventuring for a number of reasons. For one thing, it’s a mecca for broke artist-types, which keeps prices low. For another, you can get a taste of just about every cuisine on the planet, all within a 10-block radius: Vietnamese pho, with videos in charmingly fractured English telling you how to assemble and eat the DIY soup. Venezuelan arepas, which had a line out the door and around the corner every time we walked by – which was a lot.

 A French bistro brunch at Jules, the highlight of which was a perfectly strong, black, balanced cup of proper espresso. And the cute bassist in the live jazz combo didn’t hurt nothin’. Real. Japanese. Ramen. Complete with real ramen chefs who greet you enthusiastically in Japanese, real (crazy!) Japanese television playing in the background,
and most importantly real, slurpy, toothsome, flavor-packed bowls of pulled noodles. Drool.
But an on-the-cheap reckoning of New York’s international food scene wouldn’t be complete without a day over in Chinatown. A stop at the boldly named Excellent
Dumpling House, and The Chinatown Ice Cream Factory (double-scoop of black sesame for the win!) were good, but couldn’t compare to Joe’s Shanghai,
famed for their scallion pancakes and xiaolongbao – dumplings with soup on the inside!
Seated at Joe’s, we struggled to eat our baskets of bao – a tricky prospect involving several steps and an unreasonable number of utensils – and tried not to blatantly eavesdrop on the episode of Jersey Shore that sat across the Lazy Susan.
Metro ticket to Chinatown: $2.25. Bao and pancakes for 4: $20. Endless refills on roasted tea: um, free, probably. The chance to enjoy an authentic Chinese meal with a hilarious side helping of Jersey culture: priceless.

 

Kelly O’Brien, once Sun Times assistant editor, now lives and writes in Oregon, where she had a fire in the fireplace all day on the fourth of June. She misses Maho. Bad.