Chicken and rice, 56th and 3rd - Theater District

It’s the stuff of legends. They said this Halal Cart was the best, and that all others didn’t compare. They said their chicken and rice was the best thing to happen to the drunchies since a Denny’s grand slam. They said the line wraps around the block at 4 am, but it’s worth it. There are over ONE THOUSAND reviews on Yelp. I even had a cousin tell me to “Go eat at Halal” the first time I came to New York years ago, much to my confusion, as I quickly realized there was no one place named as such, though I’m sure now that it was this particular cart they were referring to. It’s one of those things that either only the locals know about, or the tourists THINK only the locals know about, when tourists are trying to act like locals. (More likely the latter.) I’ve been hearing about it for years. How could I not partake?

I was a mixture of excited and apprehensive when Angel took us there. The thought of finally experiencing it was thrilling, and I was hungry, but I had my doubts about it living up to the hype. How could a tin container of griddle-cooked chicken and rice be THAT amazing?

We went at around 10 PM and stood in a line which, I was told, is nowhere near how long it can get. Still, it was a good 20 minutes until we reached food. It began to rain lightly, so instead of sitting on a bench, we took our containers - two for three people - right up next to an office building where we could be covered, and sat on the ground like hobos.

We dug in to our plate of mess - and it was an explosion of flavor. The chopped chicken meat was tasty, as was the rice. Smothering the whole thing was a white sauce that I can only describe as “magic” and a brown sauce that I can only describe as “love.” The hot sauce is like liquid fire, but added conservatively, takes this dish to a whole other level. It comes with a side of shredded lettuce - a refreshing buffer to the heavy grease and starch - and pita bread to sop up any stray flavor.

Suffice it to say that it lived up to the hype. And I wasn’t even drunk! Only deliriously happy from having just seen the phenomenal “In The Heights” on Broadway at lottery price. This concoction prolonged my euphoria for the evening. At $6.00 per heaping plate, what is normally a drunkard’s chow of choice was our perfect cheap alternative to an after theater dinner.

Now as far as it being THE best chicken and rice in the city, I once again lack the experience to comment. (I intend this to change over time :)) It is phenomenal what the power if hype can do. I am told that the cart on the same block is owned by the same people, and that they make food at both carts, then rush it over to the famous one. Which would mean people could avoid long lines and get the same food. But they’re too deluded by the hype to know better.

I will say that the only other chicken and rice I’ve had in the city, at a stand in Tribeca, was pretty delicious, and almost just as good. And there was no line. I’ll leave you with that food for thought.

Artichoke, East Village

We had been on a mission up until this point. A mission to compare as many New York City pizzas as we can and pick our favorite. We were dealing with the normal stuff, the classics: your cheeses, your pepperonis, your sausages…run of the mill (but delicious) pizza stuff. Artichoke pizza threw our plan off. It turned our plan on it’s head, and beat it to the ground. And kicked it in the crotch.

I’m not saying it’s BETTER than everything else. I’m saying it’s so different than anything I’ve ever had that to compare it to other pizza would be unfair and illogical.

Maybe it’s the fact that they took two of the most sinfully delicious and calorically rich foods out there - well-made pizza and spinach and artichoke dip - and made them do the nasty with eachother. Maybe it’s because each slice is as big as two of my faces (and I have a relatively large head, for my body size.) Maybe it’s the ingredients or an art they have honed in making it or maybe they put illegal substances in their pizza. All I know is my mind was blown.

I’ve had artichoke spinach pizzas before … I think. Possibly at BJ’s or something. Can’t remember. No other artichoke pizza matters.

It’s a small place with no indoor seating, and minimal outdoor seating. (We’re talking one backless bench kind of seating.) Another one of those places where the line is out the door and then some when the drunkies come out. Even during the day it was pretty busy. I decided to deviate from conformity and order the crab pizza. Actually it was part of my scheme to get the best of both worlds, since everyone else I was with got the artichoke, and I was sure I could steal a bite or two. They didn’t have cold drinks. Maybe their fridge was broken but they were all room temperature. Almost as if to say “eff you. We make effing artichoke pizza. Get your cold water somewhere else.”

There really isn’t anything to say. Imagine spinach and artichoke dip baked on crispysoft pizza dough. Imagine how good that would be…and multiply by 10.

I hate myself a little for saying this, but there is such a thing as overkill when it comes to these. Angel and I ordered a pie to take home, and when we were eating them for days, it was too much. I am only just getting to the point where I could have another, and it’s been weeks. But writing about it has made me yearn for it once again. I think I may revisit the crab though. It’s not as heavy and was also delicious. And I hear the Sicilian is the bomb too.

Le sigh. So much to eat, so little time.

Hill Country, 30 West 26th Street

Their tagline is “Music to your mouth.” I tell you, I could have that BBQ singing its bluegrass to my mouth all day. And I don’t even like bluegrass.

To preface, I should really tell you how we ended up there. It all started - as most things do - with a night of watching the Food Network. AJ and I were watching some kind of competition - probably the Food Network Challenge - and the theme was barbeque. Ribs and brisket and various meaty, saucy, juicy things tauntingly danced across the screen out of our reach. To add insult to injury, that show was followed by an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives in which Guy is in search of the best barbeque. Naturally. We couldn’t take it anymore. Lunch. Tomorrow. BBQ. There was no question about that.

The question was: Where? Without missing a beat, Shuan recommended Hill Country. His lack of hesitation was more than enough of a selling point. Sold!

We got there and the place was empty. And HUGE. I was just getting used to NYC having no space at all and being packed with people, like when I’m at the super market and have to reverse all the way out of the aisle because a lady in a wheelchair is coming through. The space was refreshing. Our water came in jars, which is one of my favorite ways to have water served to me in a restaurant. (I’m totally serious.) They serve food market style, so you go up to the counters and they weigh and measure your grub, then you take it back to the table. I always enjoy a different and interactive way to dine, so I appreciated this. Food experiences are about much more than eating to me.

Anyway, AJ and I decided the right thing to do was get a bunch of different things and split it. The meats we got were beef ribs, pork ribs, and a portion of moist brisket. I live for sides, and could have had them all, but our stomachs and wallets would probably only allow for two. We settled on mac and cheese and slaw: one on the cheesy, carby side, and one on the light(er) veggie side. Balance is vital. And as you can see from the picture, a slice of white bread was happy to join the party. Everything was as delicious as expected - except I’ve had better mac and cheese - but, if we’re carrying the music metaphor through, the glory note of this performance was definitely the moist brisket. As it’s name suggests, it was perfectly moist, as well as meaty and flavorful. That first bite was like hearing the high note of “Seasons Of Love” from Rent. (Sorry for the genre change. It’s one I’m more familiar with.) Not the cheapest eat in town, but I look forward to splurging again.

‘wichcraft, Herald Square

It had been on my to-do list to visit Top Chef-famed Tom Colicchio’s answer to high-end casual dining. But funnily enough, I wasn’t even intending to eat there when I ran into it. It was sort of an accident. I was on my lunch break walking around, looking for cheap eats, when I came across the stand on 35th and Broadway.

I was enticed by the tuna sandwich. The roasted turkey also caught my eye. However, I decided against dropping nine or ten bucks on a sandwich, and went cheap with the smoked ham, avocado, and butter sandwich. It was well worth the $4.50.

Around a month or so later, I took AJ there on our way to apartment hunting since she said she wanted a snack. I didn’t get anything because I was full from (foolishly) having eaten my own lame homemade sandwich at lunch. But she let me have a bite of her gruyere and caramelized onion sandwich, which was like an elevated grilled cheese. Or, as its ingredients suggest, like a french onion soup in sandwich form. It was very close to perfection. It could have been made better only with a soupy companion. Tomato perhaps? Onion on onion? Au jus dipping sauce? Funny how the delicious can get the wheels turning.

Baoguette, East Village

This story is long overdue. I’ve already been four times, which officially makes it my most repeated offense. If loving this banh mi is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

On my first visit, I ordered the “very spicy.” My motto is the hotter the better. It’s a bit of a pride thing. Growing up Indonesian, the inability to handle spice was seen as weakness. And honestly I hadn’t really met anything outside of Asia that was too spicy for me. My friend, Thai-born and Indonesian-raised Angel, coming from two cultures with some of the most spicy food on the planet, ordered “medium spicy,” prompting me to think that she maybe knew something I didn’t know. But seeing as it was also her first time, I brushed off my suspicions.

Our number ones came and I took a bite. The complexity and contrast of flavors and textures was a wildly sense-heightening experience. The crisp of the radish, carrots, cilantro, cucumber and crust of the bread contrasted with the soft middle of the bread, and the juicy medley of pork. Similarly, the coolness of the veggies soothed the pleasurable pain from the jalapenos and sriracha. I was definitely feeling the heat, but it wasn’t too much, I thought it was perfect. “Wow, ‘very spicy’…they weren’t kidding,” I said as I turned to Angel, only to see that she had tears in her eyes, and was sniffling furiously, as she said “I think they switched ours” in between desperate gasps for cool air.

Turns out they did switch them, and that the “very spicy” comes smothered with tiny Thai chilis. Just one of those little guys packs more heat than all the dudes in “The Departed” combined. It’s crazy hot. I ended up claiming what was rightfully mine and correcting our mismatched sandwiches. I ate my “very spicy” banh mi, and cried all the way through. Partly from the heat, partly from how delicious it was. Even through all that spice, the other ingredients harmoniously shone through.

I’ve since learned that I can enjoy the unique punch of the Thai chilis without dying by ordering them on the side and then adding them to each bite at a leisurely pace.

At the end with your bill, if you’re lucky, you get a tiny complimentary dollop of pandan ice cream, a nice little palette cleanser.

My 4th time at Baoguette, I reluctantly strayed from my usual in the name of broadening my horizons and ordered the Sloppy Bao, which Grub Street named one of the top 101 sandwiches in NYC. Instead of the sumptous pork-party, it is filled with spicy ground beef, mango, and Thai basil, among other things. Not the worst thing I’ve ever had, but a huge disappointment. Stick to the classic. Trust me.

(Deviating from the food stories for a moment…)

So flippin’ excited for this.

My main concern is this: How do I participate in one of the challenges as a taster? You know, how do I become a patron during restaurant wars, or when they have a street food challenge? How do those lucky bastards get chosen? Did they just happen to pass by, or be involved with the right people, or is there somewhere online where the locations are announced? Or is it like audience casting for other TV shows?

Being a fan of this show is like torture. You’ve heard the cliché. It’s food porn. That’s exactly what it is. You can look, but you can’t touch (or taste). For once, I’m in the right town. So if this will ever happen it will be now! Anyone who has insider info, please let me know. Tweet me. @food_stories

If all else fails, I will still be a devoted home viewer. I guess. *hmph*

Ok no. No premature sulking. Now on to my predictions ‘n stuff… 

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Cha-An, East Village

Everything Japanese is so pretty. The people, the food, the multi-functional intelligent lavatories (which they happen to have at this particular teahouse) - it all shows attention to detail without over-complication.

The ambiance of the place is such that I would want to come here on a Sunday afternoon, and sit alone at a corner table, with but the company of my journal and a calligraphy pen, philosophizing and sipping tea. That is, if I was a person who was inclined to do that sort of thing.

Real talk, I am more likely to come here with some friends and share the black sesame crème brulee. It’s a dessert that looks more like a small sculpture from a museum of ancient history that you’re not allowed to touch, but you’ll want to attack it as soon as it hits the table. The good stuff is at the bottom - the brulee - but atop are the perfect complements to the custard: a cool scoop of black sesame ice cream and a crisp black sesame cookie. The difference between this and a traditional crème brulee is similar to that between a Japanese game show and its U.S. adaptation: for some reason, the Japanese version just works better.

Chinatown Snackin’ - Flushing, Queens

Jill and I took a sketchy Chinatown shuttle (“As long as you have someone to go with, it’s not sketchy”) just to play some casual badminton. It was my first time in the area. Little did I know I was in for a real food treat.

We got dropped off right in front of a window where a man was happily hacking away at a glistening roast duck. Komail, who we were also meeting up with, was still on his way, so since we had a couple minutes to kill, we thought: why not? Why not indulge in some fatty, non-meal snacks before engaging in an intense cardio workout? Right? In any case, after I learned it was only a dollar for two pieces, there was no turning back.

Peking duck is like a little soft taco of duck skin (with a bit of meat hanging on for dear life), scallions, and hoisin or plum sauce on a steamed pancake. These pancakes were thicker than I was used to, but I enjoyed their fluffy, chewiness. I devoured them in about 30 seconds. It opened up a window of hunger.

Right next door was a window where a guy was serving fish balls on a stick, simmering in a red hot liquid. For only a dollar. Next thing I knew, we were chomping away at those.

So the badminton games were a success, I was spent, and STARVING afterwards. Got a couple more orders of peking duck, a few to go, a few fish ball skewers to go, and an over-flowing container of fried noodles (FOR ONLY A DOLLAR) to go. I wasn’t about to go home empty handed.

Sophie’s, Tribeca

I love Cuban food because it’s hearty and meaty and sort of feeds your soul as well as your stomach.

I hungrily stumbled into Sophie’s on a Thursday afternoon. The place was busy with Wall Street types on their lunch break, and I pretty much sat elbow to elbow to the fellow at the next table. But the quick service made me forget how uncomfortable I was.

The plate arrived with lovely, saucy shredded beef and rice and beans that seemed to go on for days. It was a lot of food. But not for long.

Cuban food isn’t typically spicy, but Sophie’s has this green sauce that easily qualifies as liquid crack and adds a bit of a kick.

I’ve since been back three other times. The ropa vieja, oxtail stew (pictured), and goat stew are all delicious. But so far the pernil is the big winner, hands down.