Hang In There, Me Like Eaters…
It has been far too long since the last update. New content is coming soon, I assure you. Since the last post I’ve moved and changed offices, so my life has been in upheaval. I will be blogging again shortly – although my new office is in Manhattan’s foodblivion, which will make things a bit more challenging.
Your patience is much appreciated. Stay tuned – there will be more stuff soon!
Me Like Street Meat
A typical street fair scene. What a nuisance!
If you’re anything like me, you doubtless think that most of the street fairs that crop up hither and thither are a confounded nuisance. For one thing, they clog the streets with ambling, gawping pedestrians, going too damn slow, ogling the usual line up of cheap sunglasses vendors and sock sellers.
Socks, cheap sunglasses, kitsch... . The usual suspects.
And that is another thing: There’s precious little variety to these fairs, generally. It’s always the same vendors with very little local representation. It seems like it is always the same mobile mall, transplanting itself about town. They also sell such random stuff. I’ve always wondered who buys the dental equipment I see on sale there.
To me, street fairs make sense when they have a theme (i.e. the 9th Avenue Food Fair, or the Bastille Day celebration on the East Side). Otherwise, it’s the same 10 or 20 vendors just repeating endlessly at these things. Used CDs, cheap jewelry, rugs and so forth. Indeed, it seems most street fairs are produced by just a few organizing entities: Mort and Ray productions, or Mardi Gras Festival productions. I’m not sure if that’s why there are always the same vendors, or why they don’t seem to be as local as they used to be when I was a kid, but who knows.
Meat on a stick... mmmm.
There is one good thing about them, though: The inexplicably delicious meat on a stick. It’s wonderful, when it doesn’t kill you.
Your guess is as good as mine.
I’ll confess it: I love me some street meat. It’s a guilty pleasure.
The vendors typically allege that they are selling you “chicken” or “beef.” I’ve no way of knowing if their assertions are true, but that’s part of the joy. Usually I simply select “That one.”
Here goes nothing... .
Meat on a stick. I suppose it must be one of the oldest preparations in existence. Is it competitive as a baseline New York food with hot dogs and pizza? And there’s something somewhat craven and delicious about getting it at these places. Who knows what it is, exactly? Who knows what diseases its carrying? Have the vendors washed their hands? Certainly not. Will I need to sprint to the can? Will it be delicious? Will I bite into a charred glob of pure fat? All this and more is part of the “food roulette” of street fair street meat.
A pretty good one, this time.
This time, the vendor alleged what I was getting was “beef.” It had candied into a dried texture, enlivened by a spritz of a red sauce which might be considered “barbecue” or watered-down ketchup. There was no fat or gristle, just a smoky, chunky texture, a sense of taking my life into my hands, and the sweet, salty, tasty chew of $4 mystery meat.
I recommend ’em.
Street Fair Street Meat
Ubiquitous in NYC Take your chances.
Gem Spa's delicious, expert Egg Cream.
One of the most iconic, and certainly one of the most endangered, New York City foods is the Egg Cream. The name alone is enough to put most folks off. Perhaps folks think that somewhere in the drink there’s some raw egg whites, or something, that justifies its unusual nomenclature. You can rest assured there is no egg in an egg cream. If there ever was, it hasn’t been part of the ingredients list for more than 100 years. So no worries – just go get one.
For the uninitiated, an Egg Cream has a quite simple list of ingredients: vanilla or chocolate syrup, some milk (a splash?), and a hefty portion of seltzer. Those ingredients, when applied in the proper proportion, render a delicious beverage that ideally is sweet, without being overly so. It is almost impossible in the modern era to find an Egg Cream that is not too sweet. Allow me to introduce you to the keeper of the flame in NYC, Gem Spa.
Gem Spa was introduced to me more than 20 years ago by a buddy of mine who tantalized me with the promise of an Egg Cream. He then promptly walked into a magazine shop on Astor Place. I waited outside, reckoning we were going to some restaurant or ice cream shop, but he stood at the door and ushered me in.
They didn't use to advertise the Egg Cream. I guess they've wised up.
Not much has changed, except now the Gem Spa is advertising their Egg Cream. There’s a chalkboard sign they put outside the door, and on the exterior of the building there’s an image on an Egg Cream on their marquee in the corner. Other than that, though, you’d never know one of the last great soda fountains in New York City is within.
Doesn't look any different than any other magazine shop.
Looking around the narrow shop, you’ll see the usual assortment of magazines, candy, gadgets and other miscellany you’d expect from just another magazine store. It’s behind the counter where the magic happens.
Authentic syrup pumps.
The first clue, if you gaze over the counter, is the syrup dispensers. When you order an Egg Cream, the first step is to place a cup under one of the syrup spigots and then the dutiful counterman shall squirt in three long spurts of your chosen flavor. You’ll notice four spigots: I am only aware of (and can only recommend) the vanilla and chocolate, and don’t know what’s in the two other pumps.
After the thrice-pumping of the syrup, a dollop of milk is added to the cup. There is perhaps some stirring, and then the next step is attended to.
An authentic soda fountain.
Behold the old-school soda fountain. Why have these become so hard to find? I guess technology has eclipsed them. After all, Coca-Cola started out as just a syrup to be mixed with the seltzer (just like vanilla and chocolate). Now modern soda fountains can automatically mix (as you’ll see at any movie theater or fast food restaurant). But a well tended soda fountain allows for love, for that certain je ne sais quoi, for slight variations in recipes that can leave beautiful results. Importantly, it allows for a generous serving of seltzer, which is what is required to keep the concoction from being too sweet.
Tall and sweet, just $2.50.
As it turns out, that je ne sais quoi is the key ingredient. What makes the Gem Spa Egg Cream so delicious is that you can still taste the seltzer, soothing your palette. I prefer the vanilla, myself, but you can’t go wrong with the chocolate. Either way, this place is a treasure, and well worth your time and $2.50. Please keep the goodness flowing, Gem Spa owners.
Gem Spa
131 2nd AveNew York, NY 10003 No website 212.995.1866
Make My Cake Is Heavenly. If Only I Could Bottle That Smell… .
The St. Nicholas location
As you doubtless already know, scent is incredibly powerful, especially when memory is involved. Few things can whisk you back to your childhood or internal “happy place” like the smell of something that you have a love for.
In my life, there are two food-related smells that I have had the pleasure of encountering that, if I could, I would bottle and live with. I mean, if I could, I would have rooms in my home smell of these smells. Then, good luck leaving them.
The first one took place here.
Just drink it in. If you could only smell it.
What you’re looking at above is a cheese vault in Parma, Italy. I am not kidding when I use that language. There are bars on the windows, the place is padlocked and shuttered. It’s a vault, and it needs to be: Each one of those massive wheels of cheese is worth hundreds of Euros. You can see how high the racks go, and can well imagine how deep. Banks lend against that inventory – no joke.
The smell in that vault smells damn close to paradise. I mean, Nirvana. That warm, Parmesan smell. To this day, I can still remember that smell. I miss it the way you might miss your big ex, the one you never quite fully get over, even though you’ve moved on.
Lining up for goodness… .
The second one is, as a New Yorker, much more easy achieve. No international flights are required. Only a visit to Harlem, and stepping into the wonderful Make My Cake. The smell there, hoo-boy, is heavenly.
For those of you who don’t know, Make My Cake is a pair of amazing bakeries. I can’t sing praise for their vanilla-vanilla confections loudly enough. They smell of love, and butter.
The cozy seating area.
The cafe at 116th and St. Nicholas has a welcoming, cozy feel. There’s a small seating area, good music, and that smell.
I’ll give you one guess what Make My Cake makes. Guess what, you’re right. Cake. And its subsidiary, cupcakes. The most delicious, fresh, moist, buttery, amazing cakes. They are just sensational.
If only you could smell this.
Best of all, at Make My Cake, you can get that smell to go.
Allow me to explain. Once, my wife purchased a Make My Cake for my birthday. However, the surprise of it was given away: I could smell the cake through the refrigerator door. That is no exaggeration. For the days it took the pair of us to eat that cake, our kitchen was permeated with that “love and butter” smell. Ever since then, we’ve gone to increasingly elaborate methods of hiding the cakes from each other if we want to surprise the other with ’em. To the extent where we will stash ’em in a friend or relative’s apartment.
A simple dollop of frosting on top.
At any rate, I can’t say enough about Make My Cake. I am a huge fan, and think their vanilla-vanilla cakes are delicious. As I mentioned, the cake is moist, buttery and delicious, the frosting is melt-your-teeth sugary but as rich as it is sweet. They are terrific. Go get one.
ME LIKE EAT 