I've mentioned Elmhurst's Sugar Club before, as the derivation point for both these seashell chips and an astoundingly high-quality complimentary tote bag (it even has a zipper!). Yet it’s worth noting that this neighborhood gathering place is about more than just packaged goods, especially on the last Sunday of the month, when they host a mini-festival of local merchants, the same sort who stock their shelves and refrigerators with homemade goods. This makes the place a little harder to navigate, with a stacked roster of table-bound vendors, tight aisles and scads of running children, but the chaos is worth it. Especially for a taste of chor muang, brightly-colored dumplings which, at least from my research, aren't available elsewhere in the city with any regularity. It's easy to see why; constructing these flower-shaped works of art seems like a real labor of love, especially if the traditional process of dying with pea shoots is being followed (food coloring may actually be used, for all I know). A relic of Thai royal cuisine, they were served here stuffed with pork and topped with a swine, soy and garlic based dressing, laced with bird’s eye chilies and swaddled in a splash of greenery. There's no seating in Sugar Club, so I ate these in Clement Clarke Moore park, a lively place that seems like a microcosm of the thriving Queens experiment, everyone enjoying their Sunday off, through games of mah-jongg, dominos, or just chilling on a bench.
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Joe DiStefano's Chopsticks and Marrow is an invaluable resource for New York City eating, especially for those seeking to comprehend the amazing, globe-spanning bounty of the borough of Queens. Great news, then, that he's responsible for selecting the vendors at the new Queens branch of the Smorgasburg empire, with a selection of local specialists that goes beyond the market’s usual roster of comfort-food dealers and cutesy appropriationists. On a recent visit I strolled around the enclosed cement area near MOMA PS1, marveling at the value of the chicken satay from Celebes Bakar (four sizable sticks for $5, sadly unphotographed) and the vocal range and carnival barker insistence of the guy hawking Balut. I demurred from trying this Filipino specialty, in which fertilized duck eggs are seasoned with a chili, garlic and vinegar broth. Instead I opted for the safer Kinunot Na Pagi (flaked stingray), prepared in a style specific to the country’s coastline-blessed Bicol region. Presented by Woodside restaurant Papa’s Kitchen in sandwich form, it took on the airy qualities of a good lobster roll, coconut-kissed meat swaddled in a section of soft baguette, topped with a few sprigs of Moringa, a green that’s of late been minted as the newest superfood. Equally interesting was the hallaca, an open-faced, tamale-like assemblage, purchased from the Ecuadorian-focused Son Foods, which also offers beef tongue tacos and empanadas. This log of stuffed masa was strangely sweet and pale in color, which led me to wonder if yuca was being employed (this is the case in the Puerto Rican hallaca, although who knows here) or if sugar had found its way into the mix. In terms of texture it was reminiscent of a recent meal of Pastel de Choclo prepared by some Chilean friends. The hallaca is also a reminder of the innovative use of corn across the entirety of The Andes; this particular preparation appears in different iterations all over the region and beyond, also sharing some DNA (and popularity as a Yuletide treat) with Caribbean pasteles, Queens Smorgasburg, meanwhile, holds steady at its current home (43-29 Crescent Street) until October 31.
I have a distinct memory of attending a church youth group event, sometime around 1996, a pot-luck affair to which everyone brought soda or snacks. My father, who possessed (and still does) a seemingly inexhaustible trove of carbonated beverages purchased at steep discount prices, all of them stored in an expansive basement closet overstocked with expired items, saw this as an opportunity. He sent me off with two bottles of Pennsylvania Dutch brand birch beer, scooped up at some previous sale, then deemed unfit for offering to company (the only time soda was served at our house). The stuff sat on the communal snack table, among the more fashionable Mountain Dews and Cherry Cokes, while other kids poked fun at its weird yellow label and the liquid’s sharp violet tinge. I shrunk away, denying my relationship with the Birch by omission (perhaps three times?) and gulped down the vile Mountain Dew instead.
By Kim Macron
Cima alla genovese, also known as la cima ripiena (“stuffed cima”), was, like trofie, created out of scarcity, utilizing parts that would have otherwise been thrown away. It originated as a peasant dish, and can be traced back to the 900s CE. In these times meat was a luxury, and this dish does its best to make use of traditionally discarded parts of the cow. The outer “shell” or layer of cima is a calf's stomach, cut and sewn to form a pocket. It is stuffed with sweetbreads (white, spongy glands sourced from different parts of the calf), brains, testicles, udders and fragments of back, all of the finely chopped. Also added are eggs, garlic, dried mushrooms, butter, pine nuts, parmigiano reggiano, marjoram, green peas, and spices (nutmeg and garlic). Nowadays some people opt to replace the testicles and back with pork. As with many other Ligurian specialties, marjoram is the key ingredient, giving this delicate, difficult-to-prepare dish its signature flavor. The stuffed cima is wrapped in a linen cloth, and then submerged in a pot of vegetable broth, where it is boiled. If it is not sewn properly, and if careful attention is not paid to boiling the sewn-up cima, it may burst, ruining it. It is served cold, usually with pesto for spreading or dipping. |
The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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