Spotted at the Jackson Heights location of Patel Brothers: a uniquely American pepper product (with an assist from Middle Eastern cuisine), known primarily for its status as a pizzeria staple, enters the Indian market. "Pizza Chill," meanwhile, whether a fortuitous spelling error or a mere consequence of an improperly snipped label, has permanently entered my personal food lexicon.
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Certain Indian dishes get all the attention. Naan gets ordered with every meal. Tandoori and tikka masala hog the spotlight, with the downside that many fascinating foods don't seem to get any attention at all. In the last decade or so, a thaw has been occurring, with the growing interest in these congenial ambassador dishes granting chefs license to try new things. A few weeks back I had an exciting presentation of sliced duck breast in tamarind sauce (Magret de Canard Pulivaar) a relic of the longtime French occupation of Pudicherry, at Sunnyside’s Saffron Gardens. Branching out beyond the usual Indo-American fare, the meal also included curry spiked with the pan-Indian, Persian-derived mincemeat keema, Xacuti de Galinha (a Goan favorite, the name reflecting the region’s Portuguese history) and yengai, an eggplant, sesame and peanut dish hailing from Karnataka. My own childhood neighborhood, formerly a wasteland of diners, over-the-hill Italian joints and fast food franchises, has blossomed into a wonderland of new Indian options, many of them offering specialties from the southern states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu, opening up a new world of parottas, moilees and kingfish fries. Another example is the above-mentioned Patra (aka Patrode), a complex Malvani/Gujarati preparation that employs the gram flour used in so many fritters as putty between a pinwheel bundle of taro leaves. Found at the fantastic Rahjbog, a sweet shop which also offers dosas, dhoklas, pav sandwiches and chai, a veritable roster of lesser-known items that will probably see their visibility increased in the coming years, as America's understanding of Indian cuisine becomes deeper and more nuanced.
Three snack snapshots from a recent visit to this Jackson Heights supermarket: My best guess here is that the rabbit and child combo is intended to communicate the healthful properties of these veggie-spiked dried papads, but something has clearly gone wrong. The rabbit is terrifying and the child looks morose. I have in the past purchased the green-chili variety of this brand, which fry up nicely and are free from any bug-eyed bunny monsters on the packaging.
Chinatown seafood markets are probably the most visible alternative fish source in New York City, their often-alien, still-wriggling wares splayed out in overflowing streetside cases. Other ethnic variations on the seafood store do pop up here and there in the post-Fulton Fish Market era: old-school neighborhood Italian places scattered around the fringes of the Outer Boroughs, octopus-hawking Greek suppliers in Astoria, tidy little Japanese spots stocked with pre-made sushi containers. Nestled amid the Subcontinental bustle of Jackson Heights, Haat Bazaar is the first Indian shop I’ve seen that deals in fresh fish, several varieties displayed in plastic containers laid out on the floor. Ice was not a feature of this lively establishment, which hosts an adjoining Bengali restaurant and a healthy stock of dry goods in addition to the slippery piles of eels, grouper and flatfish, not to mention an occasional intrusion from the adjacent fruit section.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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