Six-foot-long reptiles are just one of the many splendors to be found in The City That Never Sleeps. On my recent trip to Manhattan, though, I wasn't looking for things that taste like chicken. I wanted bagels, pizza, hot dogs and falafel.
The proper New York bagel is purchased from a guy stooped over inside one of the donuts 'n' bagels carts you'll find on every second or third street corner. The bagel is about as big around as a coffee saucer and thick enough that people with small mouths (that does not describe me) can't quite get the whole thing in. It's already sliced and has about a quarter-pound of plain cream cheese smooshed (not spread, that would take too long) between its halves. It's not refrigerated; refrigeration for dairy products is highly overrated, and besides, the New York air has some remarkable preservative qualities.
You must order coffee with your bagel, even if you don't like coffee, so you can see how the laws of physics don't apply in the city. Your stooped-over bagel cart guy will put your java (which he brewed fresh a week ago, just for you) in a paper cup with a plastic lid, then place it upright atop your bagel in a small paper lunch sack. He'll do it in such a way that when you drop the whole package from waist height, the coffee will not spill. It's amazing.
Thirty minutes later when you're hungry again, find a pizza place -- some parts of town, like portions of the Upper West Side, are so backward that they have a pizza place only every third block. You'll find two or three pizza joints on a good-quality block. Ask for a "slicearegulartago." That's a slice of plain cheese pizza. (Check the per-slice price; if it's more than $1.95, it's foo-foo tourist pizza and you don't want it.) Don't order toppings. They're unnecessary, and expensive. Your pizza purveyor, who may actually be Italian-American, will pull a slice from a pan that's been sitting in a display on the counter for several hours and throw it (sliding it would be too slow) into the oven. This counter-sitting and re-heating is the key to New York pizza; it does something to the crust at the subatomic level that makes it delectably crispy and yet soft and chewy at the same time. It makes it New York Pizza, the kind you have to use bold letters to describe. I've had a slice of pizza in New York fresh out of the oven, and it just isn't the same. Ya gotta let it sit there and contemplate its pizzaness, its place on the island of Manhattan, and the ultimate sacrifice it will soon make in the stomach of a hungry customer. Respect it, and it will respect you.
I told you that you don't need to order toppings, because you don't. That would be stupid, when all the toppings you need are provided free for you right on the counter. Best of all, they come in convenient shakers. You've got your Parmesan cheese (Romano in the high-class joints), your oregano, your red-pepper flakes, your salt and -- if you're really lucky -- garlic powder! If you're really talented, like I became after three months living in New York and eating nothing but pizza for lunch, you can shake so much Parmesan onto your pizza that it's like getting extra cheese for free. The talent part comes in doing it fast enough to avoid getting The Evil Eye from the pizza purveyor. Once the top of your pizza is snow-white with Parmesan, turn it green with the oregano. Then red with the red-pepper flakes. Heck, it'll be like Christmas in July.
Thirty minutes later when you're hungry again, head for one of the two places that explain how people can afford to live in Greenwich Village: Gray's Papaya. This, my friends, is Hot Dog Heaven. Bliss on a Bun. For 75 cents you, yes you, can have a hot dog onto which a sweaty man in white will pile endless sauerkraut -- for no additional charge. The line stretches down the street as starving Greenwich Villagers, wallets empty from paying their $2,000 rents, wait for a little bit o' Heaven slathered with spicy mustard. But you don't just go to Gray's Papaya to get a hot dog for 50 cents less than you'd pay anywhere else in the city, you go to get, that's right, papaya juice. It's one of several exotic fruity delights they have; pina colada and orange juice are there, among others. The dogs are even better than the ones you get from Der Wiener Schlinger in Memorial Stadium in Lincoln, Nebraska. Yes, that good.
Thirty minutes later when you're hungry again, it's just a few blocks to Mahmoun's Falafel, also in the Village. Prepare yourself, for you are about to have a taste experience like none other. For the last hour and a half (you did eat in 30-minute increments, didn't you?) you have eaten but peasant food; tasty, but simple. Now you are about to consume the Pita Fulla Passion, the Mediterranean Magnificence. You enter the narrow doorway, and before you stands -- not much at all. And that's the glory of the place! Four long steps and you're at the counter. You order a falafel sandwich, pay two dollars (much cheaper than anywhere else in the city) and half a minute later it's in your hand, its vegetarian goodness ensconced in aluminum foil. You sit down on one of the 10 seats in the entire place, and think, "My walk-in closet is bigger than this." Then you unwrap the falafel and the aroma wafts up to tickle your nostrils and your fancy. In one bite are found fried balls of ground chickpeas and spices; tomatoes, lettuce and tahini sauce, a mixture of ground sesame seeds and oil. Not a single animal died in its production, yet it's a perfectly filling meal.
Here are the addresses for the restaurants mentioned above:
Gray's Papaya: West Village: 402 Sixth Avenue at 8th Street.
Mamoun's Falafel: West Village: 119 MacDougal St, between Bleecker Street to the south and West Third Street to the north.
Other restaurants to try in New York are:
Mocca Hungarian Restaurant: For central and eastern European cooking on a budget, this is the place to go. Roughly the same cuisine, of higher quality, is offered a few blocks north at Heidelberg. But why pay? Mocca's $6.95 lunchtime prix fixe menu, available from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., is absolutely astounding. You get fresh bread, soup or salad, your choice from a generous list of entrees, and dessert. The service is phenomenally gruff and rude; your plates will be dropped onto your table, and you will not receive a single smile from anyone. But the food, oh, the food. It's heavy and delicious. We tried the Chicken Paprikash and the Wiener Schnitzel and found both above average. Allow time for a nap afterward. Upper East Side: 1588 Second Ave., between 82nd and 83rd streets.
Excellent Dumpling House: Chinese noodle dishes in astounding variety, many with delectably unidentifiable ingredients and all in servings that only the hugest of appetites could conquer. A favorite among people on jury duty because it's so cheap. We went late at night and were served quickly, but we hear it's packed during the day. The decor, dominated by baby-barf-green tile, makes the restaurant look like a gigantic bathroom. Chinatown: 111 Lafayette St., between Canal and Walker streets.
This piece is adapted from one that originally appeared August 15, 2000, in Nebraska StatePaper. You can see the original article here.
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