Eat your way to cultural nirvana

It has been brought to my attention that I do not take full advantage of the myriad splendors that New York City has to offer. I’ve never been to the Frick, Prospect Park, or the Highline. Hell, I’ve never even been to Staten Island. And yet I perceive myself as a well-travelled woman of the city. Then it hit me – to me, travelling is really about food. I like to think that I have fully sampled the delights of NYC because I’ve eaten Brazilian food in Queens, Russian food in Brooklyn, stellar cheese in Manhattan, and fresh seafood in the Bronx. When someone mentions walking the Brooklyn Bridge, I assume that person did so mainly in order to get to Grimaldi’s (a moment of silence, please, for our dear departed pizza shop. Your crisp crust, fresh mozzarella, and hearty pepperoni will live on in our hearts. Topped with a slight drizzle of olive oil). In other words, I am an accomplished NYC food tourist constantly looking to expand my culinary horizons.

My latest gustatory postcard is from Pho Bang, located in Elmhurst, Queens. Oh Elmhurst. What joys you keep tucked away between the 7 and the R train. Laura and I have vacationed there before for Thai food (where we dined on almost pornographic mango and sticky rice). Our most recent trip was for Vietnamese. Pho Bang has that dingy diner vibe which usually guarantees excellent food at affordable prices. This meal was no exception. And since the food is so reasonably priced, Laura and I felt morally obligated to order tons of it. We started out with crispy spring rolls filled with pork, chicken, and crabmeat, which were actually a bit greasy and underwhelming. However, things soon got much better: a huge bowl of piping hot Pho. Fresh herbs mingled with raw beef and suffused the liquid while the meat cooked. The broth was truly complex: the cloudy liquid captured the richness and earthiness of the beef without the heaviness. In the midst of this swam silken noodles coated in deliciousness.

And then there was pork. The Vietnamese do amazing things with pork. So amazing, in fact that we had to order two separate pork dishes. The first, Bun Thit Nuong, featured paper thin slices of grilled pork with beautiful caramelized stripes. These rested upon a layer of refreshingly cool vermicelli noodles, with assorted vegetable garnishes. I love Bun. It’s such an inspired idea – it hits all the necessary culinary notes in one dish. Each bite is thrilling combination of savory and sweet, balanced once again by bracing herbal strokes. So you would think that would be enough for us. However, there was more pork to be discovered. Our final dish (which shall remain nameless mainly because I cannot remember the name of it) was the most interactive. We were presented with grilled pork hash meatballs, rice papers, lettuce, mint leaves, cucumbers, carrots, lemongrass and an assortment of dipping sauces. From this cornucopia we made our own rolls and proceeded to gorge, awash in the delight of intentionally playing with our food.

A note on the service: The food is ready basically the moment you order it, which is excellent when you’re as ravenous as Laura and I frequently are. Our waiter delighted us with his dry wit. When we ordered our vast spread he looked at us quite seriously and said, “Not enough”. After a moment’s confusion we tossed off a good-natured laugh; yes, we were two crazy white girls about to eat our weight in meat products. Without cracking a smile, our waiter gestured to us and said, “Two people, four dishes. Not enough”. Then he shook his head and walked away. Our laughter became sheepish. Was it really so wrong that we had just ordered the whole menu? Or that we were about to get more food than could conceivably fit on our table? No matter; Laura and I rallied and proceeded to enjoy both the food and some lively dinner conversation. Naturally we couldn’t finish all of the dishes, and pretty soon our waiter was back asking if he could clear the table. We waved him away, and continued our banter. Soon enough another waiter stopped by, and another after that, all of them desperately anxious to box up our food and get us the hell out of there. After our fourth refusal we were basically told to get out because they needed the table. This was totally understandable, especially since there were a number of empty tables in the establishment, and absolutely no one waiting.

So yes, Laura and I were essentially kicked out of the restaurant. Had it been our ribald laughter? Our purple conversation? The fear that we would, in fact, eat our way through the entire restaurant? Who knows. We had to content ourselves with post-dinner conversation in the nearby park, and the entertaining sight of an extraordinarily drunk man trying to figure out how to turn on his ipod. On the way home from our evening’s vacation we got one more splash of local color as a woman screamed at us, “Get away from my bags! They’re not yours! THEY’RE NOT YOURS!!!!!” Ah queens. Dinner and a show, and only for $30. I highly recommend that you visit.