The Mango Lassie

I just returned from two and a half weeks in New York today. I’m feeling tired and glad to be with Empanada Boy again. It was hard not having my trusty sidekick as I explored the hipster hangouts of Williamsburg and lunched at cute cafes in Nolita. But Empanada Boy and I did have our share of food adventures before he left and before I assumed my babysitting duties. Among these, as I mentioned in a previous post, was a trip to Coney Island. Or at least the original idea was to go to Coney Island and get some of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs, but that’s not quite how it worked out. We set off from the Guggenheim Museum, which EB was keen on visiting before he left. According to our plan, we met EB’s good fried Vladimir Pudding in the in the first car of the Q train. That train normally ends at Coney Island, but the weekend construction schedule would have meant switching trains to get there. We decided to get off at Brighton Beach and walk the rest of the way.

I had heard about Brighton Beach from old movies and stories about Russian Jews immigrating to the United States. These Jews were World War II refugees, concentration camp survivors and their descendants. More recently, there has been another influx of Russian Jews whose culture is more similar to residents of the former Soviet Union than to the tightly-knit Jewish communities of earlier decades. Non-Jews from Russia and other former Soviet countries have also moved to the neighborhood where Russian is already the language of choice. Brighton Beach, which has also been called “Little Odessa,” is full of beautiful shops, restaurants and street stalls, offering all the traditional Russian delicacies. Not having had lunch, Empanada Boy and I couldn’t resist. We bought two fried dough pasties, one filled with cabbage, the other with chicken. I preferred the former because the filling had a bright, acidic bite to it that helped to cut the doughy richness of the exterior layer.

Vladimir Pudding had explored Brighton Beach a few times before, and he knowingly led us through a couple magnificent grocery stores. Unfortunately, my camera was running out of batteries, so I couldn’t quite capture the beautiful colors of the bounty that filled these stores. The first place we visited was almost like the Trader Joe’s of Brighton Beach. It sold every kind of packaged cookie or cracker for which one could possibly pine from the old country. There were large bins filled with myriad dried fruits, candies, nuts and spices. There were canned goods and halva (purchased by EB), breads and cheeses. Vladimir Pudding bought a tangy, crumbly sheep’s milk feta, olives and a special Russian bread. I bought some dried papaya and pineapple slices. While EB was waiting outside for us to finish shopping, he bought another fried pastry (pictured here). This was wrapped in a buttery, flaky phyllo-like dough. The filling remains a mystery to us. At first we were convinced that it was some kind of ground beans or root vegetable, but then we were sure we detected a meaty flavor. Was it a hint of chopped liver? Perhaps.

Before making our way to a beach spot to snack on our treats, we stopped at yet another store. This one was more of a traditional grocery store, with a huge deli and butcher area, in addition to a large bakery section. Empanada Boy and I purchased crazy Russian sodas that were supposed to be tarragon- and pear-flavored. They both tasted more like sugar-water, although I could detect a hint of the intended flavors. Vladimir Pudding picked out some sausages and had them sliced for sampling.

We ate our selections on the large black rocks of the man-made seawall at Coney Island. It was blustery and cold, but the sun was shining, and the food was great. We bit into the feta as if it were an apple and chomped on some of the sausage and olives, washing it all down with tarragon or pear soda. We ended up strolling over to the boardwalk and walking amidst the rides. EB couldn’t convince me to try the roller coaster. The hot dogs at Nathan’s looked great, but the Russian fare at the shops of Brighton Beach was like venturing into another world. Of course it wasn’t another world; it was just another sample of the many authentic flavors of New York City.