Turkish Grill

When I was a kid one of my favorite movies was Mermaids, because I loved the fact that Cher's character only cooked appetizer food. I thought this was a brilliant idea, as I loved appetizers and often could care less about the main course.

Well now that I am an adult I realize that perhaps dip and starters don't always constitute a meal, however, I do resurrect and revel in my childhood fantasy every time I go to Turkish Grill on 42nd street and Queens Boulevard.

Off in a table in the corner, Paul and I stared at the amazing starters and while as vegetarians the lamb and meat entrees were overlooked, unlike many omnivorous restaurants there was plenty else for us to eat aside from garnish. We ordered hummus, babaganoush, stuffed grape leaves, ezme salad, and sigara boregi (aka cheese cigars.)

The tables were fairly close together so we attempted to do what we always do when out, eavesdrop on others. However, the majority of people who were there were actually Turkish so our surveillance was limited.

On this latest trip they were out of the ezme salad, but the rest of the dishes were delicious. and accompanied by fantastic Turkish bread assuring we ate every last scrap. Service can vary from overattentive to having to flag down your check. despite this everyone is always polite and friendly and make you feel comfortable being there even though it can feel as if you are eating in a foreign country.

So bravo Turkish Grill for not only making wonderful food, but for showing Queens that appetizers can most certainly make a meal!

A Pulse Without a Brain

My journeys to the 33rd street YMCA ended abruptly when I moved to 47th street as those extra few blocks to walk there majorly tipped the scales in the "go to the gym or not go to the gym" debate in favor of the latter. I mean really, who wants to exercise just to get to the gym?

So a little less than a year ago Paul and I joined Pulse Fitness on 48th street near the corner of 39th avenue. After an awkward sign up exchange where the man with no neck and the worlds smallest tank top told us they were having a limited time sale, but wouldn't tell us when it ended, we ultimately signed up.

On most days the gym is great. It is affordable, fairly kid free, equipment is new and plentiful, and despite the number of people who neglect to wipe the machines down after using them it is a great place to work out.

There are, however, drawbacks to Pulse:
1. Meathead Mondays. Every Monday night at around 9 PM or shortly thereafter a group of men and women who have to walk through the door sideways just to allow their shoulders to fit through, descend upon the gym. They cluster over a group of machines, and proceed to chat. Yes, chat. Occasionally one of them will lift up something, though usually it is a glass of smoothie, to their mouth. I have yet to figure out how they all got so buff doing so little, but all I know is that their presence usually cuts my workout short as I am too intimidated to ask them to stop lounging on the leg machine so that I can lift an embarrassingly small amount of weight.

2. Temperature Torture. Memorial Day weekend could not have come too soon this year, as this was the official "turn on the air conditioner" day at Pulse. Mind you we had several hot days prior to Memorial day. Days in which the gym was 85 degrees indoors, yet they refused to turn it on before the calendar struck the holiday weekend.

Now despite having the poster-child for global warming of winters thus far Pulse insists on putting the heat up to about 80 and placing every major piece of cardio equipment precisely in front of a heating vent. So by the time the treadmill hits 15 minutes, you feel like you have been in a microwave and should "stand, cover, and stir"

3. Overzealous Cleaning-man. As I mentioned, people are less than diligent about wiping down the machines when done. This has, in turn, caused the cleaning man to be overzealous in cleaning the machines, in that he can often be seen cleaning the machine that you are currently on. On many occasions I find myself near death running on the treadmill, counting the minutes or mileage until I can let myself stop. Then I realize that my lungs are not aching due to exertion, but due to the fact that the cleaning man is standing on the other side of my treadmill mopping the base with his bucket of pine scented bleach. He then proceeds to meticulous clean the one next to mine parking the bucket of dirty potent water and cleaning fluid just so that it can waft up my nose and make me nauseous.

4. Music Malcontent. Umm cha, umm cha, umm cha, umm cha. You know when that Hummer with tinted windows drives by with its stereo so loud that all you hear is a reverberating windows and feel the ground shaking? Imagine a bunch of treadmills and bikes in there instead of seats, and you'll have some idea of the soundtrack to Pulse!

Alas, Pulse fitness is worth the effort and money if you want to rid yourself of your inner or outer couch potato. Just bear in mind that you probably want to avoid Mondays, wear ultralight clothing, and perhaps bring a chemical gas mask along with your iPod.

Queens is the Word, is the Place, is the Motion

From the New York Times today, an article on how Queens can overcome its stigma as a place in which no tourist would ever set foot:

Promote the international angle to lend a sense of solidarity to visitors. When it comes to ethnic diversity, Queens is hands down best in show. You can buy saris on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, blini in Rego Park and empanadas in Corona. Any tourist interested in Asian cuisine should check out Flushing, home to more Chinese than you’ll find in Manhattan’s Chinatown.

All Americans, including city residents themselves, should consider a visit to Queens nothing less than a patriotic duty. More than reflecting America’s past, Queens is a civics lesson in multiculturalism, a one-of-a-kind preview of our country’s future.

You can come, but you can only stay if you promise not to wreck things. We like Queens just the way it is, thank you very much. (I'm looking at you, Williamsburg.)

A Christmas Story that Starts at The South Pole

I'm gonna take you way back to Christmas 2002. The wars were just beginning. The internet busters were still high tailin' it out of here and the hero's wives were buying their first mansions out on the Sound. It was tough for some, tougher for others, I fell into the latter category and Christmas was approaching fast.
I love to say how much I don't like the commercialization of Christmas. To an extent it's true. The debt people accept, the large ticket items people get children who really don't need to be brought up that way, etc.

But, the truth is, I like getting things for folks. So being that my wallet was as light as it's ever been that year, things weren't looking good for my kith and kin come the 25th. That sucked. I was sucking up unemployment after the collapse of my industry on Sept. 12 of the previous year. I was trying to make anything work. One thing was that was working was 'The Pig'.

'The Pig' is better known as ebay. Though, "The Pig" is more apt. It's where we dump our crap to feed our crap-eating animals. Or, some sort of metaphor like that.

I was buying and selling on ebay to make ends meet. It wasn't easy. I had little capital and even less credit to work with and had to work hard to make a small profit. These were tough times. Rent was due just a few short days after Christmas when I was making my Sunnyside Rounds.

The Sunnyside Rounds included only three places, two thrift stores - one on the boulevard and one on Greenpoint; and the South Pole. The South Pole is a surplus store of the non-dollar variety. Everything is inexpensive, most of it's cheap, and some of it is priced far, far, far below open-market value.

I was wandering around, at the end of my rounds, when I spotted the pyramid that would pay for it all. If you're reading this, you remember 'My So-Called Life', a television series starring Claire Danes. It was pretty popular, and it had been canceled and then packaged as a DVD series. And, on the shelf at the register at the South Pole was a stack of twelve of them. I quickly went to the bank, emptied out my account, sure that someone was going to beat me to it.

I bought them all at 10.00 each and sold them for just over 60.00 - the lowest 'Buy It Now' price then seen on ebay for a NIB product. When I sold them all, I drove out to the South Pole in Jamaica and bought 15 more - this time negotiating a discount for the tax, as I was not so much in a hurry. NO one in Queens, especially not in Jamaica, is going to stop to think about the value of reselling a canceled series about the ennui-inducing life of a white, middle-class girl from the 'burbs. I had no competition.

I sold the units at will for days, netted close to a grand and gave two units away as gifts. One to Claire Deveron, in fact. Paid my half of the rent and still had some dough for a night out.

Merry Christmas from The South Pole. Check it out. You never know what you will find there that might make you rich.

Sunnyside Gardens Farm

When rumors of an "Amish market-style store" coming to Sunnyside broke over a year ago at the dog park, we stalked the storefront on Skillman Avenue between 46th and 47th like Manhattanites stalk a new velvet rope club. Would they have gourmet cheeses? What about olives? Fresh breads?

Faster than the A-team could put a plan together, Sunnyside Gardens Farm opened, selling an array of cheeses, pastas, veggies, breads, deli items, and hummus. Seeing as Paul and I consume hummus like those in a coma consume fluids, this was a big selling point.

I'll admit that I pilgrimage to Sunnyside Gardens Farm nearly every other day to restock the hummus supply and partake in the well stocked olive bar. While yes, the produce can be hit or miss, and we did recently see the olives being "shined up" by an employee spraying PAM on them, the fact that we can buy interesting products only a block from home without being hit in the ankles by people attempting to cram carriages down tiny aisles it is a huge plus.

As a little lady I also appreciate the fact that everything I want doesn't involve me having to scale racks like they were Everest or stalking a tall man at the end of the aisle in hopes that he will take pity on me and reach the rice wedged on the 7 foot high shelf.

The Turkish owner has become a neighborhood staple, waving to Paul yelling "Hello my friend" everytime he sees him down the block. I said to Paul, "what are you running for mayor? Is he your constituent?" But that is just how genuinely nice he is, and he and the equally friendly staff make you want to spend your money on Turkish bread and gourmet chocolate just to help them succeed.

So if you haven't already definitely check out the Sunnyside Gardens Farm market, just keep your hands off the roasted pine nut hummus, that's mine!
(Photo credit: Paul Grove)

Home Sweet Rite Aid

When I was a child one of my favorite books was "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler," about a girl who runs away and spends the night in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I used to fantasize about what different places that seemed mundane by day would be like in an overnight adventure. To this day I still contemplate what it would be like to be locked in a store overnight, although my adult version is more along the lines of "where would I want to be if I were stuck in a national disaster," and have figured out that if there was one place it would have to be the Rite Aid on 45th street and 43rd Avenue right here in Sunnyside, New York.

Housed in a majestic old building with art deco details on the facade, it looks more appropriate for a bank or city landmark. For a while I lived on 45th street and would pilgrimage to Rite Aid at least once a day for everything from hand lotion to light bulbs.

When you think about it the store is really a self contained biosphere. If you are hungry, visit the aisle farthest from the door where you can whip yourself up a meal alla "Top Chef" style. Nachos, cereal, canned veggies, and sauce with ice cream and candy for dessert. Thirsty? No problem, all the beverages you could possibly want both alcoholic and non. Once you are done with your feast fit for a king, clean up is a snap with an aisle full of cleaning products and you can even remove the ice cream stain from your shirt.

Bored? Pop in a DVD, albeit one no one ever else would buy, from the racks displayed in the front. Either that or sit back and enjoy the soft hits from the 80s playing over the speakers while you read from a large selection of magazines dated three months ago and give yourself a facial, a new hair color, and mini-makeover.

Some sort of minor disaster happening? Head to the home improvement aisle, where if you are like MacGyver you can use an extension cord, motor oil, and duct tape to repair just about anything.

While my fantasy of staying overnight in Rite Aid sounds like Utopia, the reality is I shop there during the day and am in Queens. If I want a pair of stockings, I need to climb over five cartons of Scott toilet paper that no one has unpacked for a week. If I want to buy a carton of milk, I need to sort through twelve to find the one that isn't expired. If I want to buy hair dye, I better open the package in the store to make sure the box isn't empty.

This is all before making it to the check out line, where my fantasy turns from "I wonder where I can sleep" to that of throwing all my purchases on the floor and screaming "are you people asleep?!!" The line is, as a rule, 25 people long because the cashier needs to wait for a manager for something. Usually it relates to an 85 year old woman demanding to see the manager as to why her coupon from Eckerd doesn't work in Rite Aid. The woman in front of me has likely mistaken the store for the Super Stop and Shop as she has an entire basket filled with canned green beans. (Who actually BUYS the dusty canned veggies from Rite Aid?)

Fifteen minutes later after unfortunately mouthing all the words to whatever god awful tune has been playing on the loudspeaker, I am greeted by a cashier who looks like she would rather slit my throat than serve me. A swipe of my credit card and I'm out of there, vowing to never step foot in the store again.

Of course then I get home and realize that the hall light bulb blew out and we're out of toothpaste and the cycle begins again, as I plan out when I can go to Rite Aid tomorrow because they really do have everything.
(photo credit: Paul Grove)

A Friend in Queens is a Friend Indeed

Or two, for that matter. Over coffee at the Grind I had the pleasure of grilling one Lynn Cortlandt to establish that, yes, she has lived in Sunnyside since 1999, and, no, she will not be using this blog as an excuse to publish her lunatick ravings about anything other than Queens. She assures me that her fiance Paul Grove is quite housebroken--though prone to extremes in emergency-planning. We don't know anything about that on our side of Queens Boulevard, oh, no, nobody in our house bought a generator after the blackout. A-herm.

All this to say that Lynn and Paul will be joining Let's Meet Up In Queens to add their opinions, rants, raves, and vegetarian palates to the total Queens Rocks experience. Huzzah!

Just in Time to Burn Down Starbuck's

I don't really know what that means. But, I do know that the new Starfxck's on Queens Blvd. doesn't roast their beans on premises. They won't vacuum pack a bag of fresh-ground coffee for you. They won't smile 'cuz they know ya'. Man. I don't really care about Starbuck's. You want an americano? Go ahead. No sweat off my back really.

But, if you're proud of the stuff you find that's good in this world, like I am. If you like for your friends and family to take notice of the little things you do, then do yourself, your friends and your family a favor -pick up some coffee at Baruir's. Queens Blvd and 41st. St. They've been there for forty years as of Sunday. They might have a thing or two on Starbuck's.

Oh, don't think we've forgotten about our friends at The Grind. Claire's been there, she's a convert. Me? Well. You'll get that mouthful later, I suppose. Right now, while we're at the party for Baruir's, I'll keep a civil tongue.

My blend: a mix of the double roasted french and the decaf hazelnut. I'm dialing it down a bit as I get older.

How to Turn Fire into Roast

Some jackass burnt down half the block. Were you here for that one? We lost a fine Irish pub, but like fine Irish children six more soon popped up to take it's place. What we could lament about - the losses of the great Queens Blvd. Blaze of '03- is the loss of the best deli in Sunnyside. But, what we COULD have lost, The Butcher Block, we did not.
It was indeed felled by flames, but she's up and running, all her sharp shining knives and white-hatted butchers rearing and smiling. The dishes are big and bountiful as always, though to pay for the bigger digs the prices have gone up a quarter. Still, seven f-bomb dollars for four pounds of a three-course meal -- glossy, fatty meat; shining and squeaking vegetables and creamy, buttery mashed potatoes. Oh! Those fuggin' spuds, men! You can't complain about that.
Big as your head sandwiches are still only 4 bucks.

And, there's The Knowledge. Don't know what kind of meat for that kind of dish for so many people? Worry not, lassie. They'll have you overstocked, big-family style in a jiff. Hauling home more pork loin than an Irish whore has seen since the County Cork fair.

Yum!

Skillman Welcomes Stray

Several years ago, Wesley and I were imprisoned in Columbus, Ohio for a period of 30 days. During our time there, we ate very poorly, because we like our burgers medium rare and you can't do that to a "frozen product," as we were told at one establishment that advertised itself as having good bar food. We know all about good bar food, but more on Donovan's in a later post, probably written by Wesley, who is an expert on the subject.

There was one thing that Columbus had in spades, and that was cool, funky vintage stores. I picked up a couple of choice threads while I was there. Wesley got himself a Canada keychain that he still uses today. If you're planning a road trip to visit vintage stores, make sure you stop in Columbus.

But back to Queens. Our stay in Columbus was brightened by the presence of a young lady named Tara, whose job it was to keep all of us sane and well-supplied with everything we needed to get our jobs done. Though Tara and her compadre often did not leave the 16th floor of the OSU dorm room for days on end, she always had a smile and never let anyone down.

Ms. Tara and her boyfriend Dan have opened an adorable store on Skillman between 48th & 49th. It's called Stray - Vintage and More, and it couldn't be cuter. They've got candles, scented lotion and the like, as well as records, vintage clothing, home furnishings, tchotchkes, and more. I wheedled Wesley into buying me a Tiffany-style stained glass mirror with a rose on it. My apologies to the women who were looking at it when I snatched it off the wall--I'd already called dibs at the register. That's Queens, baby.

The prices are right, the atmosphere welcoming, and the goods unique. Wesley and I say, "Stray, stay!"

StrayVintage@gmail.com
buy/sell/consignment
candles * oils * good smells * vinyl * cds * antiques * vintage clothing * MORE
48-09 Skillman Avenue in Sunnyside Queens.

Did You Vote Aqui?

The trouble that the elderly and ESL volunteers had "helping" me vote makes me very fearful of a time in the near future when the voting machines will involve technology beyond the lever. And still, I somehow imagine, they'll be using a sort of phonebook to misdirect me to three different precincts until I point out that the correct one is printed right here, on my voter registration card, and no, I won't be using a provisional ballot (AKA landfill).
Is it a wonder that we're aren't living with the bullshit of the Bush administration as complete overlords of the universe? Oh, wait...

Shameless Other Promotion

The Grind has Espresso, Ambience, and Good Cheap Food

Last weekend I ran the Poland Spring Marathon Kick Off Race, a 5-miler in Central Park. On the way home, I decided to stop in at The Grind, located on the corner of Queens Boulevard and 39th Place on the wrong side of the tracks.

I am a fan of the egg sandwich on the croissant, having fond memories of the way the Grey Dog did it in my old 'hood--the West Village. They used patty sausage but always used too much egg, and I'd end up having to discard half of it. So when I saw that the Grind was offering egg sandwiches on croissants, I thought I'd check it out. The first time I ordered one, I got just egg and bacon, and the bacon was a little undercooked. It also took a really long time to make, around 20 minutes, and given that I had just come back from a race (I think it was the 4M Anniversary Run back in May), I was not really happy about waiting. But the eggs were deliciously fluffy, scrambled not fried, and a croissant really is the best bread for a breakfast sandwich.

So last weekend, I ordered my sandwich (which is also very, very inexpensive), but when I got home, it had cheese on it. Quel horreur!! I have a deep-seated loathing of cheese and eggs together that I cannot explain. But I was really, really hungry after my run so I decided to eat it anyway. Quel surprise!! It was deliciously delicious! I have never enjoyed a sandwich more. So last week, for my birthday, I decided to repeat the experience & invite Wesley to join me. The Grind does not deliver, but it's a close enough walk and it was a nice, clear day. I phoned in my order, they said 5 minutes, and, to my happiness, the sandwiches were hot and ready the moment I walked in the door. We were sufficiently sophonsified, as they say.

The Grind also offers sandwiches, smoothies, coffee, tea, assorted pastries, and fondue, which we have not tried. They have flat-screen TVs playing futbol, lest anyone forget we are still in Queens. We met a friend there, a fellow member of the Sunnyside A/V Club, and I had a quesadilla that hit the spot.

Call 'em up, stop on by, get cheese on your eggs. Just keep 'em in business, please?
(718) 361-0396 3924 Queens Blvd

Running a Marathon on Horizon

Claire's been running. Maybe you read about the 'Y'. Like everything else, it's got it's good points and it's bad points. In Queens, as in life.

One of the good points about life with a woman, or a person for that matter, is seeing things change. Claire didn't always run. Like me, she ate, drank, thought about being merry, but ended up watching a lot of reality television and you know, gaining the 'Reality 15.' But, then came the change- the good point. Claire took up The Run. She ran like Gump, like Rocky, like oh, whatever - a woman who didn't want to go out like that.

So, I shouldn't have been surprised when she teared-up when we stepped out onto Crescent St., right under the 7 train, to watch the runners as they made the turn to the 59th St. bridge. I was, though.

And, I got to add another good point about living in Queens. Seeing the marathon, under the 7 train, as Claire wiped away a tear of inspiration. That's a good Sunday. You should try it next year.
We won't be there, though. Next year, it falls on Claire's birthday.

Claire ran all of her qualifying races this year and she will be listening for me to yell her name, to call out, 'Happy Birthday, Claire! Keep running, Honey! Do it for Queens!"

Everybody say, 'aawww.'

They put mayo on it - and you like it

Mmmm, sushi. Tasty morsels of raw fish always take Wesley and I back to one of our first dates at a Village restaurant infamous for its long line. Me, I'm a mid-Atlantic gal and I'll eat anything that comes from the sea (except for uni - ew), the fresher and fishier the better. Wesley comes from the heart of our great country and doesn't love the fishies the way I do. The great heartbreak of our marriage came when I realized that I'd never be making bouillabaisse for the man of my dreams. Sesslavye, as the saying sort of goes.

Unlike most mid-Westerners (shout out to my moms), Wesley doesn't fear all fishes, and will eat the glory out of some sushi. We've been going to Ariyoshi (41-13 Queens Boulevard) since we started dating, and it's generally worked out just fine. It's not the most straightforward experience, so I've compiled a tip sheet in case you find yourself wandering the Boulevard in search of raw fish:

1. You will get a dizzying array of menus. Some, you will have to share. They'll give you two big ones, and that's where you'll find your miso soup, your garden salad with the yummy carrot dressing, your basic apps, and non-sushi related mischief like teriyakis. The fatter menu, you get only one, and you'll be fighting over, because that's where the goodness is. Find the page with the really small print for some intriguing and creative sushi and sashimi appetizers. I like the tuna sashimi with miso dressing.
2. The fat menu also has the page with the special rolls. I'm begging you, get the Sunnyside roll. The waitress will ask you a question.* Say yes. Trust me.
3. They have lots of sakes. I can never remember which ones I like but the price is right for experimentation. Stay away from the wine - it's cheap and blah.
   
4. No matter what we order, we always get out of there for under $80. And we always order at least two rounds of sake and Sapporo, and order more than we can eat.

The decor is okay, the service friendly, the bathroom clean. The sushi's no match for Tomoe or Jewel Bako, but we never said we liked Manhattan. Ariyoshi's sushi is a little aggressive, usually good enough, occasionally disappointing, and the right price - just like Western Queens.

*The special sauce is mayonnaise. I'm not kidding, it totally makes the roll.

I can see, I can see I'm not ripped off

We often lament the lack of at least some of the chain stores that make life so convenient on the main island of the city. Barnes and Noble, yes, yes, they shut down so many mom and pop joints. But, there they are. Alas, we know of no one who will cop to the occasional Grande anything, fine, fine. But, a quickly made americano, the way they just nod when I order a iced soy latte, grande.
books and coffes are to be had, freely in Western Queens. It's just different. There's coffee at The Grind on 39th Pl. and Queens Blvd; Baruir for the old style version just across the Blvd.
Books - we get those at the library here, mister. Pragmatists that we have become, our nod to poverty and righteousness all served well.

However, we were darn tired of being jazzed up when we needed new lenses and frames. The Pearls, the Cohens, the Crafters all wanted our money. A quick search online found plenty of descrepancy. There are cheap frames that are just as plastic and just as tortoise shell for half the money. There are non-glaring, super scratch resistant lenses as well.
You just have to dig around Western Queens for a minute.
The frames - get them anywhere that's cheap. My faves came from Target and lasted for years,; Sears and JC Penny also have deep discounts and wide assortments.
More finicky? Then find them elsewhere. Just don't pay retail.
But for the lenses - don't be fooled. They're all made of polycarbonate, you want the glare additions and the scratch resistance -all that. This is when you have to shop around.
Take your frames and your blind ass to CN Vision on 46th ST between Greenpoint and 48th Ave. Just a block and change from the train. The works: 94.00 with tax in two days, 15 bucks more for overnight. Not 190/ Not 179. Less than a C-note.

God Bless the Gentle People of Queens.

Enjoying Spring the Sunnyside Way

I had errands to run today, so I dropped Wesley off at work first thing this morning so I could use the car. After my two-mile run at the Y (where they seemed to have fixed their earlier problems, making for an altogether much more pleasant workout experience), I cranked up the Ellen Johnson, planning to hit the bank, the Foodtown, Mother's, and the library, before heading home to finish watching Disc 3 of Battlestar Galactica Season 1.

After depositing some checks at the bank (yippee!), I snagged a prime parking spot right in front of Mother's, giving me the most convenient access to the rest of my errands. As I walked to the library, an armful of books to return, I heard that familiar jingle, the one that always signals the arrival of summer - Mister Softee, parked right across the street. I decided right then and there that I'd be having ice cream for lunch. I ducked into the library to check out some new books, but when I came back outside, Mister Softee had relocated to the other side of the park. I reconsidered my ice cream decision. Is today really special enough for ice cream? Have I been good enough to deserve ice cream? Did I run enough miles this week? What about those nachos I had for lunch the other day? Did I remember to put a quarter in the meter? Oh, crap.

Back at the car, I was pleased to see that there were 41 minutes on the meter, so either I put a quarter in, or I got lucky. The simple, slightly off-key, more than slightly annoying Mister Softee theme wafted across the warm spring air. I dropped off 2 of my 3 books in the car, my decision made.

As I walked to Mister Softee, I took a close look at Thomson Hill Park, something I've never done before. Bounded by Greenpoint, 47th Ave, 42nd Street, and 43rd Street, Thomson Hill Park has a nice size playground, a basketball court where I saw a gray-haired Asian man sink a very nice layup in a pickup game, and a handball court. Benches line the perimeter as well as run along the wide path that cuts the park in half. It does not, name notwithstanding, have a hill. Old people were sitting, kids were playing, and everybody seemed to be having a good time.

I waited in line at Mister Softee - apparently, I was not the only one craving ice cream - and ordered a vanilla soft serve dipped in chocolate. I couldn't help but nip the top off while waiting for change from a ten. I grabbed myself a bit of park bench, and pulled out my library book (Caitlin Flanagan's To Hell With All That) and just enjoyed. My ice cream was creamy and sweet, my book was promising to be delightful and maddening, and spring was winning me over. For this confirmed winter lover, that's saying a lot.

It was over far too soon, and I still had groceries to buy. The Foodtown proved a bit alarming - no Fig Newmans, no cases of seltzer, and no quinoa - but I practically needed a sherpa to help me with all the fresh fruit I got at Mother's. I'm back at home and glad to be alive. The only thing that'd make today better is if Wesley came home early from work. A girl can dream, can't she?

Happy Easter, everyone.

For Veggies Green, There's Mother's and Not Mother's

Claire gave a rousing rendition of due props to the local Foodtown in an earlier edition. Well-deserved to be sure. But there's still the largely unspoken issue of fresh greenery and plump root vegetables in that town they call Food.
But, reader, oh travelling reader. Feast upon all things rooted, flowering and fruitful just across the dang street, man.
It's Mother's Farm, Mother's for short. Wherein the basics are always covered - bananas and plantains, three types of pears, six kinds of apples, nine leafy vegetables with that just rinsed feeling. Peppers. Scallions, Shallots, fresh thyme, basil in a wet-bottomed bucket. And, on occasion, you will be rewarded by the strange and lovely, or the abundant and cheap.

So, do what you need to at Food Town. But get on over to Mother's for your freshies. Eat them up, come back do it all over again and you'll still have change for a $20.

Mother's Farm - Greenpoint Ave. and the corner of 42nd St.

Heaven behind the Bus Stop -Kebab Cafe

Seven years later and I'm still on a mission of discovery in Western Queens. After leaving the CellPhone 25 Theater on 37th St in Astoria, Claire and I went searching for one of our faves, Bistro 33. As fine a bistro that Central Casting could whip up with some fine surprising performances - especially if you should show up there on a night when they're serving raw fish. Let the fireworks begin. Alas, dear readers, it's gone. But, fret not. We called Wayne and he told us just how to eat well: where to, what for and how much it would cost.

Kebab Cafe is not easy to find, even though it's on Steinway in the middle of a burgeoning Middle Eastern neighborhood. If you don't know that there's no light on the street, that it's hidden, small as it is, behind the bus stop, you're unlikely to find it at this dark end of the Astoria main line.

But search and find wonder. The owner/chef is honest and charming. He smiles and invites you in to sit at one of five or six tables. He knows everybody there, how long they're going to stay, hugs them when they leave. But you know you're up next and you'll not stay an outsider for long.

The desire, as Wayne warned, is to order far too much beyond your belly and wallet. The menu looks unassuming, combination app plate of all the usual suspects is a mere tener. Salads low as 6 or 7. We had one of each. The falafel and the pepper sauce were first and second place. The sauteed beet salad rich with herbal flavors and soft, ripe apples, though the temperature of the beets throughout was sketchy.

The decor is like eating in your Middle Eastern grandmother's basement. (You've got one of those, right?) It's no bigger than a bodega. The art is hung high, causing us to crane our necks at the photos from the old country and the collages from the new.

The specials are the way to go. They sound simple enough. But, when he speaks- rich and syrupy, grasping his hands together in front of him in measured delight, you know you're in for a real treat.

Claire had the scallops and I had the mishmish chicken. I used to hate scallops. Now, I hate scallops, but if you order them at Kebab Cafe, I'll have a small bite. Plated with a rich sauce over couscous and roasted vegetables, served up in front of you, it's fun and tasty from the git-go.

You might ask, 'You ordered the chicken?' Yes, I ordered the chicken. And the next time I go back, I'm ordering the chicken again. Anyone who can do that to scallops can turn a mother out of a chicken.

Kebab Cafe, Steinway Street between 25th and 26th Aves. on the west side of the street, behind the bus stop. Look closer.

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