Penne alla Vodka Smackdown: Marabella vs. Mediterraneo

Boy, do I love penne alla vodka (with grilled chicken, natch). Macaroni and cheese for grownups. It's one of my favorite comfort foods and, like chicken tikka masala, I've yet to master it at home. Every time I try I end up with the most disgusting looking sauce you've ever seen in your life--and I'm a pretty good cook. Just check out how fat Wesley is for proof positive.

Last weekend I really, really wanted penne alla vodka for dinner, so I picked up the phone and promptly had a brain fart. Do we like Marabella or Mediterraneo? One is for pizza, and the other is for pasta, but I can't for the life of me remember which is which.

Marabella, I bet that's the one. I call, they know my address, I place my order, I wait thirty minutes for the sound of a moped and the doorbell 30 seconds later. I pay, I tip, I rush upstairs, absolutely famished. I open up the take out tin.

My penne alla vodka with grilled chicken looks like pasta primavera with chicken bits. It looks nothing at all like the penne a la vodka I've been thinking about for the last 30 minutes.

Thinking that maybe they sent me the wrong order, I call up Marabella and ask. They put the owner on the phone.

"It's just that it doesn't look like penne alla vodka. It's all--white."
"That's what our penne alla vodka looks like."
"Okay..."
"Did you taste it?"
"No, because I thought maybe it was wrong."
"You should taste it. My son ate two bowls of it today."
"Um, okay."
"You don't like it, you call me back."
"Okay, thanks."

I tasted it, and you know what? It was pretty good. Different, not tomato-ey like I like, but good. I decided to call them back:

"I'm the lady who called earlier about the penne alla vodka? I ate it and it was really good and I'm sorry for doubting your penne alla vodka."
A pause, then--
"Okay, thanks!"
Click.

Last night I ordered the penne alla vodka that I really wanted from Mediterraneo. The sauce is nice and pink, cheesy but not overly so. On top is a chicken breast, pounded, grilled, and sliced--very tender, and perfect for soaking up the extra sauce. I may have been wrong about Marabella, but I was more than right about Mediterraneo.

Winner: Mediterraneo, aw yeah.

Mediterraneo:
46-21 Queens Boulevard
718-433-1100

Marabella
4107 Greenpoint Ave
(718) 786-4635

Thank you Queens Animal Hospital

This week has been a bit of a rollercoaster for Paul and I, as well as our dog. Sunday our 7 year old black lab-mix mysteriously transformed from his normal, bubbly, alert yet lazy self, into a drooling listless shadow of a dog.

As far as we knew he hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary (including recalled food) nor had been in contact with any sick animals.

Queens Animal Hospital on Roosevelt Ave, quickly saw him, prescribed antibiotics and took blood. By the next day our pooch was worse, unable to even walk. He was hospitalized for the night with a very high temperature, but by the next day I was told to "PLEASE PICK HIM UP" as apparently our 4 footed lunatic had emerged from the dead and was driving the staff crazy. His appetite had returned and after not eating for nearly three days he was eating out them out of business!

They still do not know what it was, but suspect he just got the flu, so IV fluids and some medications were able to fix him right up.

So just wanted to give them props and a thank you for what a great and convenient help they've been for the 7 years I've been using them!

Good Baby Pig-Eatin' on Greenpoint Ave, Sez Times

(Lynn and Paul--this is a non-vegetarian post.)

According to the Dining Section of the Times today, Las Americas on Greenpoint near 46th can fill all your pig--baby and otherwise--needs.

Wesley and I have long been fans of El Comelon, on Greenpoint near 41st, but I think I know where we'll be going the next time we get a craving for rice & beans, plantains, and some kind of yummy animal, washed down with sugary goodness.

My mouth is totally watering.

Before The Flood

Holy Crap are prices going up in Sunnyside. And this before the Historic District designation.

Just informal searching on my part, but it seems that 2 BR condos have gone from 265k to 340K in the last six months.

Check it out for yourself.

Thank the Lord for Rent Control.

Sheesh.

Clean Up Sunnyside

Found via the Yahoogroups for Sunnyside--

Please mark your calendars and join us for the year's first large-scale Neighborhood Cleanup Day, scheduled for Sat, 4/28 at 10:00AM. Come in your worst clothes and have fun as we remove disrespectful, ugly graffiti vandalism from buildings, mailboxes and other public fixtures. As always, kids are welcome to participate.

For those of you unfamiliar with what we do, the Sunnyside United Neighborhood Network, Inc, is a non-profit, tax-exempt community group. Since 2002 we've helped keep graffiti in our area under control through the simple strategy of covering it over as soon as it appears. Vandals want their "tags" to be seen, so we encourage residents and merchants to keep their areas clean once we paint them by supplying free supplies. We also powerwash and seal brick and masonry walls.

Our strategy works! But it depends upon the hard work of volunteers like you. Rather than getting mad or pointing fingers, we get brushes and take a "hands-on" approach to the problem. There's something for everyone to do. If you can't paint, perhaps you can help sign folks in or distribute flyers. We're also always in need of folks who speak other languages to help us communicate with volunteers and building owners.

I know some of you have helped out in the past. Please come again, and bring friends. We also welcome the participation of youth groups.

You can learn more about us by visiting http://www.sunnysideunited.com, or writing us at tony -at- sunnysideunited -dot- com.

The Inspection Fires are Hot!

Maybe now we'll see some real action on the part of health inspectors at NY restaurants.
Raise your hand if you've lost work because of food poisoning.

Looking for Doctors in Queens

I need to find a new doctor. Do any of you have recommendations for ob/gyns in Queens affiliated with the hospitals in Flushing or Forest Hills?

Email me at clairedeveron (at) gmail (dot) com.

Thanks!

Quaint Ain't The Shaint

Ain't Donovan's got better burgers?
Hell yeah.
Quaint overcooks and oversalts.

Ain't Tournesol got better steak frites?
Hell yeah. Any damn day of the French Fuggin' Week. And without the mushroom sauce drowning the cow, needer.

Ain't the fish just as fresh at Ariyoshi?
I mean to tell ya what.

Fried fish ain't ever better than it is at Kettle.

And, I ain't got the time or the inclination for a waitress can't even tell me what fuggin' hummus is. That's not very special.

What is special? The waiter cleaning the table next to us with Windex while we ate.
Ain't that special?

Ain't it clean though.

At least it ain't Bliss, but ain't we got to have a better place to take our honeys on our one night off together? Ain't we?
I mean, really.
Shoot.

ps - I think we might have found a nice Subaru. Wish us luck.

Chicks Dig Fish on Dates While Fried is Just the Thing for the Men

What has happened with Bliss could have easily happened here at The Kettle nee The Copper Kettle. Turns out the price of heavy metals have risen so sharply, it's too costly even to keep 'Copper' in the name. Well, good thinking there boys, you might make it through another year yet. Especially with the coming demise of Bliss as foretold in these pages lo these many times.

There's nothing special about The Kettle, really. Another restaurant-meets-pub from central casting. Decent enough service, what they lack in skill they tend to make up for in obsequiousness. Not that that is a good thing or a fine standard.

Claire had the salmon, which was overcooked, but they always are at these places. Nary a restaurant east of Lex knows that salmon is best when it's rare. Sad that these poor creatures with mere decades left on their entire species lifespan can't get the respect they deserve. 2048 People! End of Sea food! Learn how to cook a Salmon.

Is it okay to send it back? Why, it's absolutely necessary.

And a burger. I've gone here for the fish and chips, but the size of the burger gets me every time. It's so beautiful. And, as such, it was this time too. But what my poor poor brain always neglects to tell me is that these motherfuggers don't carry nothing but coleman's mustard and gray poupon.
Can I get and ARRRRGH!? Give something Spicy brown. Not over powering. Even yellow. Something one can really glom on there.

Ugh. yeahitsgood. itsfinefine. dontworry. i'll eatit. iwill. thanks. salmonsfinetooshelovedit we'llbeback.

Some day soon I'm going to eat the shit out of Quaint and if those bastards don't make a fucking miracle and put it in front of me and all the glory of heaven doesn't envelope me in a loving mustard that is bitter but not overbearing, things will get ugly there.

Kettle -that's your name now. too mediocre to keep the 'The' , really. Keep up the b-level game. You'll live in this nabe as Bliss goes down.

Quaint, with that name and all this buzz, I'm coming in there and ordering the yogurt covered pizza with porcini and I'm sending it back, and when they come back to take my order once more,I will scream about the torture your father exacted on my father back in the old country that was just like this in every way, He would come in, my father, after having the salmon at La Taza and then sit down quietly here at Quaint.

Then the dance would begin. I watch and learned. I watched and I learned.

The Dance of The Nine Widows will not compare the the wailing sounds of Claire and Wesley should the burger at Quaint not , I repeat, not be better than all other burgers of our tiny villa.

good night and God Bless


ps-
anywone know where to buy a good used car?

Staten Island Has at Least One Saving Grace

I was saved by Bob in Staten Island. I was Gaffing a show for blah, blah, blah and the lock on my truck got busted by an inattentive crew member. I hired her, but production was still going to have to pay because that's the way it goes. They called a locksmith. He kindly offered to come out, drill through the lock and charge us a mere $500.00

I was getting heat from production on this which could only mean delays in payment for me.

So, I called a locksmith who I knew as knowledgeable and trustworthy (Galaxy Locksmith, Tremont Ave. in The Bronx). He didn't know anyone who serviced my brand in Staten Island, but told me to call Stein in Queens or Frank in Brooklyn. Frank said he knew a guy in Staten Island who sells that brand.

That guy is Bob. He's a great locksmith. He's a superb human being.

I had about an hour before we moved from our lunch break and into the next location where we would have to have the truck. I could go the quick route, Bob said, and drill it out.

Or, we could chance it he said, and try to get it open without destroying it. Could take five minutes, could take an hour. But, he was willing to give it a shot. He got it open in three. Replaced the lock, with some effort, in twenty. It was so fast and cheap, I bought two locks.

He could have really screwed me. He knew I had to be back to shoot. Instead, he did what he did and charged me what he would charge anyone else.

There's a lesson here, too about living and working in New York. Sometimes, when you think people are going to screw you over, you're right. That's when you make take a deep breath, make some calls and find someone like Bob.

I was at the next location on time, production had to pay the $85 to get into the truck and have the lock removed. I paid $85 for two new locks.

What's a Landmark?

When I think of a landmark I think of the Statue of Liberty or The Empire State building. I don't think of the apartment ("deck" view above) Paul and I rent in a house in Sunnyside Gardens.

But, as NY1 is reporting, our home may soon qualify for landmark status. However, much like those at the meeting, I have no clue what that means.

If in 1930 the house had pink flowers in front can the owner no longer plant red? Or does it just mean that if someone moved out, Starbucks can't move in?

Any insight and comments from those more familiar with the topic would definitely be appreciated!

Bliss is a Miss

I wanted to like Bliss, I really did.

When they opened in the late summer of 2005 on the corner of 46th Street and Skillman Avenue where the former Jaunting Car Pub used to stand, it was one of the first signs that our little neighborhood was changing. Soon after came the much beloved Sunnyside Garden Farms market across the street, and then Bliss' rival restaurant, Quaint just down Skillman Avenue. Lynn and I first ate at Bliss shortly after they opened, eager to show our support for a new local restaurant. On our first visit, the service was great - the server was attentive, gave us a run down of the wine list, the beers available (both bottles and on tap), and the specials.We were both fairly pleased with the experience, despite the fact that as vegetarians we could only order one item from the menu - the fresh mushroom ravioli appetizer, as our main course, which we liked. Since it was a bit pricey and since the menu didn't change over the next year to include other vegetarian entrees, we didn't return until recently. Instead we often favored Bliss' neighbor Quaint, which opened in early 2006. Quaint has a slightly more diverse menu (though still lacking in the veg department), has a nicer atmosphere, and is a bit more affordable.

On our most recent visit back to Bliss things had changed. The flimsy card stock menus were splattered with red wine stains, there was no wine or drink list, and they had taken out the beers on tap which left them offering only Amstel, Coors Light, Bud Light and Corona, which made the place feel more like Applebee's than a "new-American bistro" as described by the New York Times. It took ages for the wait staff (who were nothing but polite and friendly) to take our drink orders, ages for our drinks to arrive, and ages for our food to arrive. And they were not that busy. Again, Lynn and I had the mushroom ravioli appetizer as our entree, but this time Lynn noted that the sauce tasted like "a mix of butter and dijon mustard." Our dining companions who are not vegetarian were only a little more adventurous. One had the salmon, which was nicely presented and was reported to be very good. The other had their hamburger. While I did not sample the burger, the bun looked like it came from a 12-pack of Wonder buns they bought across the street at Sunnyside Garden Farms and the pickle slices on the side looked sickly and pale, as if they had been sitting in a jar for a decade or more. While it didn't quite redeem the experience completely, I admit their chocolate mousse dessert was tasty.

It's surprising that in the face of some stiff competition with Quaint, Bliss didn't try to step things up a bit - shake up their menu, lower their prices a smidge, have more interesting drinks and specials. Instead they have done the complete opposite - they have stagnated, taken away drink options and let their service slide. It's no wonder then that their busiest night of the week is Tuesday - the one night Quaint is closed. On other nights when we walk by, Bliss is sadly empty while Quaint is hopping. It makes me wonder how long Bliss can survive. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like it would be sorely missed.

(Here's what Wesley had to say about Bliss last year. I wish I could say they've come a long way since ...)

There's No Place Like Home

Despite the fact that we live in one of the biggest cities in the world, witness to crazy scenarios, commutes, and people, I often find myself most shocked when we leave our little metropolis and head to one of those distant lands called "suburbia."

Determined not to spend another weekend confined to a ten block area so as not to have to join our Queens brethren on the boulevard waiting for a bus, Paul and I decided to finally use the secondhand car we recently purchased (despite agonizing over giving up a parking spot) and take a day trip to lands far and wide. We headed to New Hope, Pennsylvania about an hour and a half away, as we had heard it was "cute."

Cute it was, though after two hours of walking around town, eating mediterranean food commenting "it's OK but not as good as Turkish Grill," and realizing New Hope really constituted the hope of many aging artists to lure well-off Manhattanites into purchasing overpriced art, antiques and stained glass, we decided to head back toward civilization.

Along the way to civilization we had to stumble through New Jersey where I nearly caused a traffic accident when I screamed out in glee at the sight of a Wegmans supermarket. A sight I haven't seen since I graduated college in upstate New York. I made Paul pull over and we proceeded to spend about as much time as we had in New Hope roaming around this "super-Wegs" that came replete with a toy train running overhead, free samples, and an attached beer and liquor store.

A cross between Whole Foods and Costco, but with cheaper prices and less "bulk" the store was a city dweller's dream. The natives, aka New Jersey soccer moms, navigated the aisles like I navigate the subway tunnels, whereas Paul and I walked around, mouths agape, unsteadily operating a shopping cart, like cold war Russians brought into a Walmart warehouse. One woman even remarked "Why is it so crowded here today, you would think they are giving away stuff for free."

Meanwhile I looked around at the 7 foot wide aisles devoid of pedestrian and cart traffic. I wanted to pick that lady up and drop her into the middle of the Queens Blvd Food Dynasty with a full size shopping cart with aises half as wide and people smushed twice as deep to really show her what "crowded" was. I felt like we had come from a poor country to the land of plenty. I

n an effort to locate a bottle of salad dressing I found myself separated from Paul and lost like a little girl on an afterschool special. After 15 minutes of aisle roaming I had to call him and said "help I'm lost in aisle 17 with a bottle of storebrand fat free thousand island dressing and 16 New Jersey soccer moms, grab the cart, pick me up and lets head back to the real world, where you walk to the store, buy just what you need, and don't have to deal with THESE people."

So while it is nice to get away now and then, everytime I leave I realize I should've just stayed home and learned the lessen the Wizard of Oz taught me years ago. There's no place like home, and no place like Queens!

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Saints on the Boulevard

We love our car, a 1988 VW Fox that Wesley bought just a few months after we started dating. She's been to Maine, Ohio, Pennsylvania a bunch of times, in to Jersey down to Maryland, and all around our great state of New York. She helps Wesley haul things for work, and takes us to visit our friends across the creek in Williamsburg. But she's a bit of a thoroughbred, and we've developed a good relationship with the folks at Manners Motors, off of Northern Boulevard on 45th Street and 34th Ave. We call our car Ellen Johnson, and we call the stretch of road over the bridge back to our side of the Boulevard "The Ellen Johnson Walk of Despair."

Yesterday I had to pick EJ up from Manners so I called Bliss 48 to take me over there. Got the car, drove home, no problem. I was headed to a party in Ditmas Park, and since the 7 train is all screwed up, the plan was to drop the car off in LIC proper and catch the E/V into Manhattan where I'd then get the D, the ultimate goal being to transfer to the R. Wesley's lot is over there, and since he was working an overnight he'd be bringing the truck back around 5 am, where EJ would be waiting for him to ferry him home. (I split a car home with 3 W'burg friends that cost us over $40, all told.)

My first stop was Lowery's, where I picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir to contribute to the soiree, a girl's only Valentine's Day party hosted by a dear friend I don't see nearly enough of. Then, I set off down the Boulevard.

I was cruising in one of the middle lanes, when all of a sudden I couldn't see. My brain could not immediately process what was happening, but instinctively I knew not to slam on the brakes. The front hood had flown up in my face, blocking my vision. I flicked my hazards on and used my rear mirrors to determine when I could come to a halt without getting rearended. I knew I had some time before I reached a red light so my chances of killing a pedestrian in the crosswalk were negligible.

I'm in the middle of Queens Boulevard, across from the McDonald's at 38th Street, and I get out to put the hood down. I can't get it down--it's stuck on the windshield wipers. I'm tugging and tugging and realize I'm in danger of having it slam on my fingers. People are driving past me and honking at me, which is really just so very rude, don't you think? I have no idea what to do. I tend to panic in car-related situations, and the tears start to come and turn into a full-fledged panic attack with hyperventilating.

At this point, enter the good Samaritans. 2 cars stopped for me--3 very, very nice men who calmed me down, and who wrestled with the front hood until it came down. They offered to call AAA for me, but I had my AAA card so they just made room for me to make the left hand turn into the parking area under the 7 train. I called Wesley, who advised me to pay for the meter until 10 pm and that he'd deal with the car on Sunday. I did just that, then took the bus at 38th Street to Queens Plaza, where I got the R to the Q and was at the party an hour later. And, boy, did I drink that Pinot Noir.

Many thanks to you for stopping, whoever you may be. I hope something good comes back to you because of it.

One Day a Week is All Nita Asks

I posted previously on my failed attempt to get a donut from Nita's Bakery on Greenpoint Ave. They only sell them on Sunday.
Do you want to know why the only sell them on Sunday?
Because they kick motherfucking ass, that's why.

Repair or Despair: Stranded by the 7 Train

I love Queens. I love Sunnyside. That said, occasionally, on long weekends, or say, every weekend in the month of March, I do occasionally like to leave the area, even if it is to just go deeper into Queens and grab some Indian food in Jackson Heights. Unfortunately the MTA has decided for the next 6 weeks or so the area of queens reliant on the 7 train is under house arrest where no one is allowed in or out.

In an effort to not leave us completely stranded the MTA was kind enough to provide us with shuttle busses in addition to the normal bus lines that come through the area. While I may not be an MTA thought leader, I wonder by what calculation those thought leaders came up with the idea that a BUS would be able to accommodate as many people as a 10 car subway train?

Now I know that work needs to be done on the train and platform, which is most evident on the Queensbound 45th road platform where large chunks of the concrete floor continue to go missing, though are covered up by large pieces of wood. But is there not a better way that this work can be done?

Would east siders tolerate the 4, 5 and 6 trains being out of commission for an entire weekend? Would the city tolerate this as it would likely strand and inconvenience thousands of tourists? Our subway system has been in existence for over 100 years, yet after all that time they can't figure out a way to make repairs?

So while the title of this blog is Let's Meet Up In Queens, you better have your own transportation to get here!

Hi, I'm Satan and This is My Home Depot

Hello, Queens. Satan here. Just wanted to let you know that I've opened up shop in Long Island City. It's a little place I like to call 'Home Depot.' Now, recently I've heard some grumblings about my humble shoppe, and I'd like to address these concerns now before things get out of hand and result in say, an angry torch-bearing mob ready to destroy every thing in it's path. We wouldn't want that, now would we? So, to wit, I offer my apologies and resolve to fix the following as soon as I am able to get away from this puppy mill.

The parking lot. My minions somehow managed to make entering hell, er Home Depot, a bit tricky. I assure you that they DID NOT intentionally design the lanes to go from one to two lanes, make one of those lanes a turn-only lane and the other too short to make a safe turn from. Why one lane stops in the middle of oncoming flow of traffic? I couldn't tell you. It makes no sense to me either. But, rest assured, we're working on it.

We are also making every effort to rid the lot of all the large, graffiti-covered moving trucks. We would also like to apologize that these trucks make it impossible to turn into the parking aisles without being able to see oncoming traffic. We did NOT intentionally make every turn blind. It simply isn't true. We're not EVIL, here. For cryin' out loud, people. I was an Angel at One Time!

As for the shopping carts. Or,as Tiffany From The Gardens likes to say, fingers up and arching ironically, "Shopping Carts". Do you think we don't KNOW that there's not any shopping carts? We know this. Any idiot can see that there's no "Shopping Carts", Tiffany. Then, why, do you ask, do my minions send you out into the parking lot to look for a "Shopping Cart" when they know you will find none? THEY'RE MINIONS! THIS IS WHAT THEY DO! Hello! Futile Efforts While We Laugh Quietly????? We wrote that book, Tiffany.

Wait. I'm sorry. I mean, we're getting more shopping carts. We want you to shop. We want you to buy many large-ticket items. Yes. We are getting more shopping carts. Real shopping carts. Without the locked wheels. And, we're going to have people - very concerned people - to help you with these large things. And, we'll have them push the carts out to your car and we'll put them in the car and these 'people' will wave while you drive away...

Where was I?
Oh, my Minions. I mean Associates.
Did you ever think that maybe they only look and act like they're not concerned? C'mon, people. Sometimes there's such a thing as irony. All you assholes, gentrifying the neighborhood and you think you're the only ones with a sense of irony. For cryin' out loud. My associates have worked very hard on their sense of irony and if it manifests itself in seemingly passive-aggressive behavior peppered with the occasional outburst of profanity directed at NO ONE IN PARTICULAR, then I think you should work with them on that.

Oh, and we're firing all of them anyway and replacing them with gentle souls who know where everything is and will help you find it.

But, we will continue to test for drugs.

And, as for the item(s) that you cannot find on every trip? It's out of stock, dude. Get used to it.

Fuck all of you.

I mean, have a nice day. Please come back soon.

A 7 Train Experiment

The 7 train at 40th Street is usually a nightmare on weekday mornings. Too many people, not enough trains. I hit the platform between 7:45 and 8 am, and I've often had to let 2 or 3 trains go by before I can actually squeeze on to one. Everyone is in a bad mood (me included), and in the recent cold weather tempers have been flaring.

This week, I attempted an experiment. I hopped a Flushing-bound 7 train to 61st Street, and got the Manhattan-bound train there. Instead of standing on the platform freezing, I was warm and toasty on the train, reading my book. The Manhattan-bound express was crowded, but it was nothing compared to the crowds that I was seeing on the local platforms. I ran this experiment on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, and it basically took me the same amount of time. Or if it took longer, it felt less stressful.

I'm not sure yet if this is a winning strategy or not. Anyone else have tips for mastering the morning commute?

The Greatest Move Of All

Wesley and I just moved--but before you scorn us for deserting a neighborhood we claim to love so much, we only moved 7 houses down. Our former apartment was the top floor of a 2 family home that housed 3 families: a studio apartment in the basement, a 2-bedroom on the first floor, and a 2.5-bedroom on the 2nd floor. Friends of Wesley's discovered the place about 10 years ago, with Wesley moving in about 5 years ago (he had previously lived on another block in Sunnyside on the other side of the Boulevard). I arrived on the scene around the time of our wedding in December 2003, fresh from the West Village and full of attitude.

I had lived at the corner of Bedford and Leroy since April 1997, and before that I lived on the other side of Washington Square Park in NYU graduate housing. When I moved to Sunnyside, I was surprised and amazed at how wonderfully quiet it was. At my old place, there were 2 bars about 20 yards from my bedroom window, and I was frequently woken up in the middle of the night by cigarette smoke (post-smoking ban) and couples breaking up with each other. My favorite was a woman screaming, "You get back here and break up with me properly!"

Despite the loudness and chaos of the Wee-Vill, as my one roommate and I called it, I loved the convenience. I used to walk to the movie theater on 23rd and Broadway, or down to jobs I had in Tribeca. I was right around the corner from Film Forum, Grey Dog Coffee, and Evergreen Video. When we went out, if one bar was too crowded, we went to another. I could get delivery from a hundred restaurants.

Sunnyside couldn't have been more different. The movie theater is a dump that plays only the most commercial releases. My video store is Netflix--Hollywood Video is too far a walk, and the closer video store has no selection because its primary business is cell phone accessory sales. As for delivery? We have about 5 menus in heavy rotation: Mexican made by the Chinese, decent Thai, not-spicy-enough-for-Wesley Indian, pizza, and New Post Diner. Occasionally we splurge on Turkish or sushi.

If you read the articles on Sunnyside in this week's Time Out New York or today's New York Times and find yourself curious about life in our neighborhood, please take caution from this transplanted Manhattanite: Life here is not easy like it is across the East River. You will have to adapt. You will have to change. You will become a different person. This place doesn't look like Manhattan, it doesn't feel like Manhattan, and--surprise!--it doesn't have to be anything at all like Manhattan to be a wonderful place to live. If this scares you, then don't bother: there's a whole other borough to the south that you'll like better.

As for me, I like to think I've changed for the better. I'm thriftier, less demanding, more accommodating. In Manhattan, I thought I hated to cook. In Queens, I discovered my inner Top Chef.

Back to our move. In the last year, our living situation degenerated largely due to an absentee landlord who didn't care about livability. It used to be funny--his repairs were always done shoddily with the cheapest material available. There was a leak into the basement that he fixed by repaving the sidewalk. The result is an uneven patch that fills up with water whenever there's even the tiniest amount of rain. We called it "Cunniffe-manship." But when the first-floor neighbors proved unwilling to turn their music down and our landlord refused to stand up for our right to live in peace, we were at a loss. Our home life was fraught with tension; our peaceable kingdom had become a warzone.

Enter the old-fashioned concept of neighborliness. There are a lot of older people on our block, many of whom were born in their homes. Wesley has always said "hi," learned their names, even pitched in with the snow shovel when necessary. I guess we were not the only ones who noticed that the folks on the first floor were uninterested in community standards, because Wesley got stopped by one of our neighbors back in November. M. asked, "Are you happy where you're living?" Wesley said, "Why?" She said, "Because P's top floor apartment is going to be available. Her tenants are moving out." We met P, just seven houses down, who couldn't have been happier to rent the apartment to someone who already lived on the block. Her previous tenants spoke highly of their experience renting from P, who lives on the first floor and has the entry way beautifully fixed up. We walked our stuff down the street on Thursday, and here we are.

Watch for forthcoming posts on the Carpet City on Northern Boulevard (take that, Home Depot!), as well as an update on the situation at the YMCA. One of the managers called me to assure me that things would be changing for the better. I haven't been in a month because of illness and travel, but I'm headed back today to resume my 4x/week running schedule.

They Paved Paradise and Put Up a...CVS?

Paul, who loves to photograph anything rusty, crusty, or delapadated asked me to join him on a jaunt down to the former home of Blooms and the Butcher Block, currently known as cinder-block-monstrosity on Queens Boulevard so that he could photograph the enormous crane that has been brought in for the construction project.

When we arrived we found out that the crane was gone, but a smaller one was lifting giant buckets of concrete skyward to be applied to the upper layers of this bomb shelter in the sky. What had been for months a giant, deep, open pit in the earth that had apparently disrupted the structural integrity of the neighboring buildings was now looking like a remote wing of Riker's Island.

People were standing on all corners looking the concrete going up. The common sentiment was "what the hell is going in there?" And like a sign from the gods, or ummm corporate America, I looked over to see "Coming Soon, CVS."

CVS? CVS? We have Rite Aid, Duane Read, Eckerd, Sunnyside Pharmacy, 99 cent stores, and the infamous South Pole. What kind of city planning gap analysis did the CVS scouters come up with to determine that what would best fill the open wound left in the ashes of Blooms would be another chain drug store! And why the heck do they need such a big building to do it? Have they not seen the enormous T mobile near the other burned on site on Queens Blvd and 46th street? The store is pristine and enormous and completely EMPTY.

So to whomever is constructing that large gray slab of building on the south side of the boulevard, I would've forgiven you for its anti-Sunnyside structure had it been filled with an ethnic or mom and pop shop operation, but for a CVS to be moving in seems like discount shoppers stomping on the grave of Blooms.

Sunnyside Gardens Gets Gentrified The Old Fashioned Way

By getting 'Landmark' status...
Oh, brother

One of Our Own Takes the First Shot

When William Grimes was reviewing restaurants for the New York Times, he would conceal his identity when making a reservation by using the name, 'Ron DeFeo'. In case you didn't know, this is the name of the original Amityville murderer, upon whose story the book and subsequent movies were based. Ron woke up one night and murdered his entire family.

Now, in an act of murderous irony, Queen's own William Grimes is hastening the death of our dear borough, while, irony of ironies, lamenting it's loss.

Read it here , if you must.

New York Style Eats and Their Queens Style Drivers

I'm ready! Whose got my back? These sum bitches, driving around, knocking people to the friggin curb, swerving, nearly missing folk. ME. And my dear, dear, car, The USS Ellen Johnson. She is not subject to vanity or pain. But, I am motherfucker.

I occasionally take a walk around the nabe. Today was something. Ran into some new Asian joint on Skillman. Something called 'Quaint' as well. Things are changing.
Anyway, I ended up passing down the loud, brown block of the deadliest Blvd of them all, when I was nearly crushed by a delivery vehicle for this dump - New York Style Eats. I yelled and immediately reached for the cellular and dialed up '411 and more', connected and started my rant about the delivery boys.

I don't know what I was expecting. Motherfucker wasn't it. Kick your ass wasn't it. So, I turned around - I was already in line at On The Run picking out my numbers. It is my day off, you know... 3, 34, 44, 50, 54. Damn. He, whomever he was, had called me out. So, I walked out and strutted back down to see this heavily-accented man in person.

I walked in and holding my phone up, signaling that I was the caller, said, 'who is the one that wants to kick my motherfucking ass?' Guy at the counter thought it was funny. Finally, the bossman identified himself - 'You no call here. You go." I responded as I did before, 'Drive your vehicles slower or I will kick your ass.'

I don't have kids. But, I like them enough. I once pulled a kid out of a sure hit on the deadly spot on The Blvd and 46th. He nearly started to cry cuz I yelled at him to be more careful. I forget how easily even tough kids can get scared.

One of these days, one of these drivers is going to nail one of these kids. It'll be because the kids try to break against the traffic and the guy in the gray minivan delivering for New York Style Eats didn't get his ass kicked by me, as he was out with his BLTs and short stacks when I came in.

The old man at the counter was all bother. I wonder if my challenge will lead to any change. I hope so. It's been years since I got in a fight with a food service provider. But, in this case, sober, but still angry, I could say I'm doing it for the children.

If you see those bastards driving like assholes around Sunnyside, let us know here at Queensrocks. We'll take care of that shit, tout suite.

NEW YORK STYLE EATs
45-02 QUEENS BOULEVARD, QUEENS 11104
718-937-4121

Current violation points: 26 (2 points shy of failure).

Donuts or Bust - Nita's European Bakery.

Sunday mornings can be awesome. I don't think I really new how to appreciate a Sunday morning until I moved to New York. My old home town didn't have a brunch culture (also known as 'The Fisting'), didn't know how to spell New York Times, and revolved almost entirely around football and therefore booze.

But when J. from down the block told me about creme-filled donuts at The European Bakery on Greenpoint Ave., I knew Sunday's in Queens were about to get a lot better.

But, I'm having one of those weeks. Okay, ten day stretches. Hmm. Anyway, after dealing with some bidness over by the river this morning at 630 or so, I found myself outside this joint by 8. Earlier in the week I had gone in to scope out the place and bought what turned out to be damn fine - if small - muffins and a groovy little thing called a coffee ring. But, I was ready to dig on a donut. I NEEDED a donut.

Do you know who the Soup Nazi is? I used to work around the corner from Soup Kitchen International. It was good soup, made famous (better??) by being immortalized on an episode of Seinfeld. It wasn't too far from true. And, talk about a real - at least before the immortalization - New York Experience. There really is nothing like the desire for good food coupled with the trials to get it that will make New York eating, New York Eating.

Anyway, I ordered the donuts. I got, 'No donuts, today.' 'But, it's Sunday,' I countered. 'No donuts,' was all the response I could get.

So, if I'm up for it, and if God's willing, some time soon I'll be telling you about a creme-filled donut and a real New York experience. But for now, I'm just going to wolf down this crispy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside cinnamon roll and listen to Kristen Shaughnessy talk about the morning papers while I read the NYTimes online.
I love her. I love the Times. And, though I long for a donut, I love these cinnamon rolls.

NOTE: Nita's received a respectable 13 on it's last inspection.

Malagueta vs. Manhattan

I'm not much of one to rabble-rouse, but all the Manhattan-centric
ideals that permeate New York living get a bit old. I understand their origin. I moved to New York City and that's where I intended to make
it. Then, I moved to Queens and I said, nope, this is where I'm going
to make it. I fit here. (I'm on a bit of free-floating diatribe,
forgive me. I gave up booze seven months ago after an incident at The Courtyard on Queens Blvd. - and I took the
treatment option. I know when to say when. Anyway. After the booze, I'm now strictly on
the Ambien. It's pretty harmless, some late night domain name
purchases, overbidding on ebay on occasion, nudity (mine). But, when I
post on the stuff, it gets difficult to maintain my focus and grammar.)

Anyway, Claire and I went to a Brazilian restaurant for our New Year's
Eve celebration in the Queens. While we were away for Christmas in
Montreal, we bought a subscription- full-on - from zagat.com. So, I
used that to find a restaurant. It suggested 'Malagueta'. It said
things like
A "refreshing surprise" in Astoria, a "well-rounded" lineup of
"excellent", "authentic" Brazilian dishes etc.

Now, here's what happened with that posting and how it got so far away
from the truth. People from Manhattan made the trip out to Astoria,
found a 'cute' restaurant run by amenable folk from the home country
and they thought it was just the greatest thing. They could run back
to Manhattan and tell their friends, pals and colleagues all about it.
"It was an adventure", "some of them know how to really cook", and so
on. Until more of them come. And they write the reviews, send them to
zagat. Tim, Nina and some other putz ex-copywriter do what they can
with it.

Here's the truth about the place - Malagueta is nice. The people who run
the place couldn't be nicer - for Brazilians- and if you know what I
mean great. If you don't, it's not an insult. Brazilians don't make a
big deal out of serving people. It's a job, it's done and it's done
well. They bring the stuff, tell you what it is and that's that.

Manhattanites come over, eat here, think it's quaint and that's what
ends up in Zagat.

We're from Queens. We ate there, we know there's better food to be had
and that's it. The sausage with yuca fries was tepid and over-cooked.
The fish Claire had was drowning in sauce and cheese and salt. My pork
loin didn't have enough sauce to bring it back to life from it's
terrible death in a hot searing pan. We're from Queens, we know
there's five other restaurants doing a better job within three blocks.

It's not the death of Malagueta. If they read this, they'll
understand, they'll fix it. We'll go back next year, we'll eat,
that'll be that.

Send us a list of your favorite restaurants in Western Queens. Don't
say Donovan's. Donovan's is the best restaurant on the planet. I hear
there's a bakery on Greenpoint that has special doughnuts on
Sundays...it's not in Zagats, but it'll be up here soon, I hope.

The Y Responds

Dear Annie
Thank you for your concerns and questions that you have expressed to us. I am consulting some of my other staff in regards to theses issues and I will be in touch with you by the end of this Week. Thanks for your patience

Stay tuned!

Finally! I Write a Letter to the Y

"I'm mad as hell and not going to take it anymore!"

Dear Linda:

I was given your card by the front desk as the right person to whom to direct a complaint.

I have been a member of the LIC YMCA for about 2 years now. I am a runner, and I love that the YMCA has an indoor track so that I can train in the winter without risking the weather. It also gives me a safe place to run year round, as there are no safe places to run outside in the Sunnyside area because of all of the trucks and fast drivers.

I prefer the track to the treadmill because I train for races (including the NYC Marathon), and it is important for training to be able to adjust your speed as needed, instead of having to punch a button up and down as on a treadmill.

I am writing because on a number of occasions I have found the indoor track to be a very unsafe place because of the inconsiderate/oblivious nature of some patrons of the YMCA. Although the rules say to stay single file unless passing, and to only go in one direction, many people simply ignore these rules and do as they please on the track.

For those of us who are running, this makes the experience potentially very dangerous. Here is a list of the dangerous actions I routinely observe on the YMCA indoor track:

- Groups of teenagers walking slowly 2 or even 3 across, paying no attention to runners coming up behind them
- Unattended children during family time on Saturdays and Sundays
- Teenagers and adults who stop suddenly without looking behind them to see if anyone might run into them
- Groups of teenagers hanging out on the backside of the track where the windows to the pool are. This is especially dangerous because the corner near the punching bag is a blind corner.
- Teenagers and adults who walk the wrong direction and ignore requests to walk in the right direction

I visit the Y 3 or 4 times a week to use the track, and observe this behavior almost every time. It's especially troublesome in the busy after-work hours, which is the only time that a lot of us can come work out.

I love that the YMCA is a place where teenagers can come and be in a safe place, and I also love that it is a family-friendly environment. However, I would appreciate it if the rules of the track were strictly enforced so that we can all be safe and enjoy our workouts.

The staff upstairs is kind and well-intentioned, but I have never seen anyone actively monitoring the track. Those of us who come to the Y to train and improve our fitness should NOT have to interrupt our workouts because of rude patrons and an inattentive staff. I am growing tired of having my time at the Y characterized by feelings of frustration, annoyance, and even anger.

On a side note, there is one other small thing that really only applies to runners. The track is set up so that the directions change every other day. However, most runners train every other day, meaning that if I come Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I am running the same direction all three days. On a very small track, this can lead to injury. It would make so much more sense and be much safer for runners if the track went one direction Sun-Wed, and the other direction Thurs-Sat. That way, somebody coming on alternate days will get the benefits of the alternate direction.

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to your response.

Nominate Us for a 2007 Bloggie...Please

If you are reading this between now and 10 PM Thursday, January 11th and you like what you are reading or just want to give props to Queens, please nominate us for a 2007 Bloggie. http://2007.bloggies.com/

Thanks!

The Aubergine Cafe

In the no-mans land smushed between Sunnyside and Woodside on 50th street and Skillman Avenue resides a gem of a cafe that has Paul and I going back again and again. The Aubergine cafe, which I believe is Irish owned and operated, features fresh coffee drinks, sandwiches, quiche, paninis, pastries, and salads.

Exposed brick lines one wall which also features newspapers and magazines that make ones' dentist office look under stocked. The small space is big on personality and flavorful food. A favorite of mine is the roasted red pepper, mozzarella, basil and olive tapanade sandwich and side salad. The quiche of the day are also delectable.

The only flaw we found in our latest trip, which is no fault of the establishment's, is the Park Slope nature of the clientele. On our latest Sunday afternoon jaunt we found the place to be filled with parents who couldn't care less that their toddling children were running around, screeching at the top of their lungs and at one point even banging on the glass of the pastry case. While we're all for family friendly dining, I wish that parents of rude children would realize that not everyone wants to be friends with their family!

So take a stroll to the outer limits of Sunnyside and partake of what the Aubergine has to offer, but if your kid is not well behaved, do us all a favor and get your coffee and sandwich to go!

(Photo credit: Paul Grove)

New Years Resolution Playing Out at the Y

Lynn and I live on different sides of the tracks, so we work out at different places. I'm inclined to pay her spot a visit, if only for the entertainment factor.

Me, I rock it down at the Y on Queens Boulevard and 32nd Street, in the shadow of the 7 train at the spot where it makes that near-hairpin turn that makes rush hour so much fun. I posted a year ago about the insanity that prevails on the track at the Y, and for awhile, things seemed to be getting worse. They instituted "family time" where children of all ages could be on the track as long as they were accompanied by an adult. The Y has a very loose definition of "accompanied"--I think that multiple zip codes can be involved. Things got really, really bad, and I lost my temper a few times. I know! Can you believe it? Sweet li'l me? It was chaos.

But then, cooler heads prevailed, and now children under 12 are banned from the exercise area completely! Now, the track is a much safer place. Because it's the beginning of January, it's crowded with new members who are trying that walking thing, but I can train those people. I have a "Please stay to the side" or "Comin' through" that seems to do the trick.

Of course, there's a guy who I've seen on the track 3 times now who only walks in the wrong direction, and when you say, "Wrong way!" he just looks puzzled. And there was the lady in the locker room who climbed up onto the bench to change into her bathing suit. Right next to me. I don't need to be eye level with, um, you.

But I'm cool with it all, now that the children are safe from being killed on the track. I might even smile at the desk people next time I walk inside.

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.

Breaking News

Foodtown now sells quinoa.