I am not one to rule out well known establishments a priori – I am quite willing to try household names, and if a place lives up to its reputation, I am more than pleased. Although I am as interested as anyone else in finding that secret place that lies off the beaten path, I am not obsessed with that quest. My mission is not to prove that those small, special secret places are better than the well known restaurants. There is nothing wrong with tradition and an enduring legacy.

After hearing about Grimaldi’s Pizzeria in Brooklyn for decades, I recently visited, knowing full well that it is heavily touristed, typically mobbed with long queues to get in. The pizza was excellent, and the overall experience was a lot of fun. My friend and I also met a number of extremely interesting people. See story here.

Junior’s, located at 386 Flatbush Avenue EXT in Brooklyn, is a diner styled restaurant, founded in 1950 by Harry Rosen. It is a full-service restaurant with an extensive menu, however their claim to fame is the cheesecake, based on a family recipe developed by Rosen with head baker Eigel Peterson. I was only in Junior’s once, eons ago so I cannot speak to their quality. Reviews span the spectrum as would be expected, from those who adore to those who abhor. My hat goes off to Eileen’s Cheesecake, a tiny cheesecake mecca at 17 Cleveland Place in Manhattan. Eileen Avezzano is one of the nicest business owners I have met, and her New York-style cheesecake is uniquely light and fluffy, owing to her own special recipe. See my story here.

Generally speaking, however, by the time a restaurant has achieved mythic, iconic status in New York City and it starts serving hordes of people, most likely the quality of food and/or service is likely to suffer. These places often become money machines with marketing, branding and even the opening of a small chain of shops.

In New York’s harbor, Lady Liberty welcomed all, however, Ellis Island and now immigration services have controlled the influx of those with a ravenous appetite for America. At places like Junior’s, however, no barriers to entry exist other than a few dollars for a slice of cheesecake. But to serve the volume, it has to step up production – how else to serve the hungry huddled masses yearning to eat cheesecake?

The first ethnic cuisine I had in New York City was Chinese, for a number of reasons, not the least of which was affordability as a student. It was no time at all before Chinatown became the restaurant destination of choice. I did not dabble long in the cuisine either. I soon found a few dishes that I liked, and in no time at all, experimentation gave way to the familiar – beansprouts with black bean sauce or chow mei fun noodle dishes.

As students, we indulged our new found freedom away from home, most of us for the first time. Yet ironically, the values and even the idea itself of routine and ritual that we rejected from our parent’s generation were soon to be substituted with our own rituals, routines, and values. We deceived ourselves to believe that we were completely free spirits – i.e. free of any structure or tradition. However, we had, in fact, established a new, well-defined culture, with its codes of behavior, dress, relationships, foods, recreational drugs, hair styles, slang, activities, work ethic, music, and sex. One tradition just replace another. Over time, we learned that many of the values, mores, and traditions of previous generations were not as bad as we once imagined, like a good work ethic or relationship fidelity.

When it comes to food, no generation needs to be convinced of the merits of tradition in cuisine. This was and still is one of the greatest things about New York City – the plethora of restaurants and their ethnic diversity. However, when it comes time to eat and I am very hungry, I am not very inclined to experiment. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises. This is the time where nature’s call is best answered with a familiar voice.

New Yorkers are no different than anyone else. We look for the comfort in the familiar rituals – morning coffee, reading email, eating at a local favorite restaurant with friends, and, if you are inclined towards Chinese food, the look of a flat-bottomed soup spoon and the feel of a warm ceramic tea cup in your hand 🙂

Who do you think you are? The Queen of Sheba? This was a popular accusation during my childhood, when my mother wanted to reprimand a sister who was acting spoiled or lazy – a mortal sin in our New England household and one of such magnitude that a Yemenite notable had to be brought in to make the point. Along with Timbuktu, apparently a place to far to go, these places were the extent of my working knowledge of the Middle East and Africa.

I had heard that there was an Yemeni restaurant in Bay Ridge. An online search quickly revealed the only candidate, Bab al Yemen. So, on a rainy night, I ventured out to Brooklyn with a friend to see what Yemeni food was all about.

Slipping in for a menu for review before commitment, I was immediately greeted and asked if I wanted to experience Yemeni food. Only seconds had passed and I saw the tip of the hospitality iceberg we would experience. Our waiter, Waleed al Jahmi (upper right photo), who turned out to be part owner with his brother and chef Abdulghani (top center photo), gave us a complete explanation of every food category in a little primer that he called Yemeni Food 101.

I’m not going to tell you that a trip to Bab al Yemen is to transport you to another time and place. For that, I suggest you book a flight to Yemen. Speaking to Waleed*, a business school graduate who was so articulate and city savvy, will let you know that you are in New York City, not at Bab al Yemen (the gates of Yemen).
However, I will tell you that if you are looking for authentic food and service that rivals the most cordial and hospitable you may ever have in the five boroughs, then I would make a journey to 413 Bay Ridge Avenue in Brooklyn. I have learned that Yemen is known for its hospitality, so I am not surprised that Yemen was at one time referred to as Arabia Felix, Latin for Happy Arabia.

We strove for authenticity in all our food choices, which was easy with Waleed as guide. My companion had Haneeth, I had Fahsah. Every meal comes with khobz, the traditional Yemeni flatbread, cooked on premises in their clay oven. We also had my favorite Middle Eastern dish, Fool Mudamas. The Yemeni variant was delicious yet quite different from the Egyptian style I am most familiar with (see here).

One of the real highlights for me was the extraordinary conviviality we experienced with Waleed and the staff. Every imaginable question was answered – and I had plenty of questions, knowing virtually nothing about Yemen or the culture. We spent quite some time discussing Sana’a, the capital of Yemen, the photos of which graced the walls. I was so intrigued with the architecture, climate and lifestyle. The entire staff was Yemeni, so we got our education from people who truly know the country and culture. Bab al Yemen is authentic in every way. Booths are available, even with a separate entrance for the privacy of women. At one juncture, Waleed asked Mohamed (photo middle right) to change into traditional dress for us. When I asked about the chef, I was assured he would make a visit after we finished our meal, which he did. My request for photos was welcomed including a trip to the kitchen.

It is easy to understand how serving diners night after night can easily lead to attitudes that range from perfunctory to snippy or rude – not unusual in New York City. So, I always find it remarkable when a restaurant server or owner can maintain such a fresh, cheerful and helpful demeanor. Waleed and his coworkers broke the mold on this one.

I think I need to let my sister know, that although she was led to believe that being served in a royal manner was quite sinful, I have learned it is not and that I found a place in Bay Ridge where she can go and be treated like the Queen of Sheba 🙂

*This is my second encounter with a man named Waleed – see one of my favorite adventures with Walid Soroor here.

Note: You can read the New York Times review here, the Village Voice review here and the New Yorker article here.

Nothing can live up to years of expectation. I avoided going to Grimaldi’s Pizzeria for eons, knowing that LINES were what it was best known for. Hours in line.

Recently, however, I had a plan to explore Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn, and schedule things around what I hoped would be the deadest time of day – the “lull” between lunch and dinner – 3:30 to 4 PM felt just about right. And better on a winter day, i.e., not a warm day (particularly not on a weekend in the summer). This formula worked well for my visit to Totonno’s and Di Fara, two other legendary pizza emporiums in Brooklyn. I have been told that both have tremendous lines in warmer weather, as does John’s in Manhattan (see Roots of Pizza here). Grimaldi’s is one of New York City’s few coal-fired brick-oven pizza parlors (John’s on Bleecker Street is also.

When you have this kind of following in New York City, like it or not, they set the terms and conditions. The signs on the door clearly proclaim the no nonsense attitude: “TAKE OUT IS THE SAME LINE” and “NO SLICES” “CASH ONLY.” This type of scenario was well parodied on the TV series Seinfeld in an episode called the Soup Nazi. Perhaps signs and policies like this may seem a bit harsh, but in New York City, mayhem would ensue were strict ground rules not enacted.

The pizza was excellent – much better than I expected from a place that was so highly trafficked, touristed, and written about. Legacy businesses like this can easily thrive on name alone with deterioration of product or food quality. There are naysayers, of course, many of them just wanting to show their New York City culinary expertise. But do not be deterred. Along worth so many awards and accolades, the Zagat restaurant survey rates Grimaldi’s as one of the top pizzerias in New York City. If you can avoid enormous lines, it is worth the visit. The location is quite scenic – at 19 Fulton Street, under the Brooklyn Bridge, steps from the East River and Fulton Ferry landing.

A New Yorker is often as or more elated with tales of successful navigation or mitigation of typical, known obstacles. I’m not sure what was better – the pizza or my timing coup: Date: January 30, 2011. Day of Week: Sunday. Time of Day: 3:37 PM. Wait in line: Zero Minutes!

A bit of banter is not a bad thing. Small talk, much maligned, is often useful as a lubricant to get the wheels of social machinery turning. But there is a limit and there are things that are often repeated ad nauseum that are just too infuriatingly obvious. Like heat and humidity.

I recall one specific instance when a UPS driver entered my business premises on an extremely hot and humid summer day. I tried to show some compassion and in an offhanded way commented that is was really HOT out there. Being that this was just meant as sympathetic chit chat, I did not feel that I needed to expound on this with meteorological completeness. However, with tremendous gravitas and as if I was being told something I did not know for the first time he said, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.”
The absurdly obvious statement was further compounded by the fact that my family, unbeknownst to him, has a morbid obsession with humidity (along with making sure shoes are not too big – see One Size Too Small here).

There are other refrains that are equally annoying, like any variant about thin crust pizza (along with brick oven). “Is their pizza thin crust?”, “I love thin crust,” or “Their pizza has a thin crust,” typically followed by an explanation of what and why for all of us who have not heard about thin crust. Much like the No Honking horn law, perhaps New York City could pass a local ordinance: “It will be assumed all pizza is ‘thin crust’ unless otherwise specified. Any unnecessary use of the phrase ‘thin crust’ within the five boroughs will be subject to a fine.”
On the other hand, we don’t hear much about the desirability of thick crust. At one time I used to enjoy Sicilian styled pizza and Chicago deep pan pizza (a la Pizzeria Uno), both with thick crusts.

Sunday, after reading about Rosario’s Pizzeria on the Lower East Side, I decided to make a short trip and sample the goods. Located at 173 Orchard Street and Stanton, the awning proclaims “The Best Pizza in Town” and “Since 1963.” So, they get points for authenticity and longevity. However, I was not particularly pleased with their style. The crust was thick and somewhat cakey. Have you ever had thin crust pizza?

The reviews I have read range the gamut, with 5 star reviews just as impassioned as the 1 star. The highlight of my excursion was an animated conversation in Italian between the shopkeeper and a customer about I don’t know what. Perhaps the patron was informing the shopkeeper about thin crust pizza and the shopkeeper was explaining that the problem in the summer is that it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity 🙂

Everyone has their pet peeves, and for me, it is taking too much time to eat when there are “better” things to do. And in New York City, there are always “better” things to do. This may sound very contradictory for a man who extols French culture, quality of life, and the slow food movement. It is. But as a college professor once responded to me, when I detected some dissonance in one of his statements, “People are full of contradictions.”

My frustration rises to crisis management when I am with people whose priority is eating over all other things and where no experience, no matter how exciting or exhilarating, will distract them from seeking food. I am in deep trouble when I am with these types of individuals in New York City, which is a literal smorgasbord of eateries. And typically, for these comfort seekers, eating on the run is not their preferred modus operandi – sitting and indulging is.

I had a relative who used to come to the city often and stay weekends. A refrain, which I can hear in my head to this day, was, “Let’s grab a bite to eat.” I became so irritated, because this was typically mid day, long before dinner, and we had an agenda of things to do and places to see. The “grab a bite to eat” always ended up becoming a production of an hour or more. Waiting, ordering, eating, coffee, getting a check, paying, etc.

When very young, I had limited restaurant experience and thought “a la carte” meant that food was offered on a cart, needing to be snatched quickly while passing by. The reduced service and quality of selections accounted for the lower pricing. This would seem a great option for New York, but there are no carts to snatch from in restaurants (dim sum is close), so there is no way to really “grab a bite to eat.” For the traveler or resident who does have the need to expedite a meal, there are places tailored to a quick bite, the most common being the New York pizza parlor for a slice on the run. There are other places, somewhat less noticeable, tucked into the nooks and crannies of the city’s side streets.

In the Village, in the heart of NYU country at 6 West 4th Street, there is the Little Atlas Cafe. The place truly befits its diminutive name and is strictly takeout and delivery. There is just barely enough room for a few customers and the staff. The menu is quite extensive. Reviews vary. The place has a large range of vegan offerings, and many of the criticisms are from those who have specific issues with the vegan products. I enjoy their food, and for those on the run, who have no access to a fast moving cart, the Little Atlas Cafe is the perfect place to Grab a Bite to Eat 🙂

I first learned of Totonno’s while visiting the hobby shop Precision RC in Bath Beach, Brooklyn. A number of regulars were socializing and I told of a recent visit to Di Fara Pizza in Brooklyn. They were familiar with the place and queried me about the current pricing of slices. When I reported $5 each, the room was abuzz with incredulousness as one repeated my findings to another. I was advised to visit Totonno in Coney Island where, according to them, I would find better value and pizza. So the name was filed away for a future excursion.

On Sunday, I made the journey out to 1524 Neptune Avenue on Coney Island. Timing, hunger, and circumstance found me there early evening between shifts, so my first experience was an unusually quiet one. They are often mobbed with lines. I was privileged to have nearly the entire place alone.

Totonno’s began in 1905 when Anthony “Totonno” Pero distinguished himself as one of N.Y.’s first Master Pizziolas. In 1924, he opened his own pizzeria in Coney Island. The establishment is currently run by three individuals who operate it from Wednesday to Sunday. Michael, Maddie, and Totonno’s niece, Louise Ciminieri. Learn more here.

The service was a bit cool, but I knew that this was likely just a little armor that comes from working for decades in a retail environment in New York City. I surmised a little lubrication would release the humanity.
I began taking photos – it was clear from the walls of articles, awards, and photos, that Totonno’s was a mecca and photography was standard fare. See my entire photo gallery here. I began to tell the story of my visit to Di Fara, my subsequent visit to the hobby shop, and the recommendation I was given to seek out Totonno’s. I also told of the crowds and lines at Di Fara and how at $5 per slice, that little old man must have accumulated some serious money by now.

Louise was unimpressed – she quickly retorted that Di Fara insists on doing everything himself, accounting for much of the slowness in service. Apparently a demonstration was needed, and Louise cajoled Michael: “Come on, walk like Di Fara,” Michael obliged, as seen in the photo.
The elixir of humor was flowing now, and Michael and Maddie took a seat in a booth next to us. I asked Michael what he did outside of Totonno’s, to which he replied he did standup in Rockaway two nights per week. He laughed, and I realized I had been taken.

A new customer walked in and ordered a small pie. Louise asked how many were left, to which Michael answered, “two.” I asked the meaning of this. Did they make dough DAILY and sold until they ran out? Louise said yes, and I asked, “Do others do this?”
“No one does what we do.” She followed with a discussion of ingredients and the pains they go through to get them and maintain the same quality pizza made in 1924. They still use a coal oven pizza, with coal deliveries made every two weeks. Louise also told me how Totonno was now a destination and how travelers from around the world visit the Neptune Avenue pizzeria.

I told them of this website and that I would be featuring the pizzeria. I left in a great mood, so fortunate to have had a New York City moment in an iconic restaurant. It all served as a good review in basic science, that a little warmth melts any ice and a little oil unhinges any armor. Out comes humanity, and if you’re lucky, a little free theater entitled “Walk like Di Fara.” 🙂

Some years ago I was gifted the Encyclopedia of Bad Taste – A Celebration of American Pop Culture at Its Most Joyfully Outrageous. Many of the entries were hilarious, and the book provided many hours of entertainment. It’s very easy to find things to complain about regarding America in a land of excess and absurdity, with examples in virtually every facet of life – supersized meals, morbid obesity, SUVs, shopping malls, monster trucks, Elvisiana, fuzzy dice, lava lamps, aerosol cheese, etc.

The subject of the shortcomings of the USA was also a frequent topic of conversation with a former coworker. On one occasion, rather discouraged, I quipped, “What does the USA have of quality anyway apart from Levis and Film?” To which he replied, “Corn.” That’s true. So I included corn as a 3rd element in the list of quality American products. The trinity became a favorite private joke, included in conversations as we saw fit.

More and more, however, we find that many of the quality products we have in the USA are legacy products, whether they are Levi jeans, Corvettes, Broadway shows, and theme restaurants – such as diners. Many of these legacy products, however, are dusted off, remanufactured and repackaged in a shoddy way, riding on reputation, only to become another manifestation of the “triumph of image over substance” (see Zeckendorf here). Nostalgia is such a strong force and we are drawn to these things.
Diners. I want to love them all. But reality is that many have poor food. And beyond this, the standards for healthy food have risen, and much diner food is really out of step with what many want to eat. This is one element that perhaps accounts for such a staggering range of reviews for places like the Jackson Hole Diner in Bayside, Queens.

I recently made a visit, after only seeing the exterior on an excursion to Bayside (see All the Way here) in 2009. My companion and I were extremely excited – everything was so retro and perfectly agleam with chrome, steel, glass, neon, polished floors, and shiny vinyl seating. The root beer ice cream float was encouraging. The rest of the meal was basic. As I have written before, at least as far as my New York City experience goes, if going to a diner, best to pick your battles and order accordingly. See my stories Diner Beware of the Diner and Greasy Spoon.

I hate to break up a trinity – they are so strong structurally, whether branches of government, tripods, or the Catholic Triune God. So for now, the trinity of America’s best stands – Levis, film, and corn 🙂

Absolutely everything conspired to fulfill our fantasy of Shangri-la. The Long Island Expressway exit was Utopia Parkway. The neighborhood was Fresh Meadows. The address was Fresh Meadow Lane. The restaurant was called Quantum Leap.

The menu had a small mission statement with an explanation of the reason for the restaurant’s name. It said that the secret of life was in the orbital quantum leaps of subatomic particles made in photosynthesis. That was just magical enough to add to the image and scientific enough to enable retelling.

There was no subway service there, but we had access to a car. With a number of us packed inside a Honda Civic, we must not have looked too dissimilar to the cover of R. Crumb’s Carload O’Comics. Our visits to Quantum Leap were spirited pilgrimages with empty stomachs and tremendous anticipation for the food, which was to us at the time like nectar from the gods.

We knew what we wanted before we arrived. Rituals are important, and we had ours. A salad called the Big Wood (which I still miss) was a meal in itself – one or more was shared. At the time, we eschewed cooked food as much as possible. If budgets allowed, raw carrot juice (a rarity at the time) was ordered by the more affluent. The kitchen was well regarded for its desserts, and an excursion to Quantum Leap was never complete without their Banana Creme Crumb. Our desire to limit our dairy intake was thrown aside for these events.

The space included a natural foods store – browsing the wares was part of every trip, as was meeting and greeting the manager, someone who became a dear friend and the subject of my story All The Way. I bought one of their T-shirts at the time – it was too small then and still too small – another episode of my life’s backstory of things too small and tight.

On a recent trip to Queens, I decided to revisit the restaurant. When arriving at the address 6564 Fresh Meadow Lane, however, Quantum Leap was nowhere to be found, with Tienda Vieja in its place. After a brief visual survey of the area, it appeared to be the same neighborhood I remembered. A brief visit inside Tienda Vieja confirmed that this was the former home of Quantum Leap – a current staff member told me that they had closed at this location in the beginning of the year.

In the 1980s, the owner opened the first Manhattan location near my home – I was ecstatic. I still eat there on occasion, likely their oldest customer. When I tell the owner that he should bring back the Big Wood, he laughs. Silly boy, I bet you believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and that the secret of life is in a Quantum Leap 🙂