04.24.06
Osama and the Macrobiotic Diet
Osama is a flaming homosexual vegan dancer from the Panshir Valley. I found him just after sunset at the corner of Roebling and Metropolitan. He was staggering drunk, wearing a black and white checkered headdress around his neck, and frantically hailing me. He told me he was heading back to The Village to meet “one of my lovers,” and boy did he have a chip on his shoulder.
The traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge afforded me time to learn many (but I’m sure not all) of the trials and tribulations one goes through when his is born a flamer in Afganistan in the early 60s and lives with the name Osama in New York in the 00s. His mother wore mini-skirts when she visited Kabul with him during his youth. He was adamant that he was not a terrorist, though I had not accused him of being one. He said, “I’ve always been gay. I grew up playing with barbies not bombs.”
Thankfully for Osama, he did not have to liv through the Taliban era. I can’t imagine he would have made it very far. In fact, he did not even have to endure the Soviet occupation. He, his sickly sister, and his mother managed to make it to New York just in time for Osama to enjoy the burgeoning disco scene. He told me he remembered learning of the Soviet invasion as he walked out of a gay porno theather on 42nd Street on Christmas day in 1979. In his words, it was a “buzz kill.”
Osama told me the US reconstruction effort in Afganistan is a joke. He recently returned from a trip to Kabul, and, according to my increasingly agitated fare, the only visible sign of progress is a newly paved road between the capital and Kandahar. And even that is only used by heavily armed UN and NATO troops because the bandits are prevalent.
What’s worse, he meets people all the time here in America who tell him they hate his name, or hate him for his name. Osama claimed that is the equivalent of an Afgan hating all Westerners named John. I will admit to you that, when I trekked through Morocco’s High Atlas Mountains soon after September 11th, I named the mule that carried all of my heavy, stinking bags “Osama” out of spite. I didn’t mention this to Osama last night, because I didn’t think he’d see the humor in it.
He had worked himself into a tizzy, and he felt it important to tell me, “Let me tell you, I cried harder than you did when the World Trade Center collapsed, because you were born here but I had to work to become an American.” Before Osama got out of my cab in a huff, I asked him where his favorite cheap place to eat in The Village is.
Without hesitation he told me he’d been going to Temple in the Village for more than 20 years. The Temple serves the healthiest buffet in the city, if not the world.
The lengthy buffet table consists entirely of vegetarian, vegan, and macrobiotic (foods that occur naturally in the local ecosystem according to Osama) selections. Osama declared that he had lived on a macrobiotic diet since his youth back in the Panshir Valley.
My belly was pleading with me for some veggies after my giant, late-night slice of pizza the night before. I was more than satisfied with this meal. I grabbed myself three quarters of a pound of seaweed, pickle spears, collard greens, bean sprouts, bok choy, sesame broccoli, olives, zucchini tempura, broccoli rabe (a personal favorite) and spicy cabage kim chi. At 6 bucks per pound, my whole meal was only 5 dollars including tax. I asked the shy owner why the kim chi was so good, and he told me it was because he is Korean and he makes it himself in the back.
It was one of those places I couldn’t believe I’d never been to after all the time I’d spent in that neighborhood over the years. I’ll be eating at the Temple in the Village again I’m sure. I won’t, however, be making fun of anyone’s name again anytime soon.
Temple in the Village, West 3rd Street between LaGuardia and Thompson, The Village, Manhattan
Visit www.famousfatdave.com for a laugh or an eating tour
