04.21.06
Morning In Queens
For my first ever blog entry, let me begin by saying this: I don’t hate Applebees. And those neon green slices of congealed chemicals they call pickles at the Roy Rogers’ fixin’ bar, I pile them high on my tray even when I’ve only ordered fried chicken. And I love everything on the menu at Taco Bell (although I was mildly disappointed with the highly touted Crunch Wrap Supreme).
I’m no snob. I love food so long as it tastes good. But when I’m driving you to some distant corner of Queens, and I ask you what the absolute best thing is to eat around there, please don’t tell me, “Well. . . There’s the White Castle.”
I know there’s the White Castle. I know MacDonald’s is open 24 hours. I know Subway makes a mean toasted BMT. What I don’t know is that the deli man on your corner is from Nigeria, and he puts a pot of his grandma’s peanut soup on counter every night. I don’t know that the pizza shop two blocks up that looks like every other pizza shop in the city is good enough that people come from all over the borough for a slice. I don’t know which jerk store on your street has the spicier chicken unless you tell me.
Last night, one of my fares understood what I was getting at. I picked him up on Bedford and North 7th. He barely spoke a word of English, but he managed to communicate to me that he was going to Elmhurst, that he was from the Songkhla province in the far south of Thailand, and that he worked at a Thai restaurant in Williamsburg (I could smell the shallots and rice vinegar on him the moment he got in). We shared a special moment as we sang a Thai pop song called Pid Pby Laau from the early 90’s that my sweet Thai girlfriend had taught me.
As we crossed the Koz, I managed to communicate to him that I wasn’t particularly hungry, but that I just wanted something delicious from his neighborhood. He thought for a while, and then asked me if a shake was what I was looking for. “Perfect,” I said. I dropped him off, and he gave me a good tip. Seeming a bit ashamed that he was not sending me to a Thai restaurant, he gave me directions to Minangasli, an Indonesian place on Whitney Avenue. He told me to order the durian shake.
I’d come across durians on my trip to Thailand to visit my sweet Thai girlfriend’s family. Her 22 cousins showed me that durian rinds are comprised of thick spikes and the meat inside smells something like the trash that washes up on Thai beaches in summer (or to put it in New York terms, durians smell something like the intersection of Grand Street and Chystie). But the flavor is delectable and exotic once you get over that odor. It is an aquired taste, though it only takes about 2 or 3 bites to aquire it.
(Possible culprits for that smell on the corner of Grand and Chystie)
I had assumed they would be making the shake to order, so I was somewhat surprised when the burly Sumatran woman pulled a plastic cup out of the fridge. I got it into my cab and was immediately overwhelmed by the smel. At least I knew it was real durian. The shake was thick, cold, smooth, and tasty. I noticed that I enjoyed it much more when I took large gulps, I think because the big taste overtook the big stink that way.
My next fare did not sound pleased when I heard her on her cell phone complaining that she’d “gotten in YET ANOTHER cab that smells like crap.” I didn’t mind. Even though it would take a couple more fares before my taxi aired out, the shake was delicious, and that’s all that matters to me.
Minangasli, 86-10 Whitney Ave, Elmhurst, Queens
Visit www.famousfatdave.com for a chuckle or to book an eating tour
