If there’s one thing California transplants assure me of, it’s that you can find tastier, more authentic tacos all over the place out West. Having lived on the East Coast my entire life, it was only a few months ago that I began to feel that a neighborhood taco stand might be as necessary as a coffee shop and a pizza place. I probably couldn’t have dreamed up a better fix than Snack Dragon.
Perhaps starting out in an actual shack slapped to the front of a deli on Avenue B helped the Dragon narrow its focus to perfecting its food. Now installed in a cozy storefront with a takeout window on 3rd St., Snack Dragon still offers tacos with fresh ingredients made on premises, in five varieties: carne asada, pollo verde, carnitas, quinoa (veggie), and fish. The carne asada taco ($4) is usually my pick—marinated steak and black beans topped with salsa, sour cream, and monterey jack, seasoned with cilantro and lime, and folded in a blue corn tortilla. For the price it’s not a huge amount of food, but is definitely a more delicious option for soaking up booze than a gooey slice of processed cheese.
Another important point, Snack Dragon is open until 4 am on weekends, although they do seem to close earlier from time to time. And while I don’t know how Snack Dragon stacks up to a Californian’s jaded palate, there’s something that seems a little transplanted and quite a bit comforting about it, when found aglow in the wee hours, serving up fresh tacos to an indie rock soundtrack.
Vidocity visits Snack Dagon back when it was a shack.
Snack Dragon Taco Shack 199 E 3rd St. at Ave B.
Usually open by 6 pm, until 1 am; 4am Fri and Sat
I’m not a big fan of delayed gratification–it seems like an inefficient use of time and fickle desire. I think there’s only one thing better than getting something you know you want somewhat right away, and that’s getting something you didn’t even know you wanted.
I was re-thinking that when I spied Stone’s 07.07.07 Vertical Epic Ale ($5.99) in the beer section at Whole Foods. The label copy sells the shit out of the stuff, which I appreciate as both a beer lover and marketer/pimpstress. The story is thus–the San Diego, California brewery releases one “larger-than-life, heroic adventure” per year, each brew different from the last, on 02/02/02, 03/03/03, 04/04/04, etc. up until the year 2012. Each ale is meant to be aged until 12/12/12, after which date the careful collector is urged to do a “vertical tasting” of every blend in order, resulting in said epic. Presumably sometime before 12/21/12, or Mayan Doomsday, to be on the safe side.
Genius. But as usual, I find out about this kind of stuff too late to make any easy ebay money off it. As a matter of fact, if I could go back ten years or so, I’d probably just tell myself to buy as many domain names as I could possibly think of. And wear sunscreen.
But I probably couldn’t horde beer anyway. Just standing in the checkout line line at Whole Foods, with the foul, calorie-deprived breath of some waif panting down my nape was enough to convince me to crack this stuff open soon as I got home. This year’s edition draws inspiration from Belgian Saisons and Golden Triples, clocks in at 8.4% alcohol, and packs a flavorful punch of spices—ginger and cardamom, and something like pumpkin. It’s tasty stuff and I only wish I’d know how it will stack up five years’ hence.
Vertical Epic 07.07.07 while supplies last at Whole Foods on Houston St.
Caracas Arepa Bar is ignoring me. The first time I call, there’s no hello. Instead the receiver hovers within hearing-range of vague, delighted sounds–people enjoying buttery, cheesey arepas and beers. The second and third times: busy signal. This is not the first time this has happened.
And this is how I know I’m in deep with a snack obsession, because instead of pulling out another dog-eared menu, I throw on pants and run out with shower hair, slinking past all the pretty people drifting by, because Caracas can’t ignore me if I’m standing there, dripping.
My strategy when I reach my destination is usually as follows: for maximum tastiness, skip the filling coconut shakes, serviceable salads, and deep-fried empanadas, and try as many arepas as you can. A Venezuelan specialty, the arepa is a flat, grilled-crisp, corn cake, about the size of a McMuffin and stuffed with a variety of fillings. My personal favorites are De Guasacaca–Venezuelan guacamole with crumbly mild paisa cheese ($5.50), and La del Gato–melty guayanes cheese, avocado, and fried sweet plantains ($5.75).
Expect a wait long enough that you smell like arepa when you emerge with your stapled brown bags of deliciousness. This tiny takeout joint is regularly packed, as three guys hustle to hand-prepare corn cakes behind the counter. If you have company, there’s seating two doors down.
Caracas To Go 91 E 7th St. at First Ave.
Mon-Sat 12:00pm-10:45pm, Sun 12:00pm-9:45pm
Summer does wonders for my record collection. Any album I discover in June or July becomes infused with a relaxed, celebratory warmth that keeps on giving all yesr, so I tend to stock up on music. However, my appetite simply crumbles. A few stunned days in the sun, a few night sweating in bed, a busted A/C at work, and I’m a joyless husk that craves only ice cubes and pineapple wedges.
So I have to remember the places worth dribbling through 98% humidity for. Lassi, an unpromising-looking West Village takeout corridor, is worth checking out if only for its signature beverage. Lassi (the drink) is a cold silky mix of yogurt, water, and salt, in flavors ranging from mango to cardamom. It’s deliciously rich even as the tartness makes your eyes squinch. But pull up a stool for the parathas as well–hearty naan griddled and folded crepe-style over delicately-spiced fillings of your choice–potato, daikon, cauliflower, or cheese; and served with boondi raita, a chilled, mint-flavored dipping sauce flecked with little doughy balls. The challenge: try not to suck down your lassi before the food arrives.
If inclined to claustrophobia, take it to the park–the parathas stays miraculously hot in the insulated aluminum wrapping they use. My aloo parathas and 8oz mango lassi set me back $8.08, well worth it to start enjoying summer again.
Lassi, 28 Greenwich Ave. at 6th Ave.
Today while wandering through Soho to spy upon cute geeks buying iPhones I happened upon my favorite New York street performer/salesperson, Peeler Man. If you suspect that you might ever need a vegetable peeler, you should wait til you encounter him.
I call it street theater, because make no mistake, Peeler Man, whose name is actually Joe Ades, is a notch or two beyond QVC hosts when it comes to impassioned conviction about the amazing versatility of the Star vegetable peeler. An older, well-dressed gentleman with wild, white hair, Ades can usually be seen on some busy sidewalk, crouched over plastic bins holding potatoes and carrots, bellowing in a British accent, a wad of bills clenched between latex-gloved, orange-stained fingertips. One’s first impression is that perhaps the guy has lost his mind, but then you stop and watch him do his thing, realize he’s serious, and eventually, appreciate the entertainment value.
“NOW! I’LL SHOW YOU HOW IT WORKS! FIRST! YOU PEEL THE CARROT!” he shouts to a tentative-but-intrigued flock of tourists and shoppers standing only a few feet away. Peels pile up like magic beneath his fingers. “THEN! YOU SLICE THE CARROT!” he folds the paper-thin slices between his fingers, cuts some more, and easy as that, even, identical carrot shavings shoot from the peeler. He sells the Star peelers for $5 a pop, and says they’re made in Switzerland, and only available exclusively from him on the sidewalks of New York.
Apparently he was recently featured in Vanity Fair, and lives comfortably with his wife on the Upper West Side. If nothing else, he’s just another reason to love this town.