I love Halloween, but not just for the candy. I happen to be a sucker for Halloween slideshows featuring costumed dogs. These are my faves from the Dog Halloween Parade in Tompkins Square Park on Sun. Enjoy!
After picking up this sturdy little mousse at Panya Bakery, it withstood sustained jostling in a three-pronged convenience store line of malcontents, and getting shoved upside-down in a bag of beer by an impatient deli person when I didn’t move fast enough to suit him (”My mousse!” I wailed), and STILL looked perfect when I peeked inside the box at home. Nibbling reveals the layers and textures of this confection: first, tart lemon rinds top a clear gelatin glaze embedded with tiny squares of pear, next, a super-sweet, airy mousse of indistinguishable flavor but quite possibly pear, and finally, a thin slice of dense dark cake, tasting something like espresso. For $3.50 was light (er, I can fool myself at least), satisfied my sweet tooth, and had some unexpected flourishes.
Panya also has a tempting selection of indivdually-wraped breads (for something just a little bit on the buttery-sweet side, I like the Melon Pan, which doesn’t taste like melon, but is tasty nonetheless -$1.00) and the ladies at the counter are always extremely nice and helpful. Panya Menu
Panya Bakery, 10 Stuyvesant St. at 3rd Ave.
Yesterday afternoon, just as the sun was coming out, I was wondering mellow-minded down Mulberry Street, where I encountered a man handing out candy stamped with cartoon mushrooms. I gathered this was connected to the giant pile of pulsh, adorably demonic Japanese ’shrooms I spied through the storefront, so I decided to investigate. I made my way past the sculpted tumble of stuffed mushrooms, beyond a post-nuclear soft-drink refridgerator stocked with mushroom-printed aluminum cans, and down a flight of stairs to a plate of biscuit-colored mini-mushrooms labelled “EAT ME.” I plopped one into my mouth, thinking that the sense of taste ought to be incorporated into conceptual art more often. As the super-sweet candy dissolved, it released a sugary cloud of powder that somehow lodged in my windpipe. I couldn’t breathe.
Red-faced and wheezing, with my panic deepening by the second, I made a dash for the exit and worst-case-scenarioed down the street onto a 6 train just as the doors whirred shut. I realized I had unconsciously steered myself toward home. Better to die unobserved in my studio apartment if I could manage it, I guess.
I slumped across from the loudest trio of tourists in Manhattan. Doughy and middle-aged, but giddy and dressed in spangly denim, their cocktail-fueled screeching filled the car. “OHMYGAWD you were so right ON. Everyone was wearing JEANS in that place!” I focused on the toe-cleavage on one, who’d crammed fat digits into her narrow high heels, in a zen-like effort to quell the unsatisfied coughing fit. Somehow they must have taken this as a sign of friendliness. One of them, a frosted blonde no older than forty but whose face furrowed like a pug’s, handed me a camera. “Can you take our picture?”
I was still convulsing, and it was hard to hold the camera still. “When were the subways built?” Toe-Pudge asked after I snapped the picture, as if the exact date was something I should know. I actually did, but would be deliberately vague about it to my dying breath. “Around 1900,” I choked.
“1900, that’s impossible,” Pug-Face said. “They didn’t have subways back than. How would they run?” I stared at them, purple, snot running uncontrollably down my face. “Steam!” said their friend. They all found this uproriously funny, laughing with their faces pointed at me. “Steam!” Toe-Pudge squealed, kicking her porcine feet. They were still cackling as I fled the car at Astor Place, hacking out the last of the mushroom-candy dust.
In a town known for its pizza, it can be pretty damn difficult to find a good, cheap slice. There’s a dozen places where you can order up superb whole pies, but try ordering a slice at some old-school joint and you’ll be laughed out of there.
I didn’t expect a lot from Brick Oven 33. A hole-in-the-wall chain that’s camped out on the North and South sides of 23rd Street like an interstate Burger King, and unconvincingly slaps “Gourmet” on its signage, Brick Oven happens to have a decent margherita slice ($3.25). Don’t be tricked by the three-dollar-mark into ordering the merely above-average regular slice ($2.25). The margherita really shows off their tangy tomato sauce, which is topped with a bit of melted fresh mozzarella, instead of buried under processed cheese. My slices came with a subtle top-layer of grease, and the thin crust is easily folded in half. My only gripes would be that a little more char on the crust would serve this slice well, and the seating, of course, is limited. But then standing around and eating pizza is an essential NY skill.
If you’re anywhere near the West Fourth subway, definitely still head to Joe’s, but Brick Oven’s a good standby further uptown. They’ve just opened a spotless, heavily windowed location at the people-watching extravaganza that is the corner of 14th St. and 6th Avenue, so I’m guessing we’ll be seeing a few more blue Brick Oven awnings popping up around town.
Brick Oven 33 - 527 6th Ave at 14th St., 268 W 23rd St. at 8th Ave, 171 W 23rd St. at 7th Ave, and 489 3rd Ave. at 33rd St.
Indian Bread Co. Vs. Kati Roll Company, Inc.
Kati Rolls are Indian mini-burritos, or the hungry pub-crawler’s holy grail, depending on how you look at it. They’re fast, “cheap,” portable, and greasily filling, unleashing a spiciness on your tastebuds that penetrates even the most drinky numbness. Since I live near two contenders (literally around the corner from each other), I decided that the only way to settle which would satisfy my kati jones would be a head-to-head battle. I purchased one aloo (potato) masala from each joint, ate them immediately, and judged them as follows:
Price: Indian Bread Co. ($3.50) Kati Roll Company ($4.00)
Size: Roughly the same
Sit-Down Atmosphere: Indian Bread Co. wins hands-down for spaciousness (nine tables!) and its wall-length bar ideal for the solitary diner. Kati Roll Company by contrast (three or four tables, maybe), feels somewhat claustrophobia-inducing.
Portability: Kati Roll was the winner here–the rolls were easy to unwrap and travelled well in insulated bags. Indian Bread Co.’s roll was bundled in several confounding layers of aluminum foil.
Points off: Indian Bread Co. had a random open trap door to the left of the register that had me worried I’d somehow theatrically trip and disappear forever. At Kati Roll, the counterperson placed my dollar change on TOP of another diner’s food. Even though they were partially wrapped in wax paper, this poor man’s exposed kati roll tips were in imminent danger of touching my filthy money. Be ready to grab your food as soon as it’s called.
Tastiness: While the rolls at Kati Roll seemed slightly greasier, the paratha had a pleasing flakey crispness on the outside and the potato filling was milder and more delicately spiced. The sweetness and crunch of red onions added a nice contrast. Indian Bread Co. was the spicier of the two, but the filling was a uniform mush and offered less complexity.
Winner: Kati Roll. But at Indian Bread Co. I did have a decent chicken naanini (naan filled with tandoor chicken, lettuce, slathered with peppery mayo and toasted on a press - $6.50). I’d probably check out more of their menu - after all, it’s just too much fun to say “naanini.”
Indian Bread Co. 194 Bleecker Street, Sun-Thu noon-midnight, Fri-Sat noon-5am
Kati Roll 99 MacDougal Street, Sun-Thu 11am-midnight, Fri-Sat 11am-5am