Greedy NYC - Part 1

Twenty-odd places I'd return to in NYC

New York, New York. At JFK you enter after a long, hot queue in immigration, beneath the lovely Walking New York, a community-spirited mural by Deborah Masters from the beginning of the century, which movingly depicts the city’s multicultural grandeur. After, the terminal is grimy and ill-cared for, smelling of American bleach, unconcerned with visitor experience. Then the chaos of the cab rank and the expressway, the cars bigger than you remembered, all bearing down upon the dirty, forceful city, its towers and waterfronts. New York, New York! screams the traffic, New York, New York! beam the fevered eyes of the drivers, New York, New York, New York! the only place on earth.

I didn’t like it the first time. But American money drew me back, as is the case for so many. I liked it more. I stayed in Brooklyn, which helped, and it was less hot and I was, at times, in better spirits. Still, I have rarely felt exhausted in the way New York makes me exhausted, so spent much time in my friends’ apartment, in air-conditioned cool, holding the chihuahua, Sweetpea, I was looking after. But, between the exhaustion and work, I managed to eat, and to eat well. Though not as variously as I’d hoped! Only one place in the Bronx (and not even really there at all), two in Queens and nothing on Staten Island! Luckily it seems the pull of capital (and friends) will see me return to NYC soon, so, this should be remedied.

Here are twenty-odd places to which I would return, the first part of my (long) NYC guide. Some bars, some restaurants, one fishmonger. Some excellent wherever they might be, some good because what's around them isn't. Link to the map below paywall, which now has many entries for London and Barcelona, and will soon have entries for Melbourne, Venice, Rome and other places graced with my open my mouth.

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Manhattan

Fish Market
111 South St, New York, NY 10038, United States

If you’re hungry in the financial district, and want some real Americana, go to Fish Market. It’s a sports bar, and inside the walls are covered with the flags of various teams, amongst them thin red and blue line flags. America! And in this America the fat man at the bar in the lewd trucker cap is Thai, and along with domestic beer and flat Coke, he’ll dish you up excellent homestyle Thai food. Don’t ask for the menu, let him choose for you - the pancakes are excellent, the rendang is sooo good, as is the rice with sausage, and also the laksa, and and - actually everything I ate here was great. His sidekick, a massive white guy, the epitome of a Staten Islander in build, demeanour and accent, waited the tables with a coy charm. After we’d eaten - me and three judgemental Asians, who were impressed - I asked the owner who cooked the food, and he says “The cooks, who follow my mother’s recipes.”

Spicy Village
68 Forsyth St B, New York, NY 10002, United States

A family feud - I think, I’ve heard competing narratives - means there are two Spicy Villages, one on Forsyth, the other, New Spicy Village on Broome St. They have identikit menus (down to the formatting) but after eating at both my heart and mouth are for, what I presume is, the original. Inside it is pleasantly bright, with worn tables and a comforting state of disrepair. The cuisine is from Henang - excellent pulled noodles, heady broths and really good pork pancakes, which are more like delicious burgers. There’s an oil on the dough which I couldn’t place - maybe just the terroir of a long-used grill - which imbues them with something unique, which I find myself trying to recall even now. The cold seaweed is thick and meaty. I was intrigued by what the roasted peanuts on the menu could be, so I felt foolish when I was brought a plate of just that.