The “Help I’m Traveling with…” series is a soul-search for “the right spot.” I plan restaurant outings with loved ones by contemplating my relationship with them. I aim to recreate a moment in time through the chef’s expression. An oxtail plate from your favorite fast casual Jamaican spot versus an oxtail plate at a fine-dining restaurant looks, tastes and feels different. It’s not always this plate tastes better. The textures evict a different feeling; the scents bring you to different places. Their choice to bring out the astringency of allspice more than the woodiness of thyme creates a different memory. Enjoying food with loved ones is a carefully curated experience where I share how much I appreciate them through the artistic expression of the chef. The fact you’re having this exact plate, made with these highlighted ingredient and textures means something to me.
“I brought you to this restaurant because the chef focuses on warm spices and it reminds me about the time you stood in line with me in the toils of winter with thick gloves and hand warmers so I can take notes at the back of my favorite late-night show.”
“You should try this dessert because this lemon tart is more sharp and surprising than it looks, and its flavor reminds me of your quick wit and flexibility.”
“I brought you here, because this tea tower is dramatic as hell, and I can’t help but think of the time we rehearsed our scenes so much that we began to hate the characters we were playing.”
I love you means that I will learn to see you in everything that brings me joy.
Bushel of Blue Collar Workers
Every apocalypse team needs three people that know how to work a chainsaw. Some of my favorite moments in the last few years of my life includes going out to eat with my blue-collar homies. I’ve had the most fulfilling meals and the funniest conversations sitting on grass with grit all over my boots eating the thickest sandwich I ever had while staring out at a skyline. Blue-collar workers have seen some wild shit and I’ve seen their love in: hefty meals that make me feel alive, food that restore me from the brink of exhaustion, and meals that taste three times better when you got five other people eating it with you.
The Biscuit Trio with Chicken Gravy – Harlem Biscuit Company
‘Twas the day I was proclaimed a hero. Imagine, the break of dawn, and a hoard of big burly men with their miscellaneous contraptions groggily completing their tasks. Lifeless, with grumbling tummies. What a cold morning it was to be a working-class New Yorker. But, oh, what’s that?!
Tis I!
Your savior emerges from a tunnel; a bright lighted silhouette carrying tented foil! The scent of butter and toasted tops? The foil unfurls. Stacks of biscuits! Golden crests! An assortment of billowy bodies! One by one disgruntled blue-collar bodies reach out for a sturdy cloud and raised it to their mouths. Forklift operators rose their prongs to the ceiling! Hurrahs blast from the flanks. Biscuit and sausage gravy waterfall! They all pranced at my feet proclaiming “Queen! Queen! Thank you for your morning sacrifice, your blessings, and your phenomenal carb suggestions.”
Harlem Biscuit Company has been my savior through hungry mornings and various weather impediments. I love the feel of sinking my teeth into their chive and cheddar biscuit as I engage in tasks that exude performative masculinity like operating power-tools, opening pickle jars, and lifting a heavy box from a high shelf as a pretty lady says something along the lines of “Ooh you’re so strong.” The brush of salt against my palate, soft gold dipped in chicken gravy and the scent of a new skid-steer keeps me going through the toils of winter.
Lasooni Palak – Dhamaka
“I need some vegetables goddammit!” My body lugged up the Essex Street steps to Dhamaka in the deepest toils of winter. I needed to restore nutrients after removing a pint of blood for donation. When I scaled the menu with four loved ones, and none of us expected to have front row seats to minimalist food theater starring a piping hot pot of spinach. The lasooni palak’s show was quick, minimal and impactful. My sherpa lined jacket gristle along my neck when the server approached our table with an unassuming silver pot. He opened the vessel and revealed a pot of greens that warmed the atmosphere surrounding it.
“Goddamn.”
The lasooni-palak is a treat for those red-meat heavy hitters that need to bump up their folate but don’t want to feel like a goat in the process. I reached over to another plate to split the chana-chena tikki between my love and I. Enamored with the golden patty with grassy hues peeking through its crust, I looked up and my partner’s eyes fixated behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw another server approaching with a smaller, but just as piping hot sauce pan. My breath sharpened; I sandwiched my tongue between my teeth. I’m witnessing something intimate. In one smooth motion a red river descends from the sauce pan. A chili tadka sizzled and dissipated into the evanescent emerald vortex.
As the red merges with the green, the air surrounding our lasooni palak is filled with the scent of cumin, garlic and chilis. The combination eviscerated the chill in my body.
I swirled the serving spoon in the pot, then poured it all over my aged basmati rice. The first bite forced the frost out of my fingers. I must try this with something else! I split a buttery soft pao and spread some of the lasooni palak on the bottom half and placed a segment of juicy soft chicken on top. Immediate swoon. The spices, the smoothness across my tongue, I kicked my steel toe boots like a little kid whose feet can’t touch the ground. By the end of the meal, I forgot I dragged my body to get here.
Melodramatic Main Characters
This one goes out to the folks with melodramatic main character homies. The anime protagonist who’s slightly reckless with bright colored hair, interesting fashion or maybe just a wild-ass storyline that can only be explained by an omnipresent writer with a knack of making people suffer. I’ve seen these loved ones in bright flavors, intricate presentations or multi-layered food experiences where I walk out emotionally transformed by a meal.
Coconut Chiboust
If there’s even a slim chance that anything would call for looking fancy, my homegirl and I will shimmy to the function with our faux furs, lips stretched out, aggrandizing the word “darling.” In Maison Passarelle’s warmly lit dining room, my faux-bougie friend decked in a poofy princess polka dot dress paired with mid length opera gloves met up with me for ladies’ night. She sings, “giiiirl” as she wraps her satin covered fingers around her mocktail.
We met 11 falls ago and cascaded into each other’s children of immigrant stories. I swam servings of soft n’ fleshy grouper to her plate as we talked about our dreams of making it because had no choice. The toils of expectation, grit and disappointment fluttered between our cheeks as we discussed the media industry when we had late teen idealism. We were frustrated and fancy. The server floated a coconut chiboust before us as Maison Passarelle’s lights dimmed. An oblate spheroid sat before me, beautiful and modest. I lifted a portion of the chiboust to my mouth. Immediately like a prayer warrior, with my head bowed and my hand reaching out to touch my homegirl’s shoulder: “Please, try this.” Her fork reached over as I clutched the invisible pearls against my clavicle.
“What?!”
“Exactly.”
When I cut through the dessert once more, I am convinced that we should be more astonished by gravity. How could something that feels so weightless hold such a firm stance on the plate? The coconut chiboust tastes like the agony of knowing what it means to be strong in convictions while presenting yourself as soft, sweet and decadent in order to not be seen as a threat. It felt like sinking into a toasty coconut marshmallow accompanied by brief hits of lime and herbaceous lemongrass. The dessert was soothing and aspirational. Two frustratingly fancy friends pined over the media industry, found hope in an unassuming dessert cosplaying as a mystical orb.
We stared at it in awe as the darkness of corporate exhaustion temporarily floated away from our mouths.
Matcha Afternoon Tea – Cha-An’s Tea House
“Damn bitch. Whenever I go out with you, my money flies out the window.”
My dear friend and I are here for the matcha afternoon tea at Cha-an’s Tea House. A savory sweet presentation where every delicacy is carefully curated to compliment matcha’s earthy flavor and aroma. My long lavender trench, coated the ground as soft clanks and warm giggles warmed up to the white walls. I admired the kitchen attendants’ gentle concentration; their hands carefully swishing little treats from the counter to caddies.
An attendant approached our table holding a steel tower stacked with savory starters. My homie peaked out from the sides like obsidian angel wings. I reached for a nibble of the smoked salmon resting on a bed of rice as they placed a kettle filled with green tea beside us. Cup by cup, we poured into each other. Between bites my friend unveiled the sourness packed in the last few years. From separate ends of our city, we learned that being prepared for trauma won’t make our shattered glass invisible.
The kitchen attendant interrupts our reflection to replace our tower with a multi-layered gift box. We watched them disassemble red and black box with gold flowers shooting up the sides, as green-tea tannins became tethered to our taste buds. The more we try to evict the sorrow from our tongue, the more it steeps into the story. The boxes unbosomed a multi-compartment bento filled with matcha jellies, custards, tiny cookies and more in an array of intricate shapes and surprising flavors. We reflected on last year’s losses while creating cavities in our sweet and savory pastries. In between bites of rice laced with pickled plum we plotted on what we could grow in the places that felt hollow.
A Bushel of Blue-Collar Melodramatic Main Characters
There’s chainsaw homies, there’s opera homies; and then there’s chainsaw at the opera homies. These are the friends with too many side-quests, and you can call on them to do almost anything. You need a choreographer for the community board musical? Sure. They can do that for you. Do you need someone with a forklift certification that can move a pallet of large items? They just got their license last week! The homie where if you haven’t heard from them in a while you get scared for their life. I find these people in unassuming dishes with an amazing array of flavors. They’re the “crowd pleaser.” The undeniable flexible dish where you almost never have to worry about if it will be received well.
Honey Butter Chips – KJUN
I’ll admit it, sometimes I crave attention. The best way to get it, is to impress your blue-collar coworkers with a delicious plate. Reader, whenever you think of me, know that I do most things fashionably. During our lunch-break, my blue-collar homies and I rolled up to KJUN in a truck for our pick-up order. I’m in the driver’s seat with my mob wife black faux-fur, psychedelic purple opera gloves and geometric shades. Picture my homies in the back with their Carhardt puffer glory, luxuriant flannel and scaborous steel-toe boots. We scuffled against the midtown grain, danced through a valley of midtown horns, and scoffed at scantily conscientious drivers on our way towards the KJUN queen.
The best way to enjoy KJUN’s honey butter chips is to make sure you have one bougie friend, a bushel of blue-collar workers and a place to be in 20 minutes. The crisp from the chip curbs the rush of the city. In each bite, the sweet glaze collides with fractures of salt. It’s a filling accompaniment for a side caviar and a luxurious spritz. If you’re looking for something with more sustenance you can get the fish n’ chips; you get two thick pieces of delicious, delicately fried makegolli to pair with the supreme honey crisps. One of my favorite memories with these chips was back when I worked in television. I had a box of emotional support honey butter chips at my desk on the days I knew I’d forget to eat. I would waltz to the box between arduous tasks. When I peered through the flaps the scent healed me. Stuffed three chips in my mouth then run off to do a script run, come back stuff a shatter more chips into my mouth then speed off to carry a huge prop to the set.
KJUN’s honey butter chips dish will remain in your heart whether you’re the anime antagonist with a gaudy collection of trench coats, or the reliable bruiser in a DND campaign.
