Best class ever…

This semester I needed to fulfill my writing requirement, to my surprise a class entitled ‘food glorious food’ was offered. Eagerly I signed up and I have found it to be a great experience, I get to write about food for school. This post is my personal essay about a food experience that was important to me, of course I wrote about eating at the lamb stands.

It is said that New York is the city that never sleeps. Nothing epitomizes this better than waiting forty-five minutes in line at three AM for the famous halal cart at 53rd and 6th. Everyone from cab drivers to bridge-and-tunnel club goers vie for a spot in line looking to sate their hunger with chicken and lamb over rice. The city doesn’t run on a three square a day schedule, sometimes lunch comes in the middle of the night. Thankfully a high percentage of immigrants work the graveyard shift and they’re demand for a quality meal cheap greatly benefits my life. Many a night growing up in New Jersey would end in us making the thirty minute trek into Manhattan for the simple pleasure of sitting on the curb eating out of tinfoil platters.
Our most recent trip to the stands was no exception to the fame of the cart; the line was barely deterred by the steady rain. Luckily I befriended the umbrella holding cab driver in front of me who allowed me to share under his cover while we both waited. He spoke little English but laughed and flashed me a bright smile when I first ducked under his umbrella. We didn’t speak but were connected somehow, be it by the camaraderie of suffering through the line or simply because of a shared belief in kindness to strangers. We eventually moved towards the cart where I am always mesmerized by the controlled chaos of it all – it’s like watching the flickering of a campfire or a Zamboni, it’s impossible to look away. I gave a nod in thanks to my savior from the rain as he ordered and moved down to wait for his food.
The five-man team of sidewalk chefs, decked out in their yellow “Kwik Meal” t-shirts and stained aprons, form an assembly line to handle the inundation of orders they receive every night. When I finally got to the front of the line I enter into the machine: placing my order and handing over my five dollars to the cashier then moving off to the side as my food moves down the assembly line. It’s quite a sight seeing this all in action. First — after the cashier of course — is the rice man, doling out helpings of yellow, fluffy, turmeric seasoned rice into tin platters. Next are the two guys responsible for all the meat — wielding dual spatulas as they deftly fold pounds of chicken and lamb upon itself so it is always warm and fully cooked. They dole out the respective meats on top of the rice and move the platter down the line to the finisher who tops off the dish with a little salad and pita before placing on the cover, crimping down the sides and sliding it down the line. Here the platter is placed into the ubiquitous “Thank You” plastic bag and the orders are called out to the ever-antsy customers.
Luckily this process is amazingly “kwik” and soon I am popping off the top of my platter and squirting on a healthy dose of their homemade white sauce. This sauce is what sets this Halal cart apart from the hundreds of others in the city — I have no idea what is in it and their is no indication the world will ever know the secret, though I suspect it is heavily mayonnaise based. Regardless it is addictive and I have no problem enjoying its (suspected) full fat goodness. Their hot sauce, another one of their coveted secret recipes, is not to be used liberally. I am a spicy food guy but this is on another level, anything more than a few drops is a mistake and will just ruin the plate so handling this squirt bottle requires surgical-like precision.
It really is amazing that this cart exists at all. The Bangladeshi owner and founder – now usually seen in a more supervisory role always wearing his iconic and somewhat ironic toque — was originally a sous chef at the venerable ‘Russian Tea Room’ before leaving his job and realizing that midtown is starved for a quality cart. Being the heart of the cab driving industry in the city hundreds of late night cabbies were looking for good cheap food that at least resembled what they were used to eating. Many of them are Muslim and needed a quick source of halal, meat butchered under Islamic guidelines. The halal cart and its Chicken and lamb over rice are really a unique NYC creation being influenced by Middle Eastern, Indian, Egyptian, Bangladeshi, and even Greek cuisine. Eventually the general public took notice and the word spread about this magical cart and soon it became a phenomenon. It seems that the halal cart is the new hot dog cart. “Hot dogs are for tourists,” says one cart owner.
The rain was still steady as we prepared to dig into our steaming plates. We found refuge under a shuttered deli’s awning, sitting against a wall. The smooth cold concrete was the perfect seating area while the rumbling of idling diesel engines and conversations in Hindi provided the perfect ambiance. Our noses — when not running from even the few drops of hot sauce — were still being tantalized by the smell of greasy griddled meat but also by fresh rain on the pavement. There is something amazingly satisfying about the griminess of the city and the omnipresent sounds of engines. There is nothing fake about this meal, no pomp or fluff trying to make it more than it really is. Maybe this is why I am so drawn to eating outdoors; I am simply an eater of the people!