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September 11, 2005

New York Fajitas

We had fajitas last night. I am eating some leftovers right now. It is fitting, because part of my New York Experience involved fajitas, and so to be eating some on 9/11 seems appropriate. My memories of my time there, the nostalgia, and the fear and shock of this day four years ago are all wrapped into a neat little tortilla.

Husband and I would order a pound of fajitas from the little shop on 1st, between I think E65 and E66th. Like many fabulous hole-in-the-wall places, the décor was not impressive, nor did it boast comfortable or fancy furnishings. There were two or three fold-out tables, and a bunch of mismatched plastic and diner-style padded chairs. The Asian family that owned the place had a shrine to Buddha in the back of the shop, and the smell of incense mixed with that of the delicious Mexican delights. Little pictures were posted all over the wall, showing the various dishes, their names, and prices. Some were in Spanish, some descriptions in English. A bike or two were always parked next to the counter, ready to take white Styrofoam containers wrapped in a red plastic bag to delivery customers.

For $15, we got the tortillas, the steak and grilled chicken, oodles of vegetables, cheese, guacamole, sour cream, rice, and an enormous tub of black beans that we would use days after our original order. We tried to duplicate this array on our own via the Food Emporium, but ended up with an inferior product that was more expensive. So to those who say it is less expensive to make dishes on your own – hogwash!

In New York, we ate up the delivery culture. We collected menus with the best of them. Chinese. Japanese. Mexican. Pizza. Pasta. Thai. Everything.

When I was pregnant with the Cat, I was nauseated by just about everything; but for those moments in time when I became ravenous, I’d turn to my huge folder of menus and order away. Less than a half hour later, I would have a feast! It was a comfortable and easy way to become sated without fearing lumbering down the street smelling the “city” smells that often led me to use the trash cans at the end of each block. (Once, crossing the street, I had to do by business down the sleeve of my sweater because I knew I couldn’t make it to the trash can on the other side!) Delivery was definitely my friend.

When Husband and I ventured out, we went to Mo’s Caribbean Bar & Grill for trivia, margaritas, and coconut shrimp. We went to the Blue Moon Mexican Café for hockey, football, wings, and Blue Moon Margaritas. Patsy’s down the street had excellent pizza, but I often chose their vodka bacon penne pasta. The pizza place near my lab had terrific taco pizza. Jackson Hole had the best burgers. In the morning, I would frequent a bagel place down on E64th, getting a jalapeno-cheese bagel with sun-dried-tomato cream cheese.

Eighteen months after we moved to CA, I returned to NYC for a meeting. The meeting was on the West side, but I asked my cab driver to take me East. I walked to the hospital where the Cat was born, to the Blue Moon, past our old apartments. I looked at the storefronts, noticing the changes and what had remained constant. One diner now had a picture of the twin-towers on it. But most of the neighborhood stayed pretty much the same. I grabbed my usual order at the bagel place, from the same woman who had given me my breakfast nearly every day for my stay in New York.

Alas, I did not have any fajitas that weekend.

Posted by karianna at September 11, 2005 08:28 PM

Comments

Posted by: Julie at September 12, 2005 07:39 PM

Posted by: Kari at September 12, 2005 07:52 PM

Posted by: Julie at September 13, 2005 06:53 PM