By Jude Waterston
I stepped into a deli near my father’s nursing home to get him a pastrami sandwich. The counter man was the quintessential deli guy, a combination of fast talker, funny, and a dash of sarcasm. “What’ll you have, honey?” he asked. “I’d like pastrami on rye, extra pickles, half-sour,” I said. “With or without seeds?’ he inquired. “With seeds,” I confirmed. “Sol, gimme a pastrami on seeded rye,” he called to a man further down the counter as he reached into a metal container of sliced pickles. “It’s for my 91 year old Dad. He likes to have enough pickles to eat until the last mouthful of the sandwich and last time he ran short. I think I might need more. I’ll pay for extra,” I explained in way more depth than the man needed. “Extra pickles, fine,” he said. “You don’t have to pay,” he added, as he took two whole pickles from another container and sliced each into four neat spears.
“I’m 82,” said the woman waiting next to me. The counter man and I nodded appreciatively. “What’ll it be, dear?” he asked her. “Half a brisket sandwich on rye,” she answered. “I didn’t know you could get a half a sandwich,” I said to no one in particular. “It’s called a junior,” the deli guy said as the 82 year old leaned in close to me and said, “They put so much meat on those things.” She shuffled a few inches away and called out,” How much do I owe you?” “Seven dollars, same as yesterday,” he said with a sly smile. She headed for the door and, when she was out of earshot, the counterman said to me, “Every day like clockwork; half a brisket sandwich.”
The following day I went to a Japanese restaurant a block from my apartment. It was at an off-hour, and I just wanted a snack, as I was going out for a big dinner later that night. The menu had lots of options. I considered the oshitashi, cold spinach with dried bonito flakes and special sauce; the pan-fried vegetable dumplings called yasai gyoza; and the grilled squid with teriyaki sauce. Then I decided on the age tofu, lightly fried blocks of tofu with shredded seaweed in a dashi broth, and sunomono, a variety of sliced raw fish in vinegar. As I sipped my hot tea, a woman entered and sat at the sushi counter, a few feet from me. When the waitress approached her with a menu, she raised a hand to stop her and explained, “I have the same thing every time.” She proceeded to order a bowl of miso soup and chicken teriyaki.
I can understand if you frequent a restaurant for one item alone. Nothing else on the menu appeals to you, and you cannot find that dish you like best, and crave often, anywhere else. You go to that place for their Cuban sandwich laden with roasted pork, sliced ham, Swiss cheese, pickles, hot peppers, and mayonnaise and would never consider having the hamburger, grilled hanger steak sandwich, or mixed vegetable plate with rice and beans. Fine, you need a Cuban sandwich fix.
I always considered my father to be an adventurous eater because he introduced his kids to the foods of many cultures. He ate silky raw slices of sashimi with pickled ginger at Japanese restaurants; reveled in feijoada, Brazil’s national dish, which is a thick stew of black beans, pork, dried or corned beef, sausage, and bacon; frequented Spanish joints for their mariscada en salsa verde, shrimp, mussels, scallops, and lobster in green sauce or paella; and, in general, dipped his beak into offerings from around the globe. But in the recent past, when he was in his mid-eighties and dating a woman who adored dining out, he complained to me that she always wanted to try a new place rather than returning to their tried-and-true favorites where he knew exactly what he would order each time.
The English poet, William Cowper, is quoted as saying, “Variety’s the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor.” No doubt about it, variety is the spice of life. Given the choice, I will always pick a meal comprised of a selection of dishes, a little diversity, over one where I have to choose one single entrée and give it all my attention. One main course may be delicious, but wouldn’t six more mini-versions be more delicious? What about that guy sitting at that table over there? What’s he eating? It looks pretty interesting, too.
Luckily, New York City is filled with ethnic eateries that offer just such repasts. They are meant to be, variously, a prelude to a meal; an afternoon snack; or the meal itself. Most are served with a spirit of some sort. Tapas, the little dishes of Spain, are usually enjoyed in the late afternoon as Spaniards don’t typically sit down for dinner until 9:00 or 10:00 at night. Friends gather at local bars and taverns, sometimes hopping from one to another, to sip sherry and sample such delicacies as cured ham; grilled sardines, calamari, or octopus; bacalao (salt cod) fritters; quail; spicy roasted potatoes, dusted with smoky paprika and served with a garlicky aioli dip; assorted olives; Manchego goat’s milk cheese; and the classic dense and toothsome Spanish potato and onion omelet, tortilla Espanola.
A typical Greek, Turkish, or Middle Eastern meal often starts with an assortment of meze (or mezedes) which is accompanied by a strong anise or licorice-flavored distilled beverage called arak, raki, or ouzo, depending on the country. The eating of meze, unlike appetizers, is an opportunity for family and friends to gather and share several little dishes, a drink, conversation, and laughter. This festivity is not a quick stop in a bar; it is a leisurely repast. The possibilities are almost endless and can include creamy, crumbly feta cheese; fried, crispy savory pastries filled with fillings such as spinach, dill, and cheese; fresh vegetable salads in yogurt sauce or simply dressed with good olive oil and fresh lemon juice; stewed beans; grilled eggplant and zucchini; tiny meatballs; and warm, freshly baked pita bread.
In Italy, antipasti is served mainly at room temperature and as a prelude to an entire meal. Bruschetta or crostini, grilled country bread topped with pate, chopped tomatoes with basil, mashed white beans, or myriad other toppings are almost always an offering. Others might be stuffed or grilled vegetables; seafood salads; roasted peppers; and sausage or cured meats.
Finally, there is Chinese dim-sum—a vast feast most often eaten on Sunday mornings beginning as early as 10:30 but served into the afternoon hours. Most dim-sum restaurants are enormous, seating hundreds, and cacophonous and bustling beyond belief. Large round tables are communal, but often an entire family, children and grandparents in tow, can take up more than one.
The scene is this: uniformed waitresses walk quickly around the room pushing multi-level metal carts laden with bamboo steamers, tureens, and small plates of such savories as tiny cockles in black bean sauce; briny clams in “brown sauce”; steamed or fried dumplings stuffed with ground pork or shrimp; silky, stuffed rice noodle crepes; mussels in garlic sauce; tripe; and sautéed chicken feet. That’s right, chicken feet—gelatinous, chewy, and looking exactly like what they are. The waitresses stop briefly at each of hundreds of tables around the huge room hawking their offerings by barking out the various choices available, more often than not relaying this information in Chinese. A quick, almost panicked consensus is taken by the assembled diners as to what and how many of each dish should be ordered before the opportunity is missed and the cart passes. The meal is halted every few minutes as new options are rolled by and, at the conclusion of the meal, the empty plates and steamers strewn across the table are counted to determine the bill. The end result is that the diner has overeaten; can’t recall a single word of conversation spoken during the frantic meal; and is badly in need of a long walk followed by an even longer nap. Heaven!
Every once in awhile, especially if I am having a few friends over, I compose a dinner made exclusively of little dishes, washed down with wine or cocktails. These theme meals, usually centering on one country, are always greeted with enthusiasm because in the end, I believe, everyone enjoys a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Variety is the spice of life, and that’s that.
And so I will offer here a handful of recipes. Perhaps one will pique your interest in composing a meal of tapas; another a dinner of meze. Or maybe you’ll decide to tackle each and serve them together for an international spread.
Fried Peppers with Garlic, Capers, and Vinegar
Serves 4
These colorful peppers are full of flavor and are a terrific addition to an antipasti platter. Leftovers can be used on sandwiches or as a component in a tossed salad.
4 to 5 sweet bell peppers (a mix of red, orange, and yellow)
1 large clove garlic, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon capers, rinsed and dried
2 tablespoons aged balsamic vinegar
3 to 4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste
2 tablespoons finely chopped Italian flat-leaf parsley
Wash peppers and cut into strips about ½-inch wide. Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium high heat. Fry the strips of pepper in the hot oil, stirring occasionally. The skins should scorch at the edges. When the peppers are softened and a bit blackened, add the garlic and capers. When these sizzle after a moment or two, add the vinegar and salt. Let the vinegar cook off and evaporate for about 1 minute. Place on a shallow serving platter and garnish with the parsley. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Patatas Bravas (Roasted Potatoes with Aioli)
Serves 4 as part of a tapas meal
Aioli, a Provencal garlic mayonnaise, is a cinch to make in a food processor. It is wonderful drizzled on roasted potatoes or as a dip for French fries. Patatas bravas is one of the most popular tapas in Spain.
For potatoes:
1 pound (about 14) small red potatoes, unpeeled and cut into ¾-inch cubes
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
¼ teaspoon sweet paprika
¼ teaspoon smoked paprika
For aioli:
1 egg + 1 egg yolk
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 ¼ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup olive oil
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Toss potatoes with oil in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Lay the potatoes out in a single layer on a large baking sheet. Bake for a total of 45 minutes, turning them once or twice, and sprinkling them with the paprika after 30 minutes. Meanwhile, make the aioli. Put the egg, egg yolk, mustard, lemon juice, and 1 teaspoon of salt in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse a couple of times to combine. In a mortar and pestle, mash the garlic clove with the remaining ¼ teaspoon of salt until it is a paste. Add to the processor and pulse once or twice to incorporate the garlic. With the motor running, add the olive oil in a very slow, steady stream until the mixture is emulsified. Scrap into a bowl and set aside. When potatoes are done, place them in a shallow baking dish, season with a sprinkling of salt, and drizzle them with the aioli. Serve immediately.
Cyprus Salad
Serves 4
Serve this tasty, clean-tasting salad as part of an assortment of Greek appetizers. Pickled caper leaves are available on-line or from any good Greek food purveyor. Rinse them in cool water before slicing or chopping. They add a bright note of piquancy to salads.
For salad:
5 cups diced romaine lettuce
1 cup seeded, diced English cucumber (skin left on)
2 medium, firm, ripe tomatoes, diced
8 calamata or green olives, pitted (optional)
2 scallions, white and some of green part, sliced thinly on the diagonal
1/3 cup finely chopped fresh flat leave Italian parsley
¼ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 teaspoons rinsed and very finely sliced pickled caper leaves (optional)
½ cup feta cheese, crumbled
For dressing:
2 tablespoons best quality red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Add olive oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly, until emulsified. Set aside. Combine all of the salad ingredients in a large bowl. About fifteen minutes before serving, pour the dressing over the vegetables and toss gently but thoroughly.
Sweet and Sour Shrimp
Serves 4
Serve this colorful combination of sweet shrimp, red peppers, roasted cashews, and bright green cilantro as part of a dim-sum feast.
1 pound medium shrimp, peeled
¼ cup corn, safflower, or vegetable oil
2 sweet red bell peppers, seeded and sliced into strips
½ cup roasted cashews
1 – 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro
3 tablespoons rice wine, sake, or white wine
3 slices fresh ginger, smashed lightly in a mortar and pestle
1 ½ tablespoons cornstarch
Sweet and Sour Sauce:
3 tablespoons ketchup
½ cup water
2 tablespoons rice (or white wine) vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon soy sauce
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 ½ teaspoons cornstarch
Minced Seasonings:
2 scallions (white part only) minced
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
Combine the Marinade ingredients and squeeze the ginger sliced in the wine to impart their flavor. Add the shrimp and toss to coat. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 minutes. Combine the sauce ingredients, blend well, and set aside. Remove the shrimp from the marinade and place on a paper towel. Discard the marinade. Heat a wok or skillet, add 2 tablespoons of oil, and heat until very hot. Add half the shrimp and toss lightly over high heat until they turn pink and curl, about 1 ½ minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain. Wipe out pan, reheat, and 1 ½ tablespoons of the remaining oil and cook the remaining shrimp in the same manner. Drain off the oil and wipe out the pan. Reheat the pan, add the remaining ½ tablespoon of oil, and heat until very hot. Add the Minced Seasonings and stir-fry about 10 seconds, until fragrant. Add the bell peppers and stir-fry for about one minute over high heat. Add the sauce mixture and cook, stirring constantly to prevent lumps, until thickened. This will happen very quickly. Add the shrimp and toss lightly to coat. Throw in the cashews and toss to incorporate. Spoon the shrimp onto a shallow platter and garnish with the cilantro. Serve immediately.
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