Celebrating Chinese New Year in Brooklyn

The Chinese Lunar New Year was technically last Monday, Jan. 23, but most celebrations in New York marking the Year of the Dragon seemed to take place this past weekend.

That includes the Chinese New Year party we held at work on Thursday -- a couple of coworkers collected donations from us all and brought back a feast from Chinatown: all kinds of candies, pastries and pretty much every dessert that incorporates sesame seeds. The mother of one of my coworkers even made turnip cake and a kind of sticky rice pudding. Signs on the wall helped us determine where our birthday falls in the Chinese zodiac, along with our elemental sign (water, wood, fire, etc.). I'm a metal rooster, which I take to mean that I'm basically a weathervane.

Of course, New York City's various Chinatowns held their own, more official celebrations, and we went to one of them on Saturday. Paul frequently works with bank branches and businesses in Brooklyn's Chinatown, and he heard about a Chinese New Year festival going on at the recreation center in Sunset Park, the neighborhood just north of Bay Ridge and also the neighborhood where the Brooklyn Chinatown is located. A few of his colleagues were going to be there, and we decided to check it out.

We arrived a few hours after the festival began, and hundreds of Chinese families were already there. We didn't even peek into the children's area to the right of the main entrance, instead making a beeline for the performances in a gymnasium on the left.

The stage and performance areas were alternately filled with presentations both traditional and modern. We saw Chinese calligraphy and dancing, as well as your typical school recital fare, like performances from a ballet class and band. The festival also felt a little like Halloween -- snack-size chocolates were readily passed around to everyone in attendance.

Yep, that's a dog on the man's head

The festival was free and open to the public, but Paul and I were one of the few people there who weren't first-, second- or some-generation Chinese. By now I'm used to being surrounded by multiple languages and ethnicities, but it was still one of the few times I've ever been so clearly in the minority without leaving the country. (Just the fact that I noticed this probably proves this is so.) But of course, we never felt anything other than welcome, and I'm very glad we went.

It still amazes me that events like this can happen two miles from home, and I usually don't have even the slightest inkling that anything is going on. Who knows what else I am missing?

An Afternoon at the Peck Slip Pickle Fest

A Sunday afternoon spent in the company of pickles was a highlight of last fall. So when the days began to get shorter, my mind once again turned toward cucumbers and I found out when the next pickling festival was to be held. That's how we ended up at the New Amsterdam Market on Sunday for the Peck Slip Pickle Fest.

Last year's pickle festival was on the Lower East Side, in the heart of the city's pickle district. This year it was incorporated into the aforementioned New Amsterdam Market, a farmer's market near the South Street Seaport in Lower Manhattan, in the shadow of the old Fulton Fish Market.

The pros: In addition to all the pickled goodies, there was the typical farmer's market fare of vegetables, meats and other treats.

The cons: There was less space for the pickle purveyors, or else they were cramped so closely together it just felt smaller. Some of our favorites from last year didn't seem to be there -- was this because of space constraints, lack of interest or the distance from their brick-and-mortar stores?

Still, we managed to sample enough pickled cucumbers, beets and even carrots to keep me satisfied for at least another year. Not so for Paul. He walked away with his own jar of pickles.

Paul's lunch of a hot dog topped with relish and spicy mustard kept with the pickling theme, but I went to the other side of the market and picked out a cheese-and-onion bialy. Turns out a bialy is just a bagel that's not boiled, topped with condiments where the hole in the middle normally would be. It kind of looked like a cheese danish.

The most interesting item I ate, however, was this: a whole pickled green tomato. You eat it just like an apple, except not even a core remains. It wasn't my favorite thing in the world -- a little too sour for my taste -- but I did feel thoroughly brined after my last bite.

NYC Festival Food: Stuffed Plantains

Delicious festival food.

Bay Ridge's Fifth Avenue Festival was the first Sunday of June, and for once I had a fairly pleasant time.

I associate the festival with heat, noise and headaches.

The first year we lived here, one of the bands was right underneath our bedroom window -- not only did I endure six hours of beating drums and not being able to think straight, but it was preceded by about three hours of clinking and clanking, setting up the stage. While no band has been at that precise location since, last year my head pounded that entire day and I slept through most of the festival.

And every year, band or no band, headache or no headache, is horrendously hot.

But not this year. This year, the bands were sufficiently far away from our apartment, I was in tip-top shape and the weather was warm and pleasant. So Paul and I strolled the mile or so of the festival looking for something to eat.

All I really wanted was an avocado shake. Paul brought one back during last year's festival, and I took a few sips between naps. Delicious. I scoped out two booths that listed the shake on their menu, but no dice. Neither had avocados.

I didn't feel like a corn dog, and while fried Oreos sounded good, it wasn't exactly a healthy lunch. So I stopped at Punto Boricua for an empanada.

I stepped up, ready to place my order, but then I saw something intriguing:

Beef-stuffed plantains.

I couldn't let that go unsampled, so I added that to my order. The empanada was too thin and tasted stale, but the plantain was good enough to be dessert. And if Paul is reading this, I'm sure he's thinking that anything stuffed with meat is his kind of dessert.

The meat cut down the plantain's tartness, and it was very filling.

Next year's goal: stuffed plantains and an avocado shake.

This I skipped.

How I Celebrated International Pickle Day!

I ate so many pickles on Sunday that by the end of the day, I myself felt preserved.

Pickles with peanut butter. Pickles in chili. Pickled beets. And lots of plain ol' pickled cucumbers.

The occasion? A Lower East Side festival celebrating the 10th Annual International Pickle Day. Pickle purveyors could hardly push their products into our hands fast enough, and best yet, most of it was free. We spent a grand total of $4 and basically walked away with lunch for two. For two of those dollars, Paul bought what basically amounted to a Korean taco. The other $2 was spent on my most interesting sample of the day: Russ & Daughter's Beet and Lemon Shrub.

The drink was made of pickled beets, lemons and a splash of vinegar. I never thought I would ever try -- let alone like --  anything resembling pickled beet lemonade.

All in all it was an afternoon well spent, even if I did eat more pickle in two hours than I did in the last two years.

My Nut Binge at the Turkish Days Street Fest

My criteria for choosing food at the Turkish Days Street Fest was simple: If it was doused in honey and filled with nuts, I ordered one.

Paul was in Ohio when I visited the block-long festival near Times Square on Sunday, and it's not often that I can stuff myself with nut-filled pastries and not worry about killing my allergic husband with a kiss.

I know I got at least two kinds of baklava, but I'm honestly not sure exactly what all I ordered. I just started pointing. In any case, it might have been the best $4 I've ever spent.

Although I went to the festival primarily for the desserts, I couldn't resist trying gozleme. One food stall  described it as a Turkish crepe. As I ordered a spinach gozleme, I watched a couple of women rolling out thin layers of dough, which were later filled and cooked on a griddle. Very buttery, very salty and very delicious.

As I was eating, I watched a ritual religious dance that seemed to involve twirling around in circles for several minutes, stopping for maybe 30 seconds and repeating. And then repeating a few more times.

The gozleme was good. The dancing was interesting. But opening that cheap plastic container and getting the first whiff of honey-soaked pastries? That's the reason I went.

Feast of San Gennaro vs. the County Fair

I can sum up the Feast of San Gennaro in less than 10 words:

The county fair, with fewer rides but more cannoli.

The San Gennaro festival takes over the heart of Little Italy each year, running down about seven blocks of Mulberry Street and even bleeding into what looks more like Chinatown. This festival honoring the patron saint of Naples runs for 11 days, and the festival's website says more than 1 million people are expected to attend. I attended on Friday night, and it seemed that at least half that many people were crowding the streets for calamari, cannoli and ... beer pong.

OK, so not everything about the festival is authentically Italian. Did I really think it would be? However, it did have an Italian flair. I mean, at least zeppole were offered alongside the fried Oreos. And how many county fairs have pasta booths?

Eating My Way Through New York

I felt like a bit of a glutton on Saturday in the best possible way.

I made plans to drag Paul to three places in Manhattan, and they all involved food. Good food.

First up, the 34th Annual Ukrainian Festival. We're still trying to sample as many different cuisines as we can, and Ukrainian hadn't yet been crossed off the list. I've liked the Eastern European food I've tried and figured this would be similar. And besides, where am I going sample Ukrainian food that's more authentic then at a church festival with booths manned by grandmas?

It lived up to expectations. I had two delicious dumplings (which I think were really peirogis), stuffed cabbage filled with rice and meat and some type of small pastry topped with powdered sugar. I also tried Paul's sauerkraut and sausage.



Dinner came with a show on the outdoor stage-- first some traditional dances followed by a Ukrainian pop singer. Only in New York would I ever see a Ukrainian pop singer. Well, New York and the Ukraine.


The street festival was only a couple of blocks from my favorite cupcakery, Butter Lane, so of course we couldn't leave the East Village without a sample. But that wasn't it for desserts. Next it was off to the Shake Shack.


The Shake Shack is an outdoor eatery in Madison Square Park (adjacent to the famous Flatiron Building) that specializes in burgers and custard. We saved the sandwiches for another time. I came for the flavor of the day: red velvet custard.

The pieces of cake were underwhelming, but the custard itself was creamy deliciousness and exceeded my expectations. What's more, the weather was beautiful and it was easy to find a table in the park despite the 30+ minute wait in line. We'll be returning.

Winter's Eve

It's comforting to know that I can have a lovely evening in Manhattan -- complete with food -- for $3.

Monday after work I went to Winter's Eve at Lincoln Square. I wasn't there in time to see Lincoln Center's tree lighting at 5:30, although I got some good pics a few hours later. In any case, I was mostly there to see the crowds and eat the food.

About two dozen restaurants had tents set up in three clusters along Broadway, and all had samples for no more than five bucks, and a few things were free. I tried pumpkin bisque, sweet corn and yam bisque, peppermint bark, a mini apple cobbler, three different kinds of hot chocolate and (my favorite) chocolate mousse that was creamy and rich like good fudge frosting. The latter was the best $2 I'd ever spent.

It rained a little, but that was fine. Paul was feeling a little sick, but I really didn't mind going alone. And I almost got hit by a cab when I was crossing the street to take the subway home, so maybe I'm one step closer to becoming a real New Yorker?