Beef, pear, cukes and egg/atop fiery mountain/edible AC.

The amount and authenticity of Asian food in Queens is truly amazing. There’s savory Tibetan momo, juicy Shanghainese xiao long bao, Korean barbeque, crisp Indian dosa, Malaysian curry, and loads of regional Chinese, including Sichuan and the seldom-seen cuisine of Qingdao. What’s even more amazing is that the aforementioned are just some of the cuisines that will be represented under one roof at Monday’s Asian Feastival, at the Sheraton Laguardia in Flushing.

In addition to tastes from two dozen restaurants there will be workshops, including a kimchi demonstration by one of my favorite Korean food personalities Maangchi and an Asian farmer’s market. The day ends with me leading a walking tour of 20 Taste Hunters through downtown Flushing.

By now you’re probably drooling and wondering how to win a pair of tickets. It’s simple. Write a haiku like the ode to naeng myun above. All entries must reference Asian cuisine. Extra credit for mentioning both Queens and Asian food. (Bonus points for use of Mandarin, Malaysian, or Korean, just kidding.) The best poem wins the tickets plus a spot on the Taste Hunting tour. Deadline’s Sunday at 5 p.m. Sharpen those pencils and dip those quills kids.

[UPDATED 9/2/2010; 5:45pm] And the winner is .....Sairis who manages to mention three Asian cuisines as well Queens itself! Please email edit@ediblequeens.com and give us your full name so we can leave your tickets at will call! CONGRATULATIONS! And thanks everyone for contributing so many lovely haiku. See you at the Asian Feastival!

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Tortilleria Nixtamal's owners Shauna Page and Fernando Ruiz have even more
to smile about after receiving a Snail of Approval from Slow Food NYC.

Four months ago I lambasted Slow Food NYC for having awarded its Snail of Approval to just two deserving Queens food establishments: the Greenmarket system and Astoria's Vesta Trattoria and Wine Bar. At the time I nominated two artisanal food producers in Corona—Timmy O’s Frozen Custard and  Tortilleria Nixtamal—for the honor. I am proud to say that the snail has landed at both shops, which are now displaying the Snail of Approval decal in their windows. 

“I love the Snails given to Nixtamal and Timmy O's for a number of reasons: First, because they extend the reach of the Snail directory way out into a neighborhood of Queens that few Manhattan and Brooklyn foodies would otherwise know,” David Berman, co-chair of Slow Food NYC's Snail of Approval subcommittee said via e-mail.

The group's heart and stomach are in the right place, but surely Berman can’t believe folks in Manhattan and Brooklyn haven’t heard of the neighborhood that’s been home to the Lemon Ice King of Corona for 65 years. Never mind the fact that both  Tortilleria Nixtamal and Timmy O’s have been covered in both mainstream daily newspapers as well as lauded by numerous food blogs. For the record, the ladies serving delicious Ecuadorean specialties out of shopping carts on Roosevelt Avenue do work way out in Corona and are probably unknown by Manhattan and Brooklyn foodies who are obsessed with the Central American food wonderland that is the Red Hook Ballfields.

Berman continues: “second,  because of what they say about "authenticity," and what it means in a country like the USA and a city like New York; third, because both places have a complicated relationship with "sustainability," which is as it should be, because sustainability is complicated.”

Will Hugue Dufour's M. Wells get a Snail of Approval?

Once I was done marveling at the communiqué from Slow Food NYC I placed congratulatory phone calls to custard king Timothy O’Leary and tortilla queen Shauna Page. Then I tried to think of who else in Queens deserves a Snail of Approval. The first place that came to mind was M. Wells, the new self-styled Québéco-American diner in Long Island City. (If making your own English muffins from freshly milled flour and grinding heritage breed pork into sausage patties for breakfast sandwiches doesn’t qualify as “slow food” then I don’t know what does.) The restaurant’s owners, Hugue Dufour and Sarah Obraitis also happen to be big fans of both Tortilleria Nixtamal and Timmy O’s.

“Hugue and I’d be delighted, but we’d also be slightly shy about accepting a Snail,” said Obraitis who was raised in Queens. “There are thousands of other more well–seasoned establishments in Queens that deserve it,” she pointed out saying that she’d rather see a lesser known ethnic place get some love from Slow Food NYC.

After consulting with the restaurant’s staff, largely made up of other Queens natives with the notable exception of Québécois farm boy Dufour, Obraitis shared three places she’d like to see receive recognition from Slow Food NYC: Spicy Mina, Dosa Place, and Buen Sabor. The first is a wonderful Indian eatery that’s a favorite of Edible Queens’ publisher Leah McLaughlin. The second is a top-notchspot for Indian crepes know as dosai, and will be sampling its food at next Monday's Asian Feastival. Obraitis’ third pick is a new one on me, but she vouches for its Colombian tamales.

Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my judgment of Berman’s statement as he did go on to say: “‘Authenticity’ in NYC doesn't just mean “native” and “local”—it refers to dozens, maybe hundreds of microcultures that maintain their identities with some creative combination of transplantation, importation and adaptation.” I can only hope that Slow Food NYC comes to embrace more of these microcultures, many of which are represented here in Queens.

As I did four months ago I encourage readers to go here to nominate establishments that engender Slow Food’s ideal of  food that is “good, clean, and fair.” Be sure to comment saying who you picked and why.

Timmy O’s Frozen Custard, 49-07 104 St., Corona, 516-242-1843

Tortilleria Nixtamal, 104-05 47 Ave., Corona, 718-699-2434

M. Wells Diner, 21-17 49th Ave., Long Island City, 718-425-6917

Spicy Mina, 64-23 Broadway, Woodside, 718-205-2340

Dosa Place, 35-66 73rd St., Jackson Heights, 718-397-1000

El Buen Sabor Bakery,  45-07 Queens Boulevard, Sunnyside, 718-361-8714

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Himalayan Yak's namesake momo are packed with juicy morsels of meat.

In the run-up to the Asian Feastival, World’s Fare will be profiling the participants. The Feastival’s mission is to showcase the diversity of delicious Asian cuisines in New York City’s most delicious and diverse borough. Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Filipino, Nepalese, Indonesian, and regional Chinese are just some of the cuisines that will be represented under one roof.  Today we take a look at Himalayan Yak, which brings a cuisine from the rooftop of the world to Jackson Heights.
 
Can a dumpling be considered a country’s national dish? It can if that country is Tibet. The crescent-shaped dumplings known as momo are wildy popular with Tibetans and Nepalese who flock to Jackson Heights for a taste of home. At least a dozen restaurants in the area serve momo, but Himalayan Yak, tops the list for me because it serves momo made from the restaurant’s namesake meat. It’s also the area’s first Nepalese restaurant and can be said to have started the enclave of Himalayan restaurants and businesses I like to call Little Tibet. (Interestingly enough the restaurant sources alls the meat for its yak dishes from Vermont Yak, which has the distinction of having that state’s first yak herd.) 

Turmeric, coriander, and ginger give Himalayan’s Yak’s momo a savory kick.

Yak meat is higher in protein than beef, yet it also contains far less fat. This fact never ceases to amaze me since the yak momo here are always incredibly juicy. They’re also incredibly flavorful having been seasoned with ginger, turmeric, coriander, cumin, cilantro, and green onions. On a good day I can easily  polish off an entire steamer’s worth.  

Bhaktcha markhu: pasta as dessert.

Himalayan Yak has a lengthy menu filled with many Indian and Nepali  dishes, including one of my favorite tripe preparations, the fiery dhoepa kkhatsa, and some wonderful vegetarian thalis. One of the most intriguing dishes is neither filled with gnarly offal nor humming with spice. It happens to be a dessert called bhaktcha markhu, which somehow manages to channel my mother’s home cooking.  The menu lists it as “Hand made pasta lightly rolled in roasted barley, sugar, butter and grated sauce.” The chewy pasta is sweet and nutty, reminded me of Mom's pasta with ricotta and sugar. It's just the thing after what’s often a meal filled with the fire of chili, ginger, and garlic. It also tastes a helluva a lot like store bought cavatelli, mainly because as I found out the other day, it is. The Yak can be forgiven for taking such a short cut, if only because they’ve managed to serve a dish from a half a world away that brings me back to my childhood on Long Island.

Himalayan Yak will be making its signature momo ar the Asian Feastival on September 6 from 12-5 p.m. Tickets can be purchased here. Be sure to check back for more posts about participating restaurants and shops.

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Himalayan Yak, 72-20 Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights, 718-779-1119

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In the run-up to the Asian Feastival, World’s Fare will be profiling the participants. The Feastival’s mission is to showcase the diversity of delicious Asian cuisines in New York City’s most delicious and diverse borough. Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Filipino, Nepalese, Indonesian, and regional Chinese are just some of the cuisines that will be represented under one roof.  Today we take a look at Hahm Ji Bach, home of Korean delicacies from land and sea.

Hahm Ji Bach is located in a section of Murray Hill known among Koreans as m’uk-ja G’ol-mok or Eater’s Alley. My first foray into this neighborhood hard by the LIRR station was for the article “Feasting on Flushing, wherein I took Chef Eric Ripert and his buddy Anthony Bourdain to eat live octopus and various and sundry other sea creatures at Su San Seafood. Sadly Su San has been closed for several months, but Hahm Ji Bach, one of the area’s original restaurants remains open. My buddy Jim Kim is no stranger to Eater’s Alley and has been going to Hahm Ji Bach since it opened about 10 years ago. He was kind enough to show me the ropes ; it was so good I returned for more within a week.

Minari (bottom left), or Korean watercress, has a bright lemony taste.

A meal here begins with a dozen types of banchan, complimentary side dishes of various kimchis, dried fish, and other delicacies. On my first visit to Hahm Ji Bach these delicacies included minari, or Korean watercress. The leafy stalks had a wonderful bright, lemony flavor, and were tossed with hot pepper.

A bowl of hoe naengymun, refreshing and fortifying on a hot summer day.

I’m obsessed with naengmyun. It’s a noodle soup that I like to refer as edible air conditioning. I’d never seen a seafood version and thus insisted on ordering hoe naengmyun ($12.99), cold buckwheat noodles with spicy skate. It comes with a pair of scissors and a sidecar of cold beef broth. One’s for cutting the slippery, chewy noodles. The other can be enjoyed by itself or poured into the big silver bowl. Either way the combination of spicy fish, crunchy sweet Korean pear, nutty tasting noodles, and veggies is incredibly refreshing.

Soondae kook, pork blood sausage shot through
with clear noodles in an offal-rich broth.

Soondae kook ($7.99) is a rich stew whose primary component is soondae, a rustic Korean black pudding. The sausage is made with pig blood and shot through with bits of dangmyeon, or glass noodles. The beefy broth tastes like it’s been cooked for half a day and is riddled with fragrant perilla seeds. It’s also chock full of pig parts, including creamy bits of tongue and slivers of ear stewed into a semigelatinous state. The soondae kook was great eaten on its own, but even better spooned over heukmi chapssal, a purplish glutinous rice with a wonderfully nutty flavor.

Mookeunji mero chorim, a kimchi seabass stew,
comes to the table bubbling in a stone pot.

When asked to recommend a house specialty our waitress pointed us toward mookeunji mero chorim ($17.99), a stew of sea bass and sour, long-fermented kimchi (mookeunji) that Kim referred to as “third-stage.” Pressed for details on the soft sheets of cabbage, which were indeed quite sour on their own Kim said, “Oh, you’d have to ask my grandmother about that.”  The beef-based broth must have been boiled and reduced for for a really long time. It tasted like some sort of Korean ragu, with a spicy sour kick thanks to the mookeunji. The fatty flesh underneath the skin was a dead ringer for the veal marrow bones that were cooked in the Italian-American gravy of my youth.

Ojingeo bokeum, squid and noodles in a fiery red sauce.

My second visit to Hahm Ji Bach began with ojingeo bokeum ($15.99), squid with broad ropy noodles and vegetables, cooked with plenty of sweet, smoky chili sauce.

Hyomit, thinly sliced beef tongue, waits to hit the grill,
as slabs of pork belly lurk in the shadows.

 I sought to atone for this sin of barbecue omission the second time around by ordering hyomit gui ($20.99), thinly sliced beef tongue cooked on a stone slab.

Wrap it up: A morsel of tongue sits atop a disk
of daikon with garlic and toasted soybean powder.

Korean barbecue is typically folded up into a lettuce leaf. Hahm Ji Bach provides disks of crunchy slightly pickled daikon for use with its grilled tongue. Place a slice of tongue atop the radish and sprinkle on some of the accompanying konggaru, a nutty, sweet tasting toasted soy bean powder. Then top it with some sauce, a slice of garlic, and some green onion. The interplay of the crunchy, slightly funky radish with the tender grilled  tongue is sensational. Dol samgyupsal ($18.99), thick slabs of pork belly with broad stripes of fat was also excellent. Hit a porcine chunk or two with a little salted sesame oil and top them with green onions before wrapping in a lettuce leaf and popping the lot into your mouth.

Like much of Korean cuisine Hahm Ji Bach’s menu remains a vast and delicious mystery whose depths I look forward to delving into on future visits. I am particularly intrigued by moksal gui, “thick sliced pork neck in our special sauce barbecued” and bok bulgogi, or barbecued blowfish.

Hahm Ji Bach will be serving up Korean cuisine at the Asian Feastival on September 6 from 12-5 p.m. Tickets can be purchased here. Be sure to check back for more posts about participating restaurants and shops.

Hahm Ji Bach 41-08 149th Place, Murray Hill, 718-460-9289

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Gastronauts packed the house for a Peruvian feast at Urubamba.

For whatever reason I have been unable to attend the last five or six monthly Gastronaut dinners. This past Tuesday, however, I cleared my calendar for a Peruvian feast the club for adventurous eaters held at Urubamba in Jackson Heights. It was the cuy—roasted Andean guinea pig—that sold me on the evening’s festivities. I’d had the delicacy before and was eager to try it again.

“Is this your first time eating with The Gastronauts? Are you excited?,” a gent in a pork pie hat asked a gal at a table behind me. “Yes, very,” was her response. Even though it was my seventh time, I too was quite excited. Thanks to a recent New York Times article there was an even mix of newcomers, including Latin American cuisine expert Nicholas Gill of New World Review, and veterans, including Dan Kim who has written up several Gastronaut dinners for World’s Fare, both of whom shared my table.

Pulpo al olivo: thinly shaved octopus in Alfonso olive sauce.

The first course to be presented to the 80 diners was pulpo al olivo, ribbons of pleasantly chewy octopus tentacles slicked with a sauce made from Alfonso olives. Anyone who’s ever atsted aji verde at a Peruvian restaurant knows Peruvians pride themselves on their sauces. The maroon puree was no exception to this rule, tasting like a mellower, creamier version of the purple olive that graced the plate.

Rocoto relleno wore their tops like jaunty Peruvian berets.

Next up was a trio of rocoto relleno or stuffed hot peppers, each was roughly the size of an apple. I had no idea that hot peppers came that large. “The hat’s the hottest part,” Gill’s wife, Claudia, who’s from Lima, warned us before we dug in.

A look at the innards of the best stuffed pepper ever.

Inside each pepper was a delicious mixture of ground beef seasoned with culantro and raisins. It was truly one of the best stuffed peppers I have ever eaten and was a sure sign that the evening would be one to remember.

What Peruvian feast could be complete without ceviche?

Next up was ceviche de conchas negras, or black clam ceviche. The mollusks had been chopped up, marinated with onion, lime, and garlic and then poured back into their shells and placed on the plate with painstaking attention to detail. Cancha, crunchy toasted corn kernels, were great with the chewy, lime-spiked bits of conch.

Urubamba has a way with anticuchos, skewers of grilled beef heart.

The third course was a half dozen anticuchos, skewers of grilled beef heart marinated in panca chili. These were served with the starchy jumbo corn known as choclo and a small dish of green sauce. The green sauce didn’t do much for the meat, but the peppery orange aji on the table was just the thing. It brought out the smokiness while adding a bit of zip. Of the eight courses provided this was the only one that's on Urubamba’s regular menu.

Cuy fresh from the oven. Note the burnished skin.

Carlos E. Astorga, Urubamba’s chef, was kind enough to let me into the kitchen to watch the cuy being plated. Astorga has been chef since 1986 when he took over the kitchen from his mother back when it was still called Inti Raymi after the Peruvian sun god. The last time Astorga cooked such a feast was in February. He and his team seemed to be relishing the evening's task. The activity in the kitchen and dining room brought to mind a Peruvian version of the film Big Night. 

Tastes like a cross between pork and rabbit.

Each table received a whole cuy to divide up. The flesh was slightly fatty and tasted like a combination of pork and rabbit. I had a bit of the saddle and some of a haunch. Then it was time for cuy guancial, the two strips of meat inside the jaw. The rest of the head wento to a lucky tablemate who picked it clean and saved the skull for a souvenir.

Patita con mani, a rich gelatinous stew of cow feet with potatoes.

As the next course,  patita con mani was brought out the dining room was filled with a wonderful garlicky aroma. Who knew cow foot stew with peanut sauce could smell so good. Bobbing with potatoes, wobbly bits of chewy hoof, and peanuts this gelatinous stew spiked with garlic, chili, and herbs was quite hearty. It was good, but probably would have been more enjoyable on a winter night.

Pachamanca, a trifecta of slow-cooked meats—from left chicken, pork, and
lamb—liberally seasoned with huacatay or Peruvian black mint.

Traditionally pachamanca is cooked underground with hot stones. Rather than dig a hole in his kitchen Astorga used a pressure cooker. First he layered in the lamb, then a barrier of celery, then the pork, more celery, and lastly the chicken. Each of the meats was tender and juicy and singing with the flavor of Peruvian black mint, sort of a cross between basil and tarragon. Had I not been eating for the past two hours, I could have easily devoured the entire platter.

Picante de conejo, rabbit in chili sauce.

The last course was picante de conejo, or rabbit in a chili sauce served with boiled yucca. By this time I was practically passing out, but like all of the dishes this was outstanding. After three hours the epic Peruvian feast drew to a close. Many Gastronauts purchased alfajores, disks of short bread sandwiching a layer of dulce de leche before waddling out the door into the night.

The cost for the evening was $65, not such a bad deal for eight courses and a trip to Peru via Jackson Heights. Cuy is not on Urubamba's regular menu, but can be special ordered in advance for about $25, which is the going rate at other restaurants in the area.

Urubamba, 86-20 37th Avenue, Jackson Heights, 718-672-2224

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Special to World’s Fare: Woodside’s Little Manila stretches from 60th  to 70th streets along Roosevelt Avenue and includes dozens of Filipino restaurants. A few weeks ago Liza DeGuia founder of Food.Curated led a food crawl through the nabe. I was unable to attend, but Jamie Feldmar of Jamie’s Stomach was kind enough to provide the following dispatch. Take it away Jamie.

Influenced by flavors from Spanish conquistadores and Chinese immigrants, Filipino food is big and bold. While not spicy, per se, much of Filipino cuisine is sweet, sour, and salty all at once, and oftentimes rather fatty. Most dishes have a lot going on—it can sometimes be a bit of a sensory overload. But with a little guidance, it’s possible to get a solid cross-section of Filipino cuisine in Woodside—everything from late-night drunk food like sisig (more on that later) to crispy pata or fried pork knuckles.

Chicharron bulaklak: say it with pork flowers.

We started things off at Ihawan (40-06 70th St.) with a table full of appetizers, including lumpia, (fried spring rolls), and pickled vegetables similar to Korean banchan. But I was more intrigued by the chicharron bulaklak (roughly, pork flower), which are deep-fried omenta or the fat that surrounds pig intestines. The menu delicately calls it, “ruffle fat."Bulaklak, or flower, refers to the way the innards blossom out after frying.

Pork skewers take center stage while kare kare lurks in the background.

In addition to grilled pork skewers with a sticky-sweet marinade our crew of 14 hungry eaters partook of kare kare, oxtail stew simmered in peanut sauce with long beans and served with bagoong (unapologetically funky fermented shrimp paste), and caldereta, goat stew with a tomato-and-bell pepper sauce that reminded me of my Jewish mother’s recipe for pepper steak. 

A squeeze of lemon helps cut all the funk and fat of sizzling sisig.

Moving along to Krystal’s (69-02 Roosevelt Ave.), I learned about pulutan—essentially, fatty, snacky foods to accompany a long night of drinking. The chicharron and BBQ skewers at Ihawan are prime examples. The dish that best embodies the spirit of a night out is probably sisig—a sizzling platter of pig face bits (cheeks, skin, ears, etc.) and pig liver, grilled over charcoal and cooked with chopped onions, chilies, and spices, and topped with a raw egg. With a quick lemon squeeze, it's perfect for soaking up all that liquor: fatty, salty, and sizzling. It’s deeply satisfying even if you haven’t been imbibing.

From there, we moved on to another gut-busting delight, crispy pata, pig knuckles marinated in garlic-flavored vinegar and then deep fried along with other bits of pig leg. It’s not for the faint of heart, nor are the nuggets of deep-fried lechon (spit-roasted pork), especially the belly bits, which boast a glistening inch-thick layer of fat even before they hit the fryer. We also chowed down on one of the Philippine’s best-known dishes, adobo, bone-in pork braised in soy sauce, garlic, and black vinegar, and pancit, stir-fried egg noodles with shrimp and vegetables.  To finish our Filipino feast at Krystal's? Halo-halo, a neon-hued dessert drink of shaved ice and sweetened condensed milk topped with red beans, jackfruit, tapioca pearls and bits of caramel custard, all served in a tall sundae glass with a long spoon.

Lest you think we were full at this point, we then moved a few doors down to Red Ribbon Bakery (65-02 Roosevelt Ave.) for dessert: pandesal (plain, fluffy bread rolls), ensaymada (buttery sweet rolls topped with bits of cheese and sugar—there’s your sweet/savory combo coming into play), and bright purple ube (purple yam) cake, rolled up and topped with a sweet vanilla chiffon frosting. You can also order ube in milkshake form at Red Ribbon, which is a Filipino chain with a few stateside outposts.

After the second dessert course of the evening all 14 of us were finally full. Had we not been so stuffed and had it been open we would have stopped into Phil-Am Foods (70-02 Roosevelt Ave.), a well-stocked grocer where one can pick up ingredients to recreate a Filipino fiesta at home.

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This fruit stand looks like it’s in the Dominican Republic,
but it’s actually down the street from Citifield.

One of my favorite ways to keep cool in the summertime—besides shaved ice—is eating tropical fruits Latino style. Papaya, mango, or coconut sprinkled with salt, lemon juice, and hot sauce prove quite refreshing. There are numerous stands selling tropical fruit along Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights and Corona, but my favorite lies between 104 and 108 Streets not far from Corona Plaza. Most of other vendors are set up outside grocers and sell only fruit. This one run by a Dominican couple is a stand-alone operation, and features an impressive roster of tropical drinks. When I stopped by the other day I chose mamey zapote from a list of more than a dozen jugos naturales listed on a yellow sign. Sadly they were out of it. Too bad, I subsequently learned that the fruit tastes like a combination of pumpkin, sweet potato, and cherries. (Like many a delicacy, it’s also reputed to be an aphrodisiac.)

Papaya with hot sauce, salt, and lemon.

In lieu of mamey zapote, I purchased a small container ($2) of papaya. The sweet, cool flesh offset by the salt, hot sauce, and lemon juice made me forget I was on one of the grittier stretches of La Roosie. As I consumed the papaya, a gent wearing a straw hat brought out a sack of young coconuts from a nearby garage.

After I ordered one ($5) my new friend took out a machete. Before he started hacking away the top I asked in halting Spanish, “Se puede un photo por favor?” His answer was no, and one doesn’t argue with a man wielding a machete. The green coconut was as a large as a baby’s head  and filled with refreshing juice. Only in Queens can one be transported to a tropical island for a mere $7.

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Nagao-san and her crew slinging okonomiyaki at Sunday’s Japan Block Fair.

In the run-up to the Asian Feastival, World’s Fare will be profiling the participants. The Feastival’s mission is to showcase the diversity of delicious Asian cuisines in New York City’s most delicious and diverse borough. Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Filipino, Nepalese, Indonesian, and regional Chinese are just some of the cuisines that will be represented under one roof.  Today we take a look at Kazuko Nagao and her okonomiyaki, or  savory Japanese pancakes.

I first met Kazuko Nagao, publisher of Japanese foodie web site pecopeco!, about five years ago at a sake and cheese tasting. At the time I thought of her as something of a Japanese Ed Levine. Little did I know she harbored a secret identity: New York City’s Okonomiyaki Queen. In the past year Nagao-san has held several wildly successful events showcasing the pancakes as prepared in her hometown of Hiroshima. Her layered preparation consisting of batter, topped with yakisoba noodles, cabbage, bean sprouts, pork belly, and a fried egg is seldom seen in New York City.

Osaka-style okonomiyaki topped with Otafuku sauce and dried seaweed.

On Sunday  Nagao-san and company were on hand at the Japan Block Fair in Astoria preparing the more common Osaka-style okonomiyaki. Like Hiroshima-style the Osaka version of this savory Japanese snack contains plenty of cabbage, scallion, and bits of red benishoga, or pickled ginger. Tenkatsu, crunchy tempura crumbs are also part of the mix. The cabbage and batter mixture is then griddled and topped with Otafuku sauce and dried seaweed.

“It’s like A-1, but for okonomiyaki,” Nagao said of the brownish sauce made with dates, apples, onion, garlic, oranges, peaches, garlic, and celery among other things. There’s no pork in Osaka-style okonomiyaki, but the combination of savory sauce, crunchy cabbage, and spicy benishoga, make it just as oishii as the Hiroshima version. It's savory and soulful like a latke with a Japanese accent.

Mixing the batter for Osaka-style okonomiyaki.

The ingredients are mixed with eggs and special wheat flour made just for okonomiyaki by Otafuku. “You can use regular wheat flour but their mix has dashi made with kelp in it,” Nagao-san said. “That’s the secret, it has a little added flavor.”

“The funny thing is that even though Otafuku’s okonomiyaki ingredients are widely used in Osaka the company is originally from Hiroshima just like me,” Nagao-san said before griddling up another batch for hungry customers who queued up despite the rain.

Nagao-san and her crew will be serving Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki at the Asian Feastival on September 6 from 12-5 p.m. Tickets can be purchased here. Be sure to check back for more posts about participating restaurants and shops.

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In the run-up to the Asian Feastival, World’s Fare will be profiling the participating restaurants. The Feastival’s mission is to showcase the diversity of delicious Asian cuisines in New York City’s most delicious and diverse borough. Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Filipino, Nepalese, Indonesian, and regional Chinese are just some of the cuisines that will be represented under one roof.  Today we take a look at Elmhurst’s Phở Bắc, my go-to spot for Vietnamese.

Phở Bắc is located in my second favorite mall in Queens (No. 1 is Flushing’s Golden Shopping Mall). Every store in this Elmhurst strip mall is devoted to food. Singa’s Pizza; Nusara, a Thai eatery; and Penang, a Malaysian joint sit side by side along with a huge supermarket. In the midst of this Asian food lover’s paradise find Phở Bắc. The specialty of the house here is phở, or beef noodle soup. The 13-year-old restaurant takes its name from owner Bắc Nguyen, who hails from Vietnam’s south. (Ironically Bắc also means north, thus the restaurant name means “northern beef Noodle soup.” )

Phở fixins’—lime, sprouts, and basil—wait to buddy up with a bowl of broth.

“We cook beef shank bones and meat for four to five hours in a big stock pot,” Nguyen said of his beef noodle soup. Ginger, clove and, and star anise all help to flavor the beguiling beefy broth. Every bowl comes with a plate containing lime, basil leaves, and bean sprouts. Add a generous amount of each before digging in.

Phở Bắc’s beef: rare and meltingly tender.

Bắc’s favorite bowl is the combination Phở #29 “with everything.” Everything includes thinly shaved rare beef that cooks in the broth, chewy bits of tendon, stippled pieces of omosa (tripe), and navel. And of course a generous serving of rice noodles. It’s Vietnamese comfort food at its best.

For dessert there’s frosty che ba mau.

After a hot bowl of soup it was time for the Vietnamese treat known as che ba mau. Chewy strands of green gelatin crown a cup of shaved ice that’s been drizzled with coconut milk and syrup. Beneath find a trifecta of beans: red, white, and mung. With all those flavors and textures the psychedelic colored dessert is not unlike the combination phở, though decidedly less beefy.

Phở Bắc will be serving up Vietnamese specialties at the Asian Feastival on September 6 from 12-5 p.m. Tickets can be purchased here. Be sure to check back for more posts about participating restaurants and shops.

Phở Bắc, 82-78 Broadway, Elmhurst, 718-639-0000

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At first glance La Dulce Vida looks like many other Colombian coffee shop.

Across the street from William F. Moore “Spaghetti” Park where Corona’s boys of summer play bocce late into the night lies La Dulce Vida. The cheery orange-hued coffeeshop owes its name to the Fellini film, but the only Italian specialty here is espresso. Instead there’s strong Colombian coffee, arepas (corn cakes), empanadas, chicharron, and plenty of baked goods, including savory buñuelos, (cheese-enriched orbs of deep-fried dough). This is the type of fare found at many piqueateadoros, or Colombian snack shops, throughout Queens. La Dulce Vida expands on the snack shop menu to include Colombian hotdogs and hamburgers, the latter of which brought me and my eating posse there last night. To a Colombian these staples of American backyard barbecues are but a blank canvas to be drizzled with all manner of sauces and gilded with additional meats and often bizarre toppings.

La Dulce Vida’ gilds its patty with potato chips.

Nearly a dozen ingredients top La Dulce Vida’s Super Especial Hamburger ($7 ). Some are conventional: bacon, cheese, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, mayonnaise. And some are not: ham, garlic sauce, pink sauce, Russian sauce, and potato chips. The latter along with all the sauces and additional proteins turn a mere cheeseburger into a calorific Colombian superhero that vanquishes both boredom with everyday burgers and hunger quite handily.

The Super Especial was filling, but not overly so. There was still room for a cup of vanilla chip from the nearby Lemon Ice King of Corona, which I enjoyed while watching some world-class bocce.  Now if that's not the sweet life  I don't know what is.

La Dulce Vida, 107-22 Corona Ave., Corona, 718-271-3033

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