The first thing I noticed was the haze. A deep, musky haze, the color of dirty snow after a New York City snow-shower. I’ve been warned of the pollution, but it was thicker than I imagined: a gray cloud pock-marked with dark strawberry seeds.
Stepping off the plane, I was greeted with 6 security personnel; this in itself would not have been odd. But they were “strategically” placed at places they were not needed. For example, there was a walkway that ended in a sharp turn to the right and into another hallway; that is, there was no possibility of going anywhere but right. Yet there were two men, guiding us with their stiff arms, telling us to walk right, lest we walk straight into a wall. This concept, jobs of no utilitarian value, was further magnified when stepping off the concourse. I saw 3 women guiding a line of 5 baggage carts; that’s one woman for every 1.67 cart. At Pathmark, one 15-year-old boy can expertly maneuver 13 shopping carts by himself. What I found most ridiculous however, was this:
That's right -- it's a vending machine attendant. She stands there all day, waiting in the near-empty airport for a thirsty soul to come by her station. When he does, he gives his money to the attendant, who then puts it into the machine, chooses the drink, and then proceeds to retrieve the drink and open it for the purchaser.
These jobs, I guess, are the vestiges of an old communist past that assured every single citizen a job and a wage, no matter their education or amount of human capital. They're the physical remnants of a failed ideology that stridently, and dangerously, emphasized the notion of equality to the max.
We often take for granted the political and economic system of America. It emphasizes equity, not necessarily equality. Equity means that everybody gets a fair chance -- there is an emphasis on playing by the rules and being impartial and unbiased and fair. This doesn't always happen, but it is a revered virtue. Equality, on the other hand, is the concept that everybody should get a fair share. This thinking however, the concept of everybody having an equal part of the pie without regard to anyone's input in making the pie, leads to complacency and a lack of incentive. The result: a stagnating economy like China in the late 20th century.
I have been invited by Roger to write a guest entry describing our recent visit to Green Fields, a Brazilian buffet restaurant located in Corona, Queens. Though I am positively thrilled at the opportunity to do so, I am somewhat apprehensive about falling short of the high standards for overall quality of writing to which this blog has consistently adhered. I hope that these observations of a longtime reader, first time blogger will at least begin to capture the excitement, wit, and overall class that loyal readers have come to expect, respect, and love.
I first floated the idea of visiting Green Fields past Roger a few weeks ago. I had eaten there for the first time a few days earlier and was absolutely entranced by the whole experience. To those not familiar with the establishment, Green Fields specializes in the Brazilian barbeque technique know as churrascaria. Restaurants of this variety consist of a buffet section that contains a salad bar and a wide selection of Brazilian and American foodstuffs. Though quite tasty, the main feature is the meat. On top of each table is a wooden cylinder, one side green, and the other red. When the green side is placed on top, a “meat guy” will start bringing meat to the table and only stop when flipped to show the red. This system ensures that the customer has absolute control over the flow of meat to the table.
Roger and I left his apartment and took the 7-train through Queens, intending to meet Jenn at the Roosevelt Ave. station in Jackson Heights. Luckily for us, Roger had the foresight to bring along his digital camera and two gigabyte memory card. This allowed us to take dozens of photos in only a few hours, a selection of which are featured here. During the elevated train we were able to take in the scenic beauty that is western Queens. Those who have yet to do so should really make an effort to visit Queens via the 7, if only to take a ride on the iconic line. I truly envy those who get to experience this journey daily, especially those lucky enough to have apartments are within arms reach of the tracks.
Upon meeting up with Jenn, our merry threesome continued to ride the 7, finally getting off at 111th St. in Corona. Since gentrification has yet to affect this neighborhood as it has the majority of New York, Jenn was kind enough to tow along an arsenal of self-defense weapons. Wildly swinging a can a Mace and screaming unintelligibly at any resident to come within thirty feet of us, we were left in peace as we walked while pedestrians ran in the opposite direction. We reached the restaurant unscathed and ready to indulge.
Once seated and explained the situation of the restaurant we quickly headed over to the buffet center, where we loaded up on salad, rice, and other such buffet items. Soon after Meat Guy One came over with the first selection: sausage, bacon wrapped turkey, and sirloin. Meat Guy One was kind enough to oblige Roger in his request for an extensive photo session that detailed every aspect of the meat distribution process. He seemed rather pleased with this attention after years of abuse from patrons, grinning from ear to ear and he cut off great, big, greasy slabs of meat. The sight of pure, chaste joy as experienced by this handler of meat brought us sincere satisfaction in our abilities to bring simple happiness into the lives of others.
Meat Guy Two was less receptive to being photographed. At first sight of the camera a scowl slowly spread across his face that did not let up as he grimly cut off pieces of prime rib. He soon departed, pushing his cart of meat and muttering inaudibly to himself, and we were left wondering what trauma prompted this response as we chewed in silence.
Throughout the course of the evening we were served a variety of incredibly juicy and fatty meat. Other types included chicken wings, skirt steak strips, and goat ribs. We were all very much satisfied by the meal in general, though there was some constructive criticism to go around. Jenn’s culinary expertise allowed her to give the most professional critiques out of us all. Her top quotes include, “I like this. It’s good” and, “I don’t like this. It’s not good.” Bacon wrapped turkey seemed to be the fan favorite of the evening. Sirloin was not as well received by meat critic Jenn, who lambasted it as being suggestive of corrugated cardboard. They can’t all be winners, I suppose.
Four hours and seven pounds of meat later, we were sufficiently full to ask for the check and leave. As we stumbled out of the restaurant and onto Northern Blvd., I felt as if the reaction was muted enough for me to swear off suggesting restaurants for at least a few years. The combination of nausea and lethargy that hit me, known as a “meat coma,” prompted me to return home while my companions went clubbing at upscale establishments until dawn, an admirable feat of endurance by anyone’s standards. Despite the ill aftereffects of the feast, I don’t regret a moment and will return one day when the desire for copious amounts of meat hits me like an eighteen-pound turkey wrapped in bacon and stuffed with lard. Yum.
So I took my LSAT's today. I think I did well on 3/4 of if, but utterly and fantastically bombed the last 1/4. Damn logic games. If it weren't for that last section, which can be quite significant in terms of scoring, I would have felt much much more positive coming out of the testing.
I want to take a moment to thank the profuse amount of support from friends:
Shawn: "Hey man, good luck tomorrow." Dave: "YOU DA MAN" Jess Lin: "You will rock." Alice: "Let me know when would be a good time for me to buy you a post-lsat drink." Jane: "I just wanted to say good luck on your lsats! ... [6 hours later] ...I'm drunk so here's another good luck text." Sam: "Hey Rog, you'll do great tomorrow!" Mina: "I'm sure you'll be a TestMaster's instructor next year, you'll do great."
And thanks to Sujit and of course Jenn for keeping me sane all those hours at Bobst. ON TO OTHER THINGS:
Jenn and I made the tastiest, freshest, most flavorable burger EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND today. It's the kind of burger SO GOOD that you refuse to, nay, are not allowed to use condiments associated with such banal mediocrity. Ketchup and mustard? Leave it to the peasants.
The secret's in the meat: instead of regular ground beef, our concoction was made with lean ground turkey meat and a hodge podge of delectables. To the mash of meat, we added lots and lots and lots of ground garlic, parsley, sea salt, freshly ground pepper-corn, and, for the coup de grace, chopped-up sun-dried tomatoes soaked in extra-virgin olive-oil.
(Cupcake? No, just some raw meat with deliciousness added into it.)
On the way to Whole Foods for the ingredients, it started to rain. It started off as a slight patter -- it felt like A/C coolant being sprayed onto you while walking past pre-war apartment buildings. But then, the small driblets turned into large droplets, and the patter and the wind tore and fought with our fraught umbrella. Up until then, I always chided Jenn for her purchase of that magnanimous black umbrella. I've never seen one so big; opened, it stretches wider than my arm-span and reaches higher than my belly-button. But fighting in that wind, I came to see the usefulness and practicality of what I thought to be a futile purchase. You simply don't see the sense of some things until the moment arrives. Damn LSAT.
Characters (starring in alphabetical order): Roger Chao, Alice Chen, Jennifer Chuang, Ahris Kim (in spirit), Jane Kim, Samantha Mak, David Schemitsch, and Christopher Wu
Setting: BON CHON CHICKEN at 32nd and 5th -- a swanky fried chicken joint on the outskirts of Ktown. By all means, NOT your typical KFC. Upon climbing a hidden, winding, narrow set of stairs, we open into a cavernous space with pumping music, metallic settings, modern furniture, and exposed brick. Our first thought: are we at a lounge? Turns out, it IS a lounge. I thought we were going to a good fried chicken place that allowed us to lounge, but it's more of a lounge with great fried chicken.
The Plot: Succulent pieces of lightly seasoned chicken with a crackly, crisp, delicate skin. It's not your typical American fried chicken, i.e., chicken simply dipped in buttermilk and fried to produce a thick, big, flaky crust. No, this venerable chicken is made according to a time-honored recipe unique to the Asian culture (mainly Korean). (1) Very fine flour is painted onto the unseasoned chicken and then dipped into a thin batter before going into the fryer (2) Coming out of the fryer, it's vigorously shaken and cooled, letting the meat inside cook without burning the crust (3) Once more it's thrown into the fryer for a few minutes until it's whisked onto a plate and lightly coated with soy garlic or hot sauce; if done right, the chicken should absorb the sauce.
(Picture above from NY Times)
What this provides is incredible, magnificent chicken. Served with sweet radish and icy beer, it gives its consumer, as one reviewer so aptly puts it, "an irresistible repetition of salt and spice, cold and hot, briny and sweet, crunchy and tender."
