Eating Fifth Avenue – Tesoro Ecuatoriano

Posted on January 12, 2015 by lkewing313

The shark is a nice touch.

Fifth Avenue in Sunset Park is dense with Latin American groceries, bakeries and restaurants. (The distinction between those categories can be fuzzy – many groceries have a lunch counter tucked away in the back, and that bakery with the pastel-frosted, tiered wedding cakes in the window also offers roast suckling pig on weekends.) For the next month or so, I plan to make (at least) weekly eating excursions, checking out as many different cuisines and specialties as I can, and writing about them here.

Eric joined me for yesterday’s inaugural trip. Our focus: Ecuador. Two Ecuadorian restaurants face off against one another in the block between 40th and 41st streets. We checked in first at Castillo; although its awning referred generically to Spanish-American food, the menu was thoroughly Ecuadorian, down to the hornado (roast pork) and pescado encebollado (oniony fish soup). At 1:30 in the afternoon, the place was packed with families sharing big plates of delicious-looking food. So packed, in fact, that the waitress behind the cash register just shook her head sadly when we asked for a table.

We were kind of sad, too. But we got a grip on ourselves, and crossed the street to Tesoro Ecuatoriano.

Where Castillo was loud with excited children and family members shouting over one another, Tesoro was loud with a Spanish pop soundtrack. The place was dark and bar-like, decorated with Christmas lights, tinsel garlands that had seen better days and, incongruously, a deer’s head and startled pheasant mounted on the back wall. A few solitary (male) souls sat at the bar, eating soup and drinking beer and watching a dubbed action movie about a disabled submarine. A lone woman was finishing her lunch. A small group of hung over-looking men talked and drank at the only other occupied table.

Eric went Chino-Ecuadorian with seafood chaulafan (fried rice), while I went for broke with a weekend-only special, Arroz Tesoro. I wasn’t sure what I’d be getting (guatita, what’s that? does tortilla de papas mean a Spanish-style potato omelet?), but if the restaurant saw fit to put its name on it and trot it out on Sundays, I was going to be a sport and give it a try.

What this namesake dish turned out to be was a kind of “greatest hits” sampler. A big pile of yellow rice and a fried potato patty (ah, so that’s tortilla de papas) anchored the plate, surrounded by shrimp ceviche with toasted corn nuts, half a fried plantain, a generous slice of avocado, a heaping portion of hornado, and tripe in a creamy, peanutty sauce. (That, my friends, is guatita, and before you go all squeamish and say “ick,” please take my word that it’s delicious. Or don’t, and leave more for me.)

It was food for six normal people, which is to say, Eric and I left with enough for a smallish lunch the next day.

To my regret, I wasn’t able to try “Quaker.” I had no idea what this was going in – it appeared under the beverage listings – but some furtive, on-the-spot googling took me to an Ecuadorian food blog that offered a primer and, as a bonus, a recipe. Quaker, I learned, is an oatmeal-based drink (yes, the name derives from the multinational food conglomerate/PepsiCo division) that blends soaked rolled oats with fruit and spices. It can be served either warm or cold, and I want some.

By the time we gave up on finishing our food and asked for our bill, the action movie had been switched off in favor of Spanish futbol (Granada v. Real Sociedad), which was also projected onto the giant screen at the back of the room, beneath the deer and pheasant. A couple and their young daughter came in and ordered batidos (milkshakes), the men at the bar ordered more beers, and the place suddenly seemed a little livelier. I’m guessing that by evening, it was hopping.

The lesson: if you want a convivial lunch spot, go to Castillo (but get there early or be prepared to wait). Drop by Tesoro later to drink beer and watch sports – or, if it’s cold outside, to kick back with a canelazo.*

*A hot, spiced alcoholic drink to warm you on cold Andean nights and dreary Brooklyn afternoons.

Featured in this post:

El Tesoro Ecuatoriano, 4015 5th Ave., Sunset Park, Brooklyn 11232

Castillo Restaurant, 4020 5th Ave., Sunset Park, Brooklyn 11232

A clumsy runner greets the new year

Posted on January 8, 2015 by lkewing313

My first running mishap of 2015 came early. Tuesday’s program called for a loop and a half of Prospect Park, cutting across Center Drive to run the bottom of the park twice. On my second half-loop, for variety’s sake, I went off-road and onto the wide dirt path that hugs the south shore of the lake. It was cold and windy, but the bitterest of the bitter cold hadn’t yet hit, and a light snow softened January’s sharp edges.

What a beautiful morning.

Until – whoosh. My foot skidded on a sheet of ice, my arms flailed (great as a comic effect, useless as a practical measure), and I went down hard.

Next came the sound of ice cracking as a runner-size hole opened and half-submerged me in a deep mud puddle – mud pond, really. I had two immediate (and equally useless) responses.

Useless response #1: yell “goddammitshitfuck” at the top of my lungs.

Useless response #2: attempt to use the unbroken ice around me as a support to lift myself out of the freezing water.

As anyone who ever watched a child-in-peril melodrama (winter edition) knows, #2 does not work. But sometimes you have to learn things for yourself, and I was surprised and outraged when my efforts led to the horrifying sound of more ice cracking, a wider hole, and a profound sense of futility.

The only way up and out was to plunge my hands under the water to find solid ground. I did that and struggled to my feet, soaked to the skin. There was no Lassie to the rescue. There was no Saint Bernard with a flask of warming brandy. There was only a bundled-up walker, who clucked sympathetically as she passed but did not stop, and two miles between me and home.

I resumed my run, because what else could I do?

It was quite impressive how quickly my gloves and jacket froze solid. Running through the deserted park in that state was tough; running through the populated streets of Park Slope was even tougher. Knots of people are always milling around New York Methodist Hospital, and though you have to work hard to attract attention here in the Big City, I did get a few sidelong glances as I passed them. When I finally made it to our building, I understood why. The face reflected in the entry way mirror was that of a doomed polar explorer: frosted eyebrows, full-face ice beard, desperate, haunted eyes.

A plush robe, a hot drink and a warm shower chased away the deep chill surprisingly quickly. The bruise on my left hip is more stubborn, and I’ve spent the past two days charting its progress. It’s 6 inches long and 3 inches at its widest (yes, I measured) and is shaped like Jamaica flipped upside down. At first, with its concentric rings of different colors, it looked a bit like a topographic map. Later, I saw in it a swatch of old-fashioned chintz: two billowing pink cabbage roses surrounded by soft-edged foliage in pastel shades of purple, blue and green. Now it’s mostly darkened to midnight violet.

Though Eric can’t look at it without grimacing, I find it endlessly fascinating and oddly beautiful.

Postscript – when I ran by the site of the incident yesterday morning (safely on-road this time), I saw that park maintenance vehicles had been over the spot with a vengeance, breaking the ice and churning up the (now frozen) mud. It was my bad luck to be out running during what was probably a short window of danger, when enough snow had fallen to hide the ice but park workers had not yet rolled through.

Blogging resolutions

Posted on January 7, 2015 by lkewing313

This blog returns from its holiday hiatus with a handful of resolutions for the new year:

1. Get out there and explore. In the coming year, I plan to take this blog to more Brooklyn neighborhoods in search of cheap, tasty eats (always a motivator!) and interesting stuff generally. Look for posts on Latino and Asian Sunset Park, Arab Bay Ridge, and the borough’s various West Indian communities. And that’s just for starters. I may even venture farther afield, to the wilds of Queens, Staten Island and the Bronx.

2. Bring other people into the blog. Blogging is great for introverted people like yours truly: you can write about whatever pops into your head from the comfort and privacy of your home. That’s also its great weakness. I mean, jeezus, no one is that interesting. So I’m going to work at introducing other people into posts, telling their stories and sharing their views. That means getting outside my comfort zone, which is good. (It also means showering and getting dressed before late afternoon, also good.)

3. Alternate long-form posts with shorter items. Some of my recent entries, like the account of my South Carolina trip, have been quite long. And while I draw a lot of personal satisfaction from those posts, and am proud of the thought and care that went into them, they are time-consuming to write and, I suspect, daunting to read. So I’m going to rein in my wanna-be magazine writer tendencies and mix the long stuff up with more photos and short observations.

4. Engage more with other bloggers. I’m very grateful to the other bloggers who’ve checked out Not another Brooklyn blog, “liked” posts, and left the occasional comment. I’m going to work hard to be a better citizen of the blogosphere in the coming year.

And finally, reluctantly . . .

5. Consider focusing this blog. When I started blogging a little over six months ago, I defiantly proclaimed my intention to ignore the well-meaning (and near-universal) advice to identify an audience and focus on it. I was going to write about whatever interested me, goddammit. And so I’ve written about running, about birdwatching, about surviving (and not surviving) breast cancer, about Brooklyn ephemera, about the haunted history of South Carolina, about food. It’s been fun, but it’s also been a mess. I don’t blame readers who were drawn in by running posts and then didn’t know what to make of cancer posts, and vice versa, for throwing up their hands and walking away. I understand now, in a way I didn’t six months ago, the costs of unfocused blogging . . . for sure, it makes realizing resolution #4 a hell of a lot more difficult. I’m going to maintain my idiosyncratic non-focus for the time being, but over the next six months, I’ll be thinking hard about what this blog wants to be when it grows up. Input from readers in that process is very welcome.

If you’re a blogger reading this, what are your blogging resolutions for 2015?

Now it can be shown . . .

Posted on December 4, 2014 by lkewing313

A few weeks ago, I posted about my experience running the New York City marathon – including a meltdown in the final miles that reduced me to walking as my left calf spasmed and my left foot did various, hard-to-describe weird things.

I mentioned at the time that one of the small army of marathonfoto.com photographers along the course captured my bewilderment and despair. I also vowed that I was going to buy that picture.

Extortionate marathonfoto.com prices notwithstanding, I did. And here it is. I have a long and well-documented history of sorry race pictures, but this is by far the sorriest.

Kids, this is what happens when you go out too fast.

Heroes, ghosts and history

Posted on December 1, 2014 by lkewing313

We didn’t actually wear these buttons.

“Remind me again why we’re going there?”

That was Eric’s question when I suggested we wear these buttons on our flight to Charleston, South Carolina.

It was a reasonable question. South Carolina is the state whose governor declared (in her State of the State address, no less) that unions “are not needed, not wanted and not welcome.” It’s the state whose U.S. Senators have described the National Labor Relations Board as, variously, an “out-of-control bureaucracy,” “third world tyranny” and “rogue agency” for its outrageous! ridiculous! shocking! interference with the God-given right of corporations to tear federal labor law into teeny tiny pieces, suitable for CEOs to scatter like confetti at bonus time.

If your reaction to all this is “huh?”, a bit of background. South Carolina’s business and political leaders reacted with predictable rage when the NLRB issued a complaint against the Boeing Corporation for shifting production of its 787 “Dreamliner” plane from Washington state to a new plant in North Charleston. The 2011 complaint alleged that Boeing’s move was illegal retaliation for (legal, federally-protected) strikes by the company’s unionized workforce in the Seattle area. In support of this absurd allegation (unprecedented! an attack on jobs and freedom and all we hold dear!), the rogue agency cited numerous public statements by Boeing executives that they were moving production to Charleston . . . in retaliation for strikes by their unionized workforce in the Seattle area.

Oops.*

Thanks to Google maps, I already knew the drive from the airport to downtown Charleston would take us past “Dreamliner Drive.” And there it was. There, also, was the sprawling Boeing facility, still in operation despite the hysteria (job killers! business destroyers!) generated by the NLRB’s enforcement action. (As often happens, the company and the union reached a settlement, and the unfair labor practice charge was withdrawn.)

All in all, I had to agree with Eric that South Carolina was not the most likely destination for a trade unionist and an NLRB attorney.

So, why were we there? Well, why not? Continue reading →

The 2014 NYC Marathon: wind and grief

Posted on November 6, 2014 by lkewing313

Fourth Ave, Brooklyn, between miles 6-7; the guy with the Puerto Rican flag was the crowd favorite. (Photo credit: Luke Redmond)

The wind was the headline story – sustained winds of 20 mph, gusting to almost twice that. When I share stories with other runners, it’s the wind we’ll talk about. The way it pushed us sideways on the Verrazano bridge; the unnerving, rattling sound of our bibs straining against their safety pins; the hats, garbage bags and other debris whipping past us; the unexpected, energy-sapping blast when we turned west into the Bronx in mile 20.

When I think about the race in personal terms, though, it will always be “the race I ran while C was dying.” I wish I could say I thought of her with every step, but that wouldn’t be true. In the selfish way of the non-dying, I thought about a lot of things. I took in the spectators and my fellow runners, slapped a few hands, said a few words of encouragement. I looked for members of my running club. I blew a kiss to my husband. I debated when to toss my water bottle (around mile 5), my gloves (mile 12), my goofy hat (never).

Where my thoughts tended to settle on C was in the tough parts, when I used her name as a mantra to maintain my cadence (“C” – foot strike – “C” – foot strike). And yes, I can’t write that without again confronting the fundamental selfishness of the non-dying and the non-immediately bereaved, and acknowledging the chasm it opens. We’re sad, but our lives go on – foot strike after foot strike, mile after mile, day after day, season after season. Theirs end, or have a hole ripped out of them. That selfishness may be necessary (how could we endure otherwise?), but it’s still enraging.

Here, then, is my race report. Continue reading →

Dying of breast cancer after Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Posted on November 3, 2014 by lkewing313

Breast Cancer Awareness month is over. My friend C spent it at home, sleeping most of the time, not taking much food or water, her husband and daughters at her side as her body slowly shut down. Today I learned that she died in the early hours of the morning, Pacific Standard Time. We’d known for months that it was coming, but you always hope for just a little more time – right up until the day you don’t, when hope shifts from “more time” to “peace.”

She’s at peace now.

After a loss, we try to find comfort where we can, even in odd thoughts. Those strong winds from the west during yesterday’s marathon? I’m pretty sure that was C. And I’m choosing to think of the timing of her death as a final act of defiance, a “fuck you” to pink merchandise and beribboned platitudes and demeaning, sexualized slogans. No way was she going to die during Pinktober. And she didn’t – she held on until the calendar flipped a page. Continue reading →

Get your expo on

Posted on October 30, 2014 by lkewing313

I hit the NYC Marathon expo on its first day, shortly after it opened. My goals were modest – collect my race bib, load up on race swag and free samples, perhaps browse the wares a little, and document the event for you, my readers . . . all while minimizing time on my feet.

Navigating the expo at the Javits Convention Center is a bit like navigating an Ikea store: there’s a forced march through its various sections, beginning with bib pickup and then proceeding through shirt selection, race bag collection, timing chip quality control, the ASICS merchandise display (ASICS being a major sponsor of the race) and lesser merchandise displays. Bib pickup, the first stop, consisted of multiple rows of booths that corresponded to ascending bib numbers, seemingly reaching into the millions. It shouldn’t have been a hard concept to grasp, but I still managed to walk past my designated booth and wander around bewildered for a bit, before I realized the numbers were going in the wrong direction. (Because I qualified for the “Local Competitive” start by being fast for my age and gender, my bib number is shockingly low. Seeing all those booths at the expo was a salutary reminder to brace myself for being passed by literally thousands of younger and maler runners on Sunday.)

I made sure to position my three-digit bib number so that others could see it (without being too obvious), while holding myself erect and trying not to trip. Continue reading →

The thrifty marathoner

Posted on October 28, 2014 by lkewing313

: DIY arm warmers for those chilly race mornings

I admit it: I’m a cheapskate. Having coughed up more than $200 in entry and processing fees to run the New York City Marathon, I’m not exactly itching to spend a lot of money on gear. (Shoes, being essential,* are the exception.) But with the forecast calling for temps in the 40s on Sunday, it’s going to take more than a plastic garbage bag to prevent hypothermia during the long pre-race wait at Fort Wadsworth, and even during the early miles of the race itself.

A little creativity is in order.

Take the attractive and highly functional arm warmers pictured here. They’re fashioned from a wonderful thing called “socks,” widely available for a few bucks a pair from your local dollar store, pharmacy or street fair (or for even less if you take them from your spouse’s sock drawer). A snip here, a snip there, and you’re in business. I plan to wear these with my race singlet for the first few miles, then throw them to my cheering fans somewhere along Fourth Avenue.

Other race day gear piled in our back bedroom/office in preparation for Sunday:

Mismatched throwaway gloves from Hanson’s running store in Detroit
Layers, layers, layers – including my daughter’s “Super Sophomore” shirt, found under the bed, and a discarded shirt of Eric’s, retrieved from that pile we keep forgetting to take to the fabric recycling place
A pair of (very) relaxed-fit Mom jeans that gapped at the waist even when I was fifteen pounds above my racing weight
Mylar blankets saved from previous races and stashed in the trunk of my late, lamented Saturn just in case I ever got stranded in a snowdrift somewhere

Come Sunday, I’ll try hard not to look smug when I watch runners in expensive gear debating whether to wear it in the race or stand in the baggage line to check it. I’ll be comfy in my Mom jeans, garish T-shirt and frayed, stained button-down – right up until the last possible moment, when I strip down to emerge as “Running Woman.”

. . .

In the meantime, let me suggest another money-saving opportunity for thrifty marathoners and their friends and family – check out those New York Road Runners “Run the City” deals. Sure, most of them are less about saving money than about marketing: I love Jacques Torres as much as anyone, but if I drop $25 on fancy candy, a complementary small hot chocolate seems like the least they can offer me.

There are some gems in there, though, like 2-for-1 doughnuts at Leske’s in Bay Ridge. You won’t find doughnuts glazed with organic passion fruit icing and sprinkled with non-GMO, fair trade cocoa nibs there. You will find airy crullers and overstuffed squares oozing raspberry jelly. I planned today’s easy 5 miler so that it ended at their store, which happens to be practically on the marathon route. I arrived just as a massive shipment of flour was being delivered, and got a peek into their bakery operation in the back. Super nice people, great old school doughnuts and cheap, too (even when they’re not 2-for-1).

Thrifty marathoners, take note.

2-for-1 at Leske’s Bakery: of course I’m smiling!

Leske’s were making doughnuts, crullers and kringler in the back of their store before “artisanal” was a thing.

Leske’s Bakery, 7612 Fifth Avenue, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

*Barefoot runners, please refrain from commenting.

Rest day – and a look back

Posted on October 22, 2014 by lkewing313

Not quite how I was feeling, eight miles into a run on a muggy September day

No run for me today – and how odd that feels. Easy runs have been an important part of my marathon training, but scheduled “no run” days haven’t. From the beginning of September through the Staten Island Half Marathon on October 12, I ran every day, averaging 60+ miles a week.

This week, I’ll drop down to 40. Next week, I’ll drop down even more, and try to stay off my feet as much as possible (meaning no 6-hour birding walks in the park, no matter how many rare sparrows turn up there).

Instead of catching up on my reading, as planned, I’ve been fidgety and unproductive.*

I want to run, dammit.

So I’ve been looking back on my training – the miles run and the sights seen while I ran them. When I first qualified for the New York City Marathon, I fantasized not just about lining up on the most spectacular starting line in the sport,** but about long training runs that would carry me to the farthest reaches of the city. I’d take a 1 train to Van Cortlandt Park and run all the way back. I’d hop on the A to farthest Far Rockway. I’d finally get to Canarsie and Sheepshead Bay and Rego Park and other neighborhoods well off my beaten running path.

Sometime in late August, I realized that the number of long runs remaining on the calendar was not infinite. It was, in fact, extremely finite – and shrinking. Other running exigencies, such as the desire to avoid busy streets and long lights, worked against my plans to combine marathon training and urban exploration.

Even so, I managed some memorable runs, and saw some great stuff . . . including these scenes from a run last month that took me along the Brooklyn waterfront from Red Hook to DUMBO and Vinegar Hill, then alongside the Navy Yard into Williamsburg and over the Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan.

Swoon’s work in Red Hook

A Mondrian-esque shed in DUMBO

No time to sit and enjoy the view – I had miles to do.

Sure, I’ll run with you!

: And my tired legs

I’m already missing all of this.

*Though I did manage to do laundry and vacuum. And Eric and I have been eating very, very well this week.

**As Mary Wittenberg of the New York Road Runners is fond of saying, and I agree.

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