Man I love Mexican food, and that's a problem. It's a problem because there are no good-n-cheap Mexican places in New York, and especially not in lower Manhattan. In Los Angeles, it seemed like you could get two-dollar fish tacos anywhere, and they'd be good.
This is the part where I'm supposed to say: "So you can imagine my joy when I discovered two-dollar fish tacos available just down the street in NoLIta." Alas, I cannot say such a thing. The next best thing is to report that I've been enjoying the food at Pinche Taqueria, a new-ish Mexican hole-in-the-wall just a block away from my apartment.
The weirdest thing about Pinche Taqueria is it seems to be run by people who skipped elementary math in kindergarten. A co-worker of mine, the first person I know who ate there, reported that when the cashier rang him up for three tacos, she charged him $14, much more than the $10 that it should have cost. When he pointed out the discrepancy, she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say that it was $14 because the cash register said so in bright green LCD numbers, no question about it.
Tonight, when I ordered a carne asada burrito, one fish taco, and a cup of horchata, I should have been charged a little over $14. Instead, the guy running the register quoted me $26.18.
"Wait a minute," I protested, credit card in hand. "I ordered a burrito for $6.95, a fish taco for $3.75 and horchata for $2.75." Even with sales tax, $26.18 was an obvious mistake.
"I must have added your order to the previous customer's order," the hoodie-clothed guy said. He re-entered my items and everything came out fine, but he never apologized, and never gave me the slightest confidence that he wouldn't make the same mistake with a customer less alert than me. It was such a glaring error that I'm sure he wasn't trying to rip me off on purpose, but the fact that this has happened more than once is worrying. If they're careless with their accounting, what else might they be careless about?
Still, the food is great. I wish I could describe the quality of the breaded mahi mahi in the taco tonight, but it was so good that I ate the whole thing in three bites, so I have no idea, really. The burrito was good as well, though the beef was very dry and needed more sauce; it's a good thing I took the two free containers of green salsa I was offered. The burrito also came with corn salsa chips, which I've always enjoyed eating with the rest of the food instead of as an appetizer.
If you love spicy Mexican food like I do, you'll need to order a horchata, which, at Pinche Taqueira, is made with organic rice milk, cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar. Nothing washes down better.
The best things I've had are the breakfast burritos. I really wanted one tonight (preferably with chorizo sausage and scrambled eggs) but when I asked if they were still serving them, the hoodie guy had to turn to his kitchen staff and ask. They said no. It was 7:00 PM. Evidently, unlike at IHOP, breakfast is not served around the clock here.
Showing posts with label NoLIta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NoLIta. Show all posts
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
More lights and cameras, no action
They're at it again. What began last week has developed into a full-blown shoot; film crews closed off Mott Street to vehicular traffic and rolled in their equipment this morning, chief among them the awesomely named SuperTechno camera crane. [I looked it up -- the SuperTechno 30 costs well over $2000 a day to rent, and hiring the guy who operates it costs another $550 per ten hours.] Tonight, they strung up lights in the trees and are filming a night scene on the corner of Mott and Prince. I can hear the Paramount Production Support trucks outside my window right now.
I went home for lunch this afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of actual filming, but was disappointed. This is common, of course. Very little "action" happens on film sets; most of the time, you sit around and wait. And no, no sightings of stars Isla Fisher or Hugh Dancy, though I didn't try very hard. I did, however, brush past the director sitting in the proverbial director's chair on my way back to the office. Boy, did he look bored.
To be honest, I'm not much a gawker. Will Smith filmed parts of I Am Legend outside my office in SoHo, and although I heard that there were throngs of people hoping to get an autograph, I was not among them. If I were a celebrity, I'd want to be left alone. Do unto others, I say.
I went home for lunch this afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of actual filming, but was disappointed. This is common, of course. Very little "action" happens on film sets; most of the time, you sit around and wait. And no, no sightings of stars Isla Fisher or Hugh Dancy, though I didn't try very hard. I did, however, brush past the director sitting in the proverbial director's chair on my way back to the office. Boy, did he look bored.To be honest, I'm not much a gawker. Will Smith filmed parts of I Am Legend outside my office in SoHo, and although I heard that there were throngs of people hoping to get an autograph, I was not among them. If I were a celebrity, I'd want to be left alone. Do unto others, I say.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
On location
How do I know the WGA writers strike is really over? Because they're shooting movies in New York again.
Remember this post from last September? That's when I first heard about the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic. I guess the location scouts decided that the street I live on would be a good place to shoot part of the film, because there was a film crew out on the street this morning. I wanted to take pictures of the real action -- they had Panavision cameras rigged to the sides of yellow cabs -- but I'd left my camera in my apartment and couldn't get it until lunchtime. By then, filming had ended and all that was left was a massive collection of lights arrays, tripods, and other important but ultimately boring things being packed up.
It's not likely that I'll see the film when it eventually comes out. But if you do, and you watch a scene in which a character steps out of a cab and into a boutique with beach balls in the window, you'll know where it was shot.
Remember this post from last September? That's when I first heard about the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic. I guess the location scouts decided that the street I live on would be a good place to shoot part of the film, because there was a film crew out on the street this morning. I wanted to take pictures of the real action -- they had Panavision cameras rigged to the sides of yellow cabs -- but I'd left my camera in my apartment and couldn't get it until lunchtime. By then, filming had ended and all that was left was a massive collection of lights arrays, tripods, and other important but ultimately boring things being packed up.
It's not likely that I'll see the film when it eventually comes out. But if you do, and you watch a scene in which a character steps out of a cab and into a boutique with beach balls in the window, you'll know where it was shot.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Things I saw in 20 minutes
I went to Freemans Sporting Club, the barber shop I wrote about in this post, to get a haircut this morning, but they don't open until 12:00 noon. So I came back home. It was an interesting trip nonetheless. Here were some things I saw in the 20 minutes it took for me to go there and back.
"Snowman Seeks Skibunny" -- graffiti on wall, Rivington Street
"Angry Fembot Army" -- graffiti on door frame of private home, Freeman Alley
"Fascism Sucks" -- slogan on t-shirt worn by a middle-aged man sitting outside the Salvation Army building
As I walked by a construction site at the corner of Elizabeth and Prince Streets, just two blocks from home, a construction worker sweeping the sidewalk flagged me down and asked if this area was called SoHo. He wore an orange hardhat and had no front teeth. I told him that it was closer to Little Italy than SoHo, and that SoHo was on the other side of Broadway.
"So if I was to tell people where I work, what would I say?"
"Well," I said, "you could say NoLIta. It stands for North of Little Italy."
He didn't like the word "NoLIta" (probably because he didn't know the name and neither might anyone else he'd care to tell) and instead asked if he was anywhere near the Lower East Side. I told him that, in fact, the Lower East Side was a merely one block away, on the other side of Bowery.
"Ah, okay," he said. "Cos I'm like, where the hell am I?!"
We laughed at the absurdity of his predicament. I imagine he's going to go home tonight, and his wife will ask, "So, honey, where did the company assign you today?" And he's going to say, "Well, it wasn't Little Italy, and it wasn't SoHo, and it wasn't the Lower East Side, and some dude told me it was a 'hood called Noriega or Normandy or somethin' like it." And then his wife's eyes will narrow, and she will say, "You weren't at work today at all, were you? You were out drinkin' with your cousin Leroy! Remember what happened the last time you drank before 5:00 PM? Remember how you lost them front teeth?"
"Snowman Seeks Skibunny" -- graffiti on wall, Rivington Street
"Angry Fembot Army" -- graffiti on door frame of private home, Freeman Alley
"Fascism Sucks" -- slogan on t-shirt worn by a middle-aged man sitting outside the Salvation Army building
As I walked by a construction site at the corner of Elizabeth and Prince Streets, just two blocks from home, a construction worker sweeping the sidewalk flagged me down and asked if this area was called SoHo. He wore an orange hardhat and had no front teeth. I told him that it was closer to Little Italy than SoHo, and that SoHo was on the other side of Broadway.
"So if I was to tell people where I work, what would I say?"
"Well," I said, "you could say NoLIta. It stands for North of Little Italy."
He didn't like the word "NoLIta" (probably because he didn't know the name and neither might anyone else he'd care to tell) and instead asked if he was anywhere near the Lower East Side. I told him that, in fact, the Lower East Side was a merely one block away, on the other side of Bowery.
"Ah, okay," he said. "Cos I'm like, where the hell am I?!"
We laughed at the absurdity of his predicament. I imagine he's going to go home tonight, and his wife will ask, "So, honey, where did the company assign you today?" And he's going to say, "Well, it wasn't Little Italy, and it wasn't SoHo, and it wasn't the Lower East Side, and some dude told me it was a 'hood called Noriega or Normandy or somethin' like it." And then his wife's eyes will narrow, and she will say, "You weren't at work today at all, were you? You were out drinkin' with your cousin Leroy! Remember what happened the last time you drank before 5:00 PM? Remember how you lost them front teeth?"
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