Take that, Junta
Several factors went into our decision to eat Burmese rather than Myanma food. We here at the Nomad have our fingers firmly on the pulse of geopolitics. As a citizen of Great Britain – emphasis on the “Great” – I was strongly in favor of recognizing the colonial-era anglicism of the country’s name. From 1886-1948, the Brits not only built schools, railroads and most importantly, prisons, but also exploited Burma for its abundant natural resources and relegated the Burmese people to third-class citizens beneath the Chinese and Indian workers who were brought in to accelerate integration with the rest of the Raj. I say. Well done! I certainly didn’t want our global influence as participants in the World Wide Web to go towards legitimizing the present corrupt military government. Noquar, on the other hand, being a militaristic fascist at heart, argued that we should follow the UN and respect Myanmar’s self determination by using the junta’s Western phoneticization of the country’s name. Since 1962, the junta has crushed dissent, destroyed the economy, and left its citizens nearly completely cut off from the international community. Boo, hiss! Ultimately, the solomonic Nomad herself settled the debate by pointing out that, in fact, regardless of whether it’s spelled Burma or Myanmar in the Latin alphabet, its pronounced exactly the same way on the streets of Rangoon. Or is it Yangon? Whatever, the most important determining factor for our alphabetic gymnastics was that the annual Myanmar (ignore them) Baptist Church Fun Fair was being held on the Saturday directly following our Burkina Faso mission. Fun fair? Yes, please.
We drove out to Briarwood, Queens on a beautiful hot mid-August day. The church is located in a quiet, shaded, almost suburban neighborhood. There was no face painting at this fair, no Gravitron, no ring toss, just some live music and stall after stall of delicious Burmese food. I had no idea where to start, so I wandered over to the first set of stalls I saw and the first dish that called out to my empty belly. I was rewarded with the coconut and chicken broth noodle. The thick, chewy wheat noodles were the perfect textural accompaniment to the creamy coconut-milk-based soup. Fish sauce and chili flakes were provided as added condiments and I was a little overzealous with the chili flakes. The first few bites were innocuous enough, but by the end, I was ready to dunk my entire head in the punch bowl of Burmese sweet ice drink. I settled for a cupful. Be warned, when the Burmese say sweet, they generally mean feel-your-teeth-disintegrating-in-your-mouth sweet. As far as I could tell, it was made up of ice cream, milk, strawberry syrup, and tapioca. Slightly less saccharine was the sweet rice and coconut wrapped in banana leaf, a mochi-like rice cake steamed in a banana leaf and stuffed with sweet coconut. It was definitely my favorite of the dessert dishes.
After the first round of desserts, I was ready for a second round of noodles. This time I went for the fish broth noodle, rice noodles in a clear broth flavored most noticeably with ginger and lemongrass. I once again went overboard on the chili flakes, this time accidentally. It was worth every moment of searing pain.
I’m going to let the Nomad and Noquar chime in with their dishes since we didn’t end up sharing all that much this time.
The Nomad: Between the three of us, we probably tackled every stall at the place. I started out with an enormous bowl of vermicelli soup, a heaping mass of thin rice noodles in a light broth with all sorts of fun ingredients like pork liver, pork stomach, and quail eggs. Feeling a little sleepy after all that food, I perked up with a hot cup of Burmese sweet tea, not as sweet or yummy as the Thai version (just a little sweet condensed milk), but it did the trick. Moving down the line, I couldn’t pass up the very unusual-looking bean and paratha. This dish seems to reveal the ties Burma shares with its large neighbor to the west, India, where we think of finding paratha. This version was a deep fried dough, topped with boiled and mashed “peas” (maybe more like white beans?) and fried onions. Greasy fried bread bean deliciousness. To finish it all off, a big bowl of crushed ice salad, topped with three super sweet syrups, a variety of multi-colored jellies, nuts, and lychee. Yum.
Noquar? Noquar? Anyone? Noquar?
Oh, there he is down below crammed between the crushed ice salad and the tripe.
Noquar: The beef tripe soup was my triumphant return to innards after a nasty battle was waged in my stomach a few months ago between my immune system and some sweetbreads. It was actually a semi-spicy noodle dish laced with the sweetness of cucumber. The tripe was “fair” even though I was tempted to order seconds.
Now, this was a fun fair, and I’m sure you’re rightly wondering what non-gastronomical fun was involved. In reply, I defy you to think of something more fun than Burmese live-band karaoke. The band and its carousel of singers served up a tight mix of American and Burmese pop tunes, notably the fierce rendition of the Donna Summer classic “Hot Stuff” that directly followed a beautiful solemn selection of hymns performed by the Myanmar Baptist Church Choir. So we sat in the sun, nodded our heads in time, and kept shoveling it home. In all, it was as good a summer afternoon as you could spend, and one you’d be hard pressed to replicate any place other than New York City.
Just so you can see for yourself how fun and food-filled this fair really was, we made a short video tour of the place. Enjoy…
I always enjoy a good discussion on colonialism, geopolitical issues, and food. Thanks!