When Lilah suggested this arepas place in Williamsburg, I had pause. like, "Isn't Aprepas just a way of saying 'ethnic sandwhich'? Like Paninis for sophisticates?". I was ignorant.There is some other shit going on at Caracas. For example, the soup (above), which was like a classic potato-leek soup but with cilantro and hunks of smoked mozzella which had the texture of scallop in what then became a hypothectical seafood chowder.
BTW, that squeeze bottle is filled with liquid heaven that I hypothesized must contain mango, scotch bonnets, mayonnaise and heavily addictive narcotics.
My drink involved Ron Antigua and Bay Leaves and spices and the lime/cane sugar dichotomy.
The Arepas were amazing. The cornmeal shells magically held both the weight and pooling juices of ingredients like sweet plantain, fried shredded chicken, braised bar-b-que pork, black beans, avocado, jalapenos, and a blackened fried cheese that was much like Mexican queso fundido- an unholy mass of those bits of cheese that fall out of the grilled cheese onto the pan and become something bad and wonderful.
Hey L train, that high-fallutin' panini hauteur almost had you missing that whole majestic feast we had. And then we would have also missed the American Gladiator and the histrionic declarations of homoerotic friendship. Then you would have never been inspired to pioneer that traveling guerrilla dinner theatre, which is a total cash-cow if you're asking me. Who's the rube now, huh?
ReplyDeleteYou seem to have misplaced my h.