The tea boys of Abu Dhabi

I’ve discovered I’m a bit of a hypocrite.
Some of you may say you’ve known this about me for some time, but I hope you’d just be kidding.
The realization of my hypocrisy occurred when I discovered a curious tradition here at the newspaper in Abu Dhabi where I work. Some say the tradition is quaint. Others say it’s disturbing.
You see, the newspaper has a couple dozen men of varying ages who bring tea and coffee to our desks. They are actual employees of the company, but I’m told they're paid a pittance. They make most of their money from tips.
They are very similar to the chaiwallas of India, the men who bring chai tea and other beverages to office workers in Mumbai, Delhi and other big commercial cities in South Asia. They became well-known after the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It’s a very convenient service they provide, but some say it smacks of the caste system of the colonial past. In Abu Dhabi, they’re not called chaiwallas, but tea boys. All of them are from India, Bangladesh or Pakistan. They wear light blue waiter's smocks. Some of them look like me.
I’m quite torn about the tea boys. On one hand I have a problem with the very subservient existence for these Asian and Arab men to serve tea to the mostly-white journalists in our newsroom. On the other hand, I admit I do use their services. I ask them a few times a day for a cup of tea, a newspaper or some coffee made from a French press. Others have them fetch cigarettes, lunch, laundry, dry cleaning, mail or packages. The going rate for a cuppa joe from a tea boy is about four dirhams, or a little over one American greenback.
One of the senior editors at the paper and a fellow American says he doesn’t like them because his tea boy can’t make a decent cup of coffee. He says he’d rather use the manpower to maintain a proper newspaper archive, which currently doesn’t exist. It’s significant to note here that my American colleague used to be the managing editor of a major metropolitan newspaper in the US. You can tell he’s good at spotting deficiencies and re-allocating resources.
Almost all of the British journalists (which constitutes the majority of the newsroom) use the tea boy service. I started doing so simply because it saved me time. I guess the rest of the newsroom does it for the same reason. Am I really that much of a lemming?
The tea boys can be very territorial about who they get to serve. They figure out pretty quickly whos tips the best, then they stake their claim. The point is that your tea boy chooses you, and til death or dismissal do you part.
The photo above is of a guy named Sridan, from Mumbai. He’s in his fifties, small and slight, with an indecipherable accent, a slight limp and a big smile. I got assigned to the business desk, and I also got Sridan, who now knows I like green tea, a bottle of water and a newspaper to start my day.
My sister’s husband says there’s nothing wrong with keeping people employed, even if it’s in a subservient, slightly racist way. I pointed out that the problem with this system is that there’s very little chance that Sridan, or any of his children, will ever be considered for any job except that of a tea boy or its equivalent. How would you like to be well into your fifties and still be called a boy?
I have no idea whether Sridan or any of his colleagues are happy, but that may not be the point. I’d like to know that if a young person with brains and ambition, no matter his or her race, upbringing or social rank, has a shot at beating the odds and going to college and working at a good job. Sridan and his ilk, along with their children, probably don’t have that chance. And Sridan will keep serving me tea.

In Da Kitchen

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY, 9th Avenue near 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen. There’s a second location on Second Avenue
August 29, 2011

Editor's note: My friend, ex-roommate and bar-b-cutie Jessica and I visited this restaurant in late July, about four days before I left New York. We’re just getting around to posting this, so apologies if this seems a bit out of order. We haven’t written about barbecue in a while, so this is actually good timing. As always, let us know what you think. Unlike me, Jess still lives in New York, and would love to get suggestions and feedback. We'll still occasionally write about non-barbecue stuff in this space, because we simply can't eat this succulent stuff all the time.


Mark

I’ll get to the restaurant in a minute. First, I’d like to share my favorite story (there are many) on how the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of New York City got its moniker. In the late 1800s, a veteran cop named Dutch Fred was observing the latest gang fight on West 39th Street near 10th Avenue with his rookie partner. As punches were thrown and heads became bloody, the astonished rookie cop allegedly said: “This place is hell itself.” His battle-weary partner countered: “Hell’s a mild climate. This is Hell’s Kitchen.”

I’m allowing myself to become nostalgic because I leave my beloved New York in a matter of days. And Hell’s Kitchen is where I’ve lived for years. Like a lot of recent transplants to New York, I’ve hung my hat in several apartments in various neighborhoods. But Hell’s Kitchen was the best fit for me. The neighborhood is a bit seedy but can occasionally be kind, and appears slightly run-down but is still ruggedly handsome, when viewed in just the right light. But I (finally) digress.
Despite its violent, riotous history, the kitchens of Hell’s Kitchen are now

producing some of the best affordable food in the city. From the Thai food of Aceluck to the Greek seafood of Uncle Nick’s, Ninth Avenue and its cross streets have become a slightly grittier extension of Restaurant Row in nearby Times Square. Among the more recent entries is Southern Hospitality on Ninth Avenue, a barbecue joint created by, among others, actor, rapper and all-around superstar Justin Timberlake.
This restaurant on Ninth Avenue is one of two Southern Hospitality ‘cue joints in Manhattan. The other is on Second Avenue on the Upper East Side. The Hell’s Kitchen version was a bit loud, both in volume and décor. The dining room is dominated by a giant photograph of Memphis-born Elvis Presley wearing boxing gloves, an apparent reference to lyrics from Presley’s hit song “Hi-Heel Sneakers,” which advise some to “wear some boxing gloves in case some fool might want to start a fight.”
Timberlake, also a native of Memphis, has obviously influenced the menu. Judging from the number of items that are deep fried, Elvis himself may have had a hand in conceiving the cuisine. I had the King’s Combo, consisting of a plate full of Memphis-style, dry-rubbed spare ribs, sliced brisket and fried chicken. I chose mac & cheese and sweet potato fries as my sides.

The spare ribs were very, very good. A tad salty, but not annoyingly so. For those who recoil at the taste of sodium, remember there are pills for high blood pressure nowadays. Besides, it seems silly to complain about increased hypertension when you’re gnawing through a half-rack of ribs. I don’t eat like this every day, and meals like this may be even scarcer once I move to the Persian Gulf. I hope not, because these were some tasty ribs. And that’s coming from someone who doesn’t normally like dry rub ribs.
There was less enthusiasm for the remaining selections on the plate. The brisket was a bit gray and tasteless, requiring healthy doses from one of three barbecue sauces provided at each table. As for the fried chicken, I don’t have an opinion because I was so full from the ribs that I had the rest of the meal wrapped up in order to be taken home – the ribs were that good, and that plentiful. I’ll be yearning for this place when I tire of the hummus and falafel of my future home.

Jessica

My selection at Southern Hospitality was less regal than Mark’s King’s Combo platter but no less tasty. The sliced smoked brisket sandwich was flavorful, topped with onions and jalapenos to give it a nice kick. It came with a creamy cheese sauce and beef stock on the side, plus fries and slaw. Needless to say, I didn’t require a to-go box.

Southern Hospitality’s website touts its Memphis Style BBQ technique, a style of barbeque that I previously wasn’t very familiar with. This was a welcome introduction. The flashy Elvis-laden decor gave the place a festive vibe and, with a window seat in the corner, we had a good view of the happenings on 9th Avenue. Per Mark’s post, this section of town no longer lives up to its daunting name but there are still plenty of interesting characters. For those who like dive bars, there are a number of them in the area that are worth checking out before or after a Southern Hospitality feast. Rudy’s, for one, is also on 9th Ave near 44th Street: it has cheap beer, free hot dogs and a welcoming pig statue perched out front. As the picture below illustrates, you can’t miss it.

This was a bittersweet excursion, as it was the last before Mark’s departure for the Middle East. Hopefully, this savory send-off will keep the barbeque cravings at bay until his next visit home.

Belgian Cafe, Abu Dhabi

This is about as far away from local cuisine as you can get, but it was a wonderful meal nonetheless. Located on the lower level of the Intercontinental Hotel in Abu Dhabi is the Belgian Cafe, home to mussels, cream sauces, cheese -- but no barbecue. I had raw salmon, beautiful, succulent ribbons of fresh fish seasoned in vinegar and mild spices, this would rival the best sashimi in Manhattan or Tokyo. It was also the first place in Abu Dhabi I'd found to serve Hoegaarden, the classic Belgian wheat beer and my favorite summertime brew.
I'm 21 days into my new life here in the Persian Gulf, and perhaps it was homesickness for a western meal, but I thoroughly enjoyed this evening. The three large Hoegaardens didn't hurt.
My dinner companion also added to the evening. I dined with Tom O'Hara, an upbeat, friendly, occasionally loud Irish-American from Maple Shade, New Jersey who makes a point of welcoming newbies to The National. There are fewer than ten Americans at The National, and we make a point of waving the stars and stripes and letting loose whenever we get together.

Here's a picture of Tom enjoying his chicken wings, fries and mayonnaise (he asked for ketchup).
Granted, I wrote this immediately upon my return from dinner, so I may have to come back and edit this. But suffice to say this was a wonderful meal shared with a great dinner companion. It was also the first consumption of alcohol since my arrival. Whoever said that booze improves the writing was incorrect. Apologies to Hemingway and the Babyshambles guy.

Smoothies during Ramadan

August 8, 2011

No barbecue yet, but I was introduced to a great juice bar in midtown Abu Dhabi last night (I'm still figuring out the neighborhood names), where I ordered what the menu calls a "cocktail."
My concoction is pictured above. Also in the photo are Saeed, a writer from Eritrea, and Sara, a designer from Ohio. The hands of Hailey, a public relations executive from London, and Carlos, a landscape architect from Mexico, are also visible in the foreground.
Sara and Hailey had the guacamole smoothie and Carlos went with grape. Saeed decided on the cocktail.
No booze in any of these beverages, especially during Ramadan, but just about everything else: papaya, guacamole, banana, pineapple, watermelon and several other fruits I didn't recognize or couldn't pronounce. The verdict: smoothest, thickest fruit shake I've ever had. The density of the Imperial pint smoothie took a few sips to get used to, but I decided I loved it.

Abu Dhabi, home of the Butt Sweet House

It took a 15-hour flight, a 2-hour layover in Doha, Qatar, a one-hour wait at the airport for my work visa and a multi-hour search for my hotel, but I finally made it safely to my new home in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates.
As it turns out, my timing is a bit suspect. August is the hottest time of the year in Abu Dhabi, and it’s also the start of Ramadan. During the holy Muslim holiday of Ramadan, no one, no matter what your religion, can eat, smoke, drink or chew gum in public from sunup until sundown. My office has a separate room with the glass doors papered over for non-Muslims to eat lunch and dinner out of sight. During Ramadan, you can’t even have a bottle of water or a cup of coffee at your desk, so this room is a basic necessity.
Considering this is virtually a pork-free region, Ramadan makes it even harder to sample barbecue. But hey, I love a challenge, and will find something to write about in this strange, hot, beautiful country.
The weather regularly reaches 115 degrees Fahrenheit (that’s 64 Celsius to those in the Middle East, Europe and most of the rest of the world), so it’s been difficult to walk around and explore. I’ve discovered most people just go from one air-conditioned spot to another during this time of year, and I’ve followed suit.
But I happened upon an interesting spot while looking for a place to exchange some American greenbacks for UAE dirhams. The photo above pretty much says it all – Butt Sweet House. Not sure this has anything to do with barbecue, but I told you I’d find something to write about. Note that this establishment even has a logo/monogram with the letters B, S and H artfully arranged. If these guys sell T-shirts, I’m definitely down. Unfortunately it was closed when I visited there around noon today due to the religious holiday. I was told they would reopen at about 4 p.m. After sunset, most stores and restaurants will not close until about 3 a.m. in observance of Ramadan. Meals during this time are only eaten after sunset and before sunrise.
Since I happen to work evenings, that makes it pretty easy for me to get dinner late, even at midnight. All the restaurants are busy until the wee hours of the morning, when they serve very early breakfast, but not after the sun comes up.
I am definitely not in Manhattan anymore. So far, Abu Dhabi has been a fascinating place.

Smoke + meat = good to eat

To steal a line from Virgil’s BBQ in Times Square, New York City, who has the best butt on Broadway?
For that matter, who does the best dry rub in Dubai?
Allow us to explain. We’re two friends and barbecue fans who live in New York City by way of Maryland (me) and South Carolina (Jessica), who decided to write about our quest for quality barbecue in the city that never sleeps. That seemed to be a straightforward mission until I accepted a job in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, which has led us to greatly expand our geographical net for pulled pork, racks of ribs and heaps of hush puppies. Yes, they do apparently have barbecue in Abu Dhabi and Dubai, the two biggest states in the United Arab Emirates, at least according to Google. More on that later.
We hope to write about barbecue joints anywhere between Park Slope and the Persian Gulf. Along the way, we may write about our evolving lives in New York and the Middle East, respectively, but hopefully won’t stray too far from our central focus of smoked meat. This is early in our search, and we welcome suggestions and comments. We’re not professional foodies, so take everything we say with a grain of salt – and lots of molasses, for those so inclined.
I leave for Abu Dhabi next month, but in the meantime we’ll start with a few places we’ve been to in Manhattan.

BROTHER JIMMY’S, 33^rd Street and 8^th Avenue, Manhattan (though there are other locations in the city).

Mark:
When I first met Jessica last year, I lived in the Garment District of Manhattan’s West Side, and she worked a block from my apartment. So we decided to meet for lunch one rainy afternoon at nearby Brother Jimmy’s, located within spitting distance to Penn Station and Madison Square Garden.

 I had a passable pulled pork sandwich at Brother Jimmy’s, and was impressed with the array of barbecue sauces brought to our table. This is North Carolina-style barbecue, and they did an okay job. Frankly, I’ve had better pulled pork (the Brother Jimmy’s version was a tad dry and cold), but am willing to come back for dinner to try the ribs before I leave for the Persian Gulf. I do like the atmosphere of the place, with its country décor and friendly waiters. Maybe it was the dreary weather that contributed to my middling impression of the food, but, like I said, I’m willing to give this place a second chance. One note – this place gets packed whenever there’s a game, concert or event happening at The Garden – it’s actually a very fun place to drink and eat some wings before a game.

 Jessica:

The pulled pork wrap at Brother Jimmy’s was nothing to write home about, but there are other dishes on the menu that looked appealing and perhaps would have left a better impression. I’d love to go back to try the BBQ meatloaf (beef and pork wrapped in bacon and smoked) or the Brunswick Stew (tomato-based stew with corn, smoked chicken and pork). The place had a bit of the cookie-cutter feel of a chain
restaurant, which I don’t necessarily mind but, paired with the unremarkable food, makes me less likely to recommend it to anyone seeking stellar BBQ. It’s quick, standard fare at a reasonable price.
Situated just a five minute walk from my work, I will probably be back one day for happy hour or lunch when a craving for Southern cuisine strikes.

VIRGIL’S REAL BBQ, 44^th Street between Broadway and 6^th Avenue, near Times Square.

Mark:
We ended up at Virgil’s after having a few drinks with friends at Jimmy’s Corner next door, a great dive bar with a boxing theme, replete with photos of Muhammad Ali, Sugar Ray Leonard (a Maryland native, by the way) and Thomas Hearns. Virgil’s is a bustling, multi-level restaurant with checkered tablecloths and cool T-shirts, from which we stole the “Best Butt on Broadway” line. I really liked this place, especially for the pork ribs, with the tomato-based, North Carolina-style barbecue sauce that I prefer. The ribs had that beautiful layer of glistening sauce on the meat that comes from long, slow cooking.

I liked this place so much that we went back a second time a couple weeks later. I again had the ribs, and wasn’t disappointed. An enthusiastic, sauce-stained thumbs-up for Virgil’s. I might go back and buy a T-shirt.

Jessica:

I don’t know about the “Best Butt on Broadway” claim (after all, let’s not forget about the Naked Cowboy) but after two visits to Virgil’s, I can say with certainty that its ribs and pork are top-notch. The meat combo is delicious, great for sharing and comes with two sides. I’d recommend the slightly sweet Georgia pecan rice. The hush puppies, served with butter, are just as they should be—crisp on the outside with melt-in-your-mouth cornbread beyond the outer shell. This place always seems busy. Being so close to Times Square, it probably attracts a good number of tourists and theater-goers, but we’ve never had to wait for a table.

BLUE SMOKE, 27th Street between Park and Lexington avenues

Jessica:

Blue Smoke’s impressive menu selection, charming waitstaff and extensive cocktail and beer list makes it my favorite BBQ joint thus far. Choosing an appetizer may have been the most difficult part of the night considering the array of unusual options, which included shrimp corn dogs, toasted pork ravioli and N.C. salt peanuts. We started with a half dozen oysters, and I ordered my usual pulled pork (photo seen above).

The platter was a good-sized portion of tender meat heaped on top of homemade white bread, accompanied by beans and slaw. Mark and I split a side of mac and cheese, which was hot, hearty and chock full of cheese. This dish, for me, is one of the best barometers of a restaurant’s quality and in this case it undoubtedly passed the test.

The waitress was attentive and friendly without being overbearing, and even spoke with a twang despite being from Massachusetts. She deftly avoided the question when asked whether Maryland is considered a Southern state, giving a coy non-response that only fueled Mark's and my ongoing debate. My only regret about the experience is that I didn’t save room for dessert.

A few other noteworthy details about Blue Smoke: Though they weren’t offered to us at the table, the restaurant’s website lists nut-free, gluten-free and vegetarian menus for those with certain dietary preferences. There's also a jazz club (Jazz Standard) downstairs that hosts two or more sets of live jazz music every night, starting at 7:30 p.m.

Kudos to Mark for introducing me to this place!

Mark:

This, my meat-obsessed mates, is the real thing. Slow-cooked, sauce-slathered barbecue that may be the best I’ve ever had in New York City. I had the rib sampler, consisting of a Texas salt-and-pepper beef rib, Memphis baby backs and Kansas City spareribs. The Texas salt-and-pepper rib (my plate consisted of only one) was my least favorite, but it was still nicely executed. The pepper was freshly cracked, and the meat nicely marbled with flecks of fat. My preference for ribs slow-cooked with barbecue sauce was fully satisfied with the two other tasty types.  The KC ribs were big, tender and juicy, with that wonderful tang of tomato sauce. The baby backs were also delicious, with denser, smokier meat.

As with most things, the devil is in the details, and Blue Smoke didn’t disappoint. They have their own brand of draft beer that goes nicely with the ribs. As Jess pointed out, the mac & cheese is hearty, cheesy and satisfying. It’s also a big enough portion to share.

As far as aesthetics, Blue Smoke has an upscale, roadhouse, impeccably clean atmosphere, suitable for a casual night out with friends or a date. Our waitress was friendly and attentive. At the end of the meal, moist towelettes and a matchbox full of toothpicks were brought to the table.

A thoroughly enjoyable meal, from from tap beer to toothpicks. I loved this place, and will be back.

  

LUCY’S, 34th Street near 8th Avenue, Manhattan

Friday, July 8, 2011
That’s me and my old friend and former newspaper colleague Joe Ryan seated at an orange Formica bar, where the female bartenders wear close-fitting, Hawaiian-print mini dresses while dispensing frozen daiquiris from a couple of Slurpee-like machines behind the bar.
We admittedly had about four pints of beer before looking at the menu here at Lucy’s, a beach/shark/diner/Hawaiian/Hispanic-themed place near Penn Station, and got excited about the possibility of barbecue when I saw items such as Charred Sweet Corn on a Stick and Honey Corn Bread, but it wasn’t to be.
Upon further perusal of the menu, I discovered Lucy’s served Mexican food. Or faux-Mexican, as a friend of mine might say. There are items such as I Love Lucy’s Guacamole, South of the Border Wings, Baja Sliders and Macho Nacho Man. I’m sure no slight to the Village People was intended. With advance apologies to Mexico and the Garden State, this was about as South of the Border as New Jersey. Having said that, it’s good, basic bar food, served quickly and efficiently. It’s the kind of food that’s meant to be consumed with a beer or two. Or five. In my slightly sodden state, I had just hoped for some pulled pork on the menu to go with the Honey Corn Bread.