“Taste my food, taste my country.” One of Freddy’s simple yet significant mantras that has enabled him to bring his home of Palestine to Queens, and have people respond well. He is a large guy, with broad shoulders and a chef’s belly, but he is so light on his feet behind the hot steel grill, at first glance, you’d think he was dancing not frying. Especially since is frequently humming an Arabic song, and occasionally turns around to face his customers, twisting his hips with the music of his country, which is faintly heard flowing out from the speakers at the top of the cart. There is a good feeling shining out in a five-foot radius of this Halal stand, so charming people sometimes stop by not to eat, but just to be near. This atmosphere is crucial for Freddy; it is his greatest accomplishment, and represents him perfectly. He knows that good food alone will not carry a business: it is the happiness to be had around this streetcar that has kept satisfied customers returning for the past decade. So Freddy is always smiling, so bright that his cheeks are permanently dimpled, and with a laugh so genuine, once heard, you cannot help but laugh along.
The King of Falafel and Schawarma, Freddy’s self proclaimed title, won this year’s Vendy Awards, a prize everyone passing by tells him he should have won years ago. Freddy appreciates the flattery and congratulations, but knows that an award is not what keeps him going, and is even hesitant about too much positive press, worried it may crowd his cart. He explains that the cheerful calm of his street corner is what it is all about, as he motions his hand around, illustrating out the scene. “It’s beautiful,” he comments under his breath. There are about seven people standing around, enjoying their lunch and chatting, a few are sitting in the fold up chairs he has placed by the fence, allowing his costumers to sit and relish the original flavors, hand crafted and shipped straight from Freddy’s home. No one is on his or her cell phone and most people don’t take their food order to go; his main goal is obviously accomplished, not one person on the corner of Broadway and 30th looks anything but pleased.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” He politely asks as he grabs a pack of cigarettes and walks away from the cart; he considers the customers in line who may not appreciate smoke in their eyes, and does not necessarily want everyone to see him smoking. Not that he minds, there is just no purpose in shoving it everyone’s face. This is Freddy: balancing the party boy inside him with his strong work ethic and knack for running a good business. He had this idea since his wild cabbie days in the eights, but didn’t put it into action until 2001. One of his largest regrets is sitting on his ideas, since he wishes he had started this sooner, but as he doesn’t care much for a secure future, he puts his plans into action with leisure.
Freddy is an honest man, with others, but more importantly, himself. He is not the type to fool himself with a lack of regrets, he is honest about his bad habits, which according to the rules of his Muslim religion, he has a few more than most. Although, Freddy is the type of man who understands balance and discretion, aware there is often a discrepancy between what he ought to do and what he wants to do. So he puts in his efforts on each end, and does many things he should- but not at the complete stake of enjoying his time. Because, as he will tell you, “you might as well, since you don’t take anything with you when you die.”
He has maintained this idea of balance through his life. Much of his life has been shaped by religion, however he refrains to follow its guidelines at the sacrifice of his daily happiness. His family back home are devote Muslims, however he, for better or worse, picks and chooses which aspects fit for him. Twenty-four years ago he married his first cousin to appease his parents and abide by their tradition; a choice he would not have made fro himself, but one he deals with well. It is the balance concept, he sees no benefit to dwelling on what he cannot fix, so he adopts the ‘life goes on’ mentality. And he flirts and he dances, but never contemplates more, not viewing this as a loveless marriage, just a union of a less ideal sort.
After questioning each Arab man that walked away from food cart why they return here so regularly -a notion implied since each one arrived and had a familiar man handshake moment with Freddy- all twelve of them responded that this street corner provided them with the sentiments of home. Asad Chema does not even live in this borough, but travels here at least twice a week, to taste the comfort of home. “I am from Israel, and most Falafel in New York City does not taste like the real thing, but Freddy’s does.” Perhaps it is Freddy’s beautiful balance in life that manifests itself in the taste of his food; the chicken is sweet, the rice has a tart, and the red sauce a definite kick. Food brought Freddy happiness when he was longing for home; it cured his homesickness and eased his feelings of segregation. He views flavor as a way to connect with the other side of the world. Freddy wanted to bring that to this neighborhood, and expose the once foreign place to some new foreign food, as a way to build bridges between two distinct cultures and mend gaps between the lands.
No comments:
Post a Comment