Since a foreign country feels less foreign if you can order an item on the menu, then, perhaps, a foreign culture feels less foreign if you can recognize the taste of its food. And perhaps, like the old adage about the family dining together staying together, two cultures that appreciate each other’s flavors might assimilate. So maybe, if all these things are true, then prejudice and hostility can be ended through the sharing of flavors around a dinner table – or on a street corner in your neighborhood.
“Taste my food, taste my country.” This is one of Freddy’s mantras that encourages the people of Queens to savor the flavors of Palestine. This approach to street vending has been successful for him and this year won him the Vendy Award, an annual food tasting competition held by the Street Vendors Organization of New York City.
Fares Zeideia is a large guy, with broad shoulders and a chef’s belly. His friendly eyes shine and are stained yellow and lined with red, from long hours in the sun and high blood pressure, but he moves with tough guy confidence. This confidence probably did not come from within, but for years of making it on his own. And the tough guy side he covers well, but you are certain it exists, since the men working for him jump when he snaps and no one ever seems to make an unwilling sound.
Shake Freddy’s hand and you can feel that he is serious, but challenging years do not seem to have bogged him down. He remains jovial and is still so light on his feet behind the hot steel, at first glance, you’d think he was dancing not frying. Freddy is frequently seen humming an Arabic song while he is cooking and occasionally turns around to face his customers, twisting his hips with the music of his country, flowing faintly out of the speakers on top of his cart. Maybe away from this corner Mr. Zeideia is a bit intimating, but here on 30th and Broadway his charismatic personality is apparent and making people happy is Freddy’s sole intention.
The King of Falafel and Schawarma, Freddy’s self proclaimed title, really is the king this year and everyone passing by or in line congratulates him, telling him he should have won this prize years ago. He appreciates the flattery, but he knows that an award is not what drives him or his business; he is even hesitant about too much positive press, concerned it may crowd his cart.
On this cold but sunny afternoon in Astoria, there are currently about seven people standing around, enjoying their lunch and chatting. Freddy has even provided a few fold up chairs, allowing his customers to sit and relish the unique flavors, hand crafted in his kitchen. He creates his own spices, made from scratch in Queens out of wholesale shipments that arrive every three months straight from his hometown in Palestine.
“Not all that shines is gold,” is another one of Freddy’s mantras that he implements in his daily life. He understands that a profitable streetcar business is still just a business; so, much of the happiness Freddy conjures up each day is only for his customers and therefore will always be genuine. It is his charismatic persona that keeps people returning to his cart; so regardless of how terrible his day is, he will find a smile and whistle at the old ladies walking by, just to hear them laugh along.
Freddy learned to think on his feet quickly, because ever since he moved to New York City at the age of fifteen he has been fending for himself in its midst. He has worked a variety of jobs, trying his hand at everything from door-to-door salesman to coffee shop owner. The only constant through all these job changes was his kitchen at home, where he was quietly maturing his chef skills, until 2001 when he finally sampled them for the public. He had this street vendor idea since his wild cabbie days in the eighties, but it took him some time to prepare for the challenge. “I struggled at first, it wasn’t always this easy; I used to chase people down the street with a falafel in my hand, begging them to at least try it,” he recalls.
Freddy is not the type to fool himself with a lack of regrets. He wishes he had started this Halal stand sooner, but has a tendency to sit on his good ideas before putting them in action. Freddy is honest about his bad habits, which according to the rules of his Muslim religion judge him with a few more than most. Although, for him, with age and experience comes balance and discretion. He won’t give you specific examples, but he alludes to the fact that he used to be a wild child and not until recently has he begun paying more attention to the doctrine of his religion. He understands that there is often a discrepancy between what he ought to do and what he wants to do. So he dances and flirts with attractive women, but does not even consider taking one home. Freddy has learned how to enjoy his time, while still abiding by the principles of his faith.
His family members back home in Palestine 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. This is not a choice he would not have made for himself, but he adopts the “life goes on” mentality and deals with her best he can. His way is dealing with her is while she is thousands of miles away in Palestine. However Freddy will not tell you this is a loveless marriage, just a union of a less ideal sort.
Each Arab man that walked up to Freddy’s cart shared a man high-five/half hug moment with him. All twelve of them seemed to be regulars, and after questioning them on why they return to this cart, they responded with the notion that these flavors temporarily bring them back 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,” Chema says with a smile.
Food brought Freddy happiness when he was longing for home, by just for a moment taking him back there in his mind, allowing the flavors to cure his homesickness. The tastes of Palestine also eased his feelings of segregation when he was able to share some of his home with others. Freddy explains the larger motivation behind this Halal stand simply: “The flavor, this food, is a way to connect with another side of the world,” says Freddy. He wanted to bring that to this neighborhood, and expose the once foreign place to some new foreign food. This is his way to build bridges between two distinct cultures and mend gaps between lands.
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