Freddy Profile Take Two

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 well. 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 simple yet significant mantras that encourages the people of Queens to savor his flavors of Palestine. Fares Zeideia is a large guy, with broad shoulders and a chef’s belly. His friendly eyes shine and are slightly red, from long hours in the sun and high blood pressure, but he moves with tough guy confidence that he recommends not to cross. He is so light on his feet behind the hot steel grill, where at first glance, you’d think he was just a jolly man dancing, not a serious chef frying. He is frequently seen humming an Arabic son, and occasionally turns around to face his customers, twisting his hips with the music of his country, which is flowing faintly out from the speakers on top of his cart. Maybe away this corner Mr. Zeideia is a bit intimating, but here on 30th and Broadway it is almost as if there is a feel-good aura shining out in a five-foot radius of this Halal stand.

The King of Falafel and Schawarma, Freddy’s self proclaimed title, won this year’s Vendy Awards; an annual food tasting competition held by the Street Vendors Organization of New York City. Everyone passing by and in line congratulates him, telling him he should have won years ago. He appreciates this 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.

There are currently about seven people standing around, enjoying their lunch and chatting. He has even provided a few fold up chairs, allowing his customers to sit and relish the original 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 wisely implements in his daily life. He understands that it does not have to be gold to shine, and costumers are not drawn in because it is dull. It is his charismatic persona that keeps people returning to his cart; so regardless of how terrible his day is, he will always conjure up 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 America at the age of fifteen he has been fending for himself in the midst of the City. He has worked a variety of jobs, trying his hand at everything from door-to-door salesman to coffee shop owner. The only constant was his kitchen at home, where he was quietly maturing his chef skills, until 2001 when he finally auditioned 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 humorously recalls.
Freddy is not the type to fool himself with a lack of regrets, as wishes he had started this Halal stand sooner, but has a tendency to procrastinate. He is a confident man but honest about his bad habits, which according to the rules of his Muslim religion judge him with a few more than most. Although, for Freddy, with age and experience comes balance and discretion. 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, since Freddy believes in the doctrine of his faith, but not at the complete sacrifice of enjoying his time.
His family members 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 for himself, but he adopts the ‘life goes on mentality’ and admittedly deals with her best he can, which happens to be while she’s 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.
After questioning each Arab man that walked away from a food cart why they return here so regularly – a notion implied since each one arrive and shared a man high-five/ half hug moment with Freddy. All twelve of them responded that this street corner offered them a lunch break to 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 satisfied smile.
Food brought Freddy happiness when he was longing for home; it cured his homesickness and eased his feeling of segregation. 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, as a way to build bridges between two distinct cultures and mend gaps between the lands.