Hannah is traveling
... to the Bronx
For my day job at Skylight, I’ve spent the past couple of weeks walking around handing out free copies of our first-ever print edition in neighborhoods that I rarely ever frequent. (I’m hell-bent on eliminating more of my own blind spots.) On the docket were trips to Riverdale, Forest Hills, Jackson Heights, and Harlem, all of which I had to visit in the bitter cold — so, in order to force myself out the door, I allowed myself to try a new restaurant at each stop.
In Riverdale, my friend Vijay who grew up in the Bronx told me that I should visit Lloyd’s Carrot Cake (6780 Broadway), which his family maintains serves the best carrot cake in the city. Unfortunately, his carrot cake haven was too far away from my route to quite make sense; instead, I stopped by Moss Cafe (3260 Johnson Ave) to grab a quick lunch and was deeply disappointed, mostly by my own order — I got a build-your-own bowl with salmon, rice, avocado, sweet potatoes, and tahini, and was shocked to discover that the “sweet potatoes” I’d ordered were in fact sweet potato chips. Offensive labeling!
Less offensive, though, was the An Beal Bocht Cafe (445 W 238th St), an Irish bar where I stopped later on for a tea to warm my hands, which is one of the most pleasant bars I’ve ever been to during the day — a perfect mix of quirky/storied/fun. I’m of the opinion that dive bars all serve the same beer and therefore the only differentiating factor is the room, and this is just such a good room.
Next, I went to Queens. I saw no restaurants at all in Forest Hills — just block after block of identical H-shaped residential buildings — so I held out instead for Jackson Heights, where common knowledge holds that you can easily find any cuisine under the sun. I wanted to get takeout from Nepali Bhanccha Ghar (74-15 Roosevelt Ave), a BYOB Nepalese restaurant where my friend Laurie had a birthday party that I missed for illness, but I made the mistake of texting my boyfriend Ethan to ask what he wanted if I got takeout. He did some research of his own and insisted I go to the restaurant right next door instead.
So I sat in the bright orange room of Tibetan restaurant NY Lhasa Liang Fen (74-17 Roosevelt Ave) in a daze, thawing my hands while they prepared my two orders of momos, and then took the F train for what felt like forever with the dumplings sitting hot on my lap, all the time getting grumpier because they smelled so good. When finally I arrived home and doled them out (six chicken and six beef for each of us), they were still somehow hot — a miracle — and fragrant and soupy. Ultimately I did not regret switching tracks.
Still, Harlem was where I really struck gold. After dropping off half of my printed matter, I sheltered for a moment to escape the cold at the Monkey Cup (1965 Adam Clayton Powell Jr Blvd), where I got this frankly delightful “monkeyccino.”
Later, once my distribution work was finished, I went to Amy Ruth’s (113 W 116th St), famous for its fried chicken and for the fact that they slide you a plate of free fluffy cornbread the moment you sit down. The place is cavernous, with at least four ballrooms of tables and murals of famous Black figures from history on all its walls. I sat beneath Whoopi Goldberg and ordered the Nate Robinson: BBQ pork spare ribs, with two sides.
And oh my god — how did I spend years of my life not eating red meat? These ribs were unspeakably good, tender and juicy, slathered in hot, sticky sauce. I don’t like getting messy but this was the type of meal that you need to hold in your hands, caveman-style.
My takeaway from my many travels to far-off lands is that there is so much goodness in this vast and beautiful city that I haven’t tried, and, in many cases, that I’ve never even heard of. Basically, I want to do this all the time — but only in the summer.
Hannah is still learning to cook, I swear
Last week, we didn’t have many ingredients in the apartment. Ethan and I were deciding what to do for dinner one night when I came up with a theory that he really did not like:
So we had 50% off sushi instead that night, and Ethan mocked me for my use of the word “studded.” But I insisted on making my dreams come true the next day for lunch. Here, “Mediterranean-style” means we rubbed the chicken with a mixture of cumin, oregano, paprika, red pepper, and salt, then cooked it in the cast-iron; the salad was chopped gem lettuce leaves, tomato, carrot, cucumber, and cashews, with a tahini-based dressing. The rice, admittedly the weakest link, was cooked with turmeric and chicken stock, plus the aforementioned apricots.
I am pleased to finally be able to say — this was delicious. Like a halal cart, but maybe a little healthier? This is the first recipe that I’ve made that I think I would genuinely repeat; dare I say it, it was even better than the supermarket sushi.
In other news
In 2025, carbon emissions reporting went well. But 2030? “It’s going to be a real scramble” — For Skylight, I interviewed Mariel Hoffman, the director of energy engineering at En-Power Group, about trends she encountered this past year while overseeing the filing of over 900 Local Law 97 reports. This was the first year that LL97, which forces large buildings in NYC to decarbonize their operations, came into effect; Hoffman told me that 2025 was basically just an exercise in learning brand-new systems for reporting, and that the real work of decarbonizing lies ahead for the vast majority of buildings.
Bonus meal inspiration comes from my chef friend Eli, who cooked this extravagant feast at a cabin in upstate New York this past weekend for me and eight other friends. Chicken, fennel bulb, fish, roasted eggplant, carrots, fresh-baked pita. Ridiculous. Choosing to study the culinary arts is such a public service!
That’s it for now! See you in two weeks.
With love,
Hannah
Ok your Mediterranean-inspired dinner looks so good tho
ethan text is soo good