This Thursday, I got the chance to hang out with my two favorite Indians, Ruby and Tresa, before we'd all get busy with classes again. As a sort-of farewell, we decided to go eat in Astoria, rather than simply schlepping to our local cafe/bakery to waste our lives away together. We tried out
Harissa, a Mediterranean restaurant-cafe on 34th St. and 30th Ave. I actually woke up early enough for it to still be considered morning, and so we arrived when it was basically empty, with only two other customers occupying the restaurant. The owner (I'm assuming) was chilling at a back table on his laptop, but welcomed us when we came in. The place was small but comfortable, with nice jazzy-ish music playing in the background. We took forever to order, because we're hungry, indecisive, nearly-broke college students, which naturally makes any restaurant outing into a slightly awkward affair. But that's okay, since I revel in the awkward. To give ourselves more time to think things over, we decided to get coffee first. I ordered a cappuccino, and the other two a latte and a regular coffee. We all got cappuccinos. I know it's a little thing, but it wasn't busy and my friend who ordered the regular coffee was still charged for a cappuccino. Eh, again it's more of an irritation rather than an offense, but I take my coffee seriously XD.
The menu contained a variety of food, ranging from hearty salads, to rice-meat dishes, sandwiches, soups, etc. I ordered a Cubano sandwich, which contained grilled chicken, bell peppers, an avocado-based sauce, and other seasonings. Tresa ordered the Kofta sandwich, and Ruby ordered the Falafel salad. Both sandwiches came with a side of fries and the salad came with hummus and pita. The food was definitely yummy. It wasn't orgasmic, life-changing, or anything insane, but it tasted wonderful. When we were almost done with out food, a regular customer came in with a friend to buy a chocolate covered croissant--which was crescent-shaped temptation--and was talking to the owner (who seemed to be the only one working in the store). The friend of the regular turned the convo to ethnic origins (in an amiable way), and because there was no logical way to keep any convo private (including our own) in the mostly empty place, we heard, laughed at, and so became part of there's. When the guys left, the owner commented on how everyone wants to know what you are, where you're from. It's ridiculous sometimes how people always want to know where you're from, and if you're not the same ethnicity as the questioner, similar/close-enough is acceptable as a means to connect to the other as well. It's apparent in every culture, I guess. It's not a bad thing, I just find it interesting that ethnic location can hold so much weight and lead to such an instant connection for some people. I've encountered that question so many times in my life, growing up in a diverse neighborhood, and living near a South Asian community. That question bothered me as a kid because I was a private person and felt that people would define their idea of me around the answer to that question.
I wish a place like this was closer to my neighborhood. The owner was welcoming and found us amusing for sure, the food and coffee were good.
Harissa seemed like a place where I could become a regular, spend a few hours with friends over a cup of coffee and a croissant.
And because we're fat-asses, we left
Harissa, now in search of a bakery. We walked around, window-shopping, ended up buying shoes, talking and eating along the way. Though cold, it was a day well spent in my book.
Harissa Mediterranean Restaurant
34-05 30th AveQueens,
NY 11103Ugh, why can't I make coffee like this D:
The Falafel salad with hummus and pita. I stole one of the falafels, and they tasted fresh and were moist.
The Cubano and Kofta sandwiches.
Some interesting signs we encountered during our wandering:
I just liked that there was a pub named sissy.
The front of the bus said Ferrari; I had to take a double take.
I found it really disturbing there was a children's clothing store called "Temptation for Kids," and a little ironic that the store's "boy's department" displayed white frocks.
I really want a dog . . . can I adopt them all?? I never figured myself to be a dog person, but the puppies grew on me.
