New York Traditions - Pt. 2

On my first night as a resident of New York, I ate at Caracas – a hip, reasonably priced Venezuelan restaurant in Brooklyn.  No longer a tourist, I was thrilled that I could return here at my leisure.  Like most of my favorite food destinations in New York, Caracas was introduced to me by my good friend Eric.  He has impeccable taste.  I’m grateful for his influence and that he’s willing to let his Vermont refinement rub off on me.

Our friends Lisa and Hunter visited New York the next weekend.  They were our first DC friends we saw in New York after moving, and we commemorated the occasion by meeting up for dinner.  It was odd to suddenly be the one responsible for recommending that perfect spot in the city. The pressure.  I knew Caracas had one other location – in East Village – so Ben told Hunter and Lisa to meet us in the neighborhood and we’d go from there. He didn’t mention the restaurant, but Hunter quickly texted back: “CARACAS???? Love that place!”  What are the odds?  Now that I know that the East Village has more popular restaurants per capita than any other neighborhood in NYC, I’m even more impressed by the telepathy. (Per capita stat not a fact, but I swear every time someone shows us a great restaurant it’s in the East Village)

Dinner was lovely.  Caracas is an arepa bar, serving up the Venezuelan version of a taco/hamburger.  Ben was officially won over by the food.  Lisa is half Venezuelan and told me that her grandma used to make arepas for her every morning when they’d visit Venezuela.  I had visions of rolling out the dough just like her grandma and no longer depending on restaurants for arepas.

 

The following Monday I went grocery shopping at West Side Market.  We call it the Mary Poppins store because it is so small, but has EVERYTHING.  Naturally, they had pre-made arepa shells in roughly 10 varieties. It was meant to be.  One thing lead to another, and the “the arepas brunch” has been a staple weekend tradition for the last four months.  We haven’t been back to Caracas since, but we intend to return for flavor inspiration.

We typically try to have our arepas breakfast on Saturdays, but sometimes it gets pushed to Sundays.  It never gets pushed past that.  You should see what happens in our house on Sunday mornings when we didn’t have arepas the day before and forgot to pick up all of the ingredients from the store the night before.  Full. On. Panic.  But we improvise and everyone survives.