Did I go all the way to Chinatown II just to have South Indian dosa? No, but it does sound like something I’d do (the dosa at the Dosa Hutt was supposed to be as good as the downtwon Manhattan Dosa cart at Washington Square…but with seating). I am, fortunately, slightly more efficient, and threw in a quest for Taiwanese Shaved Ice in an elusive food court in a mall at the end of the subway line out of New York City in a sort of suburban area called Flushing. Sounds more like me.
I figured there’d only be one mall. Nope, Flushing likes malls. There are about 10 within a five-block perimetre of the subway station – the streets filled out with little obscure gift, clothing, furniture, textiles, industrial, and food shops. But I wanted “The Flushing Mall” food court, the slightly famous (according to the internet) home of Vietnamese ice.
Fortunately, google maps didn’t fail me this time, and I soon found a big sign and entrance to a mall on what seemed like a bit of a back street.
Ice? you say. Yes, a meal-sized portion of shaved ice heaped on a dinner plate is what I wanted. It’s generally topped with sweet syrup (traditionally, since the invention of shaved ice – most Asian countries have some form of this since ice became a luxury item less than a century ago). Instead of ice cream (which they now have, but lacking cream-making more than ice-making capabilities locally), this became the best treat for cooling off on hot days. So Taiwan may not have cream, but they do have access to a few more exotic fruit, and while I’m not convinced mangoes grow everywhere in the country, they grow in nearby countries with whom Taiwan can trade fairly easily, making them readily available and much fresher than in North American markets. At least that’s my thought on the matter. A mango expert may be able to prove me wrong, I suppose. In fact, please prove me wrong, mango expert. We should be friends and spend the rest of our lives debating this over a supply ofhttp://www.multiculturiosity.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=2915&action=edit fresh mangoes to which you will inevitably have unlimited access (for research purposes. I very much like the idea of university tuition fees going toward your research supply of mangoes). We will be very happy together.
Anyway, Taiwan is no longer cream-less, so the dinner-plate of ice is now often also served with mango ice cream or sherbet (sherbet has milk in it. It is not sorbet) and a drizzle of sweetened condensed milk (which was available in a can and didn’t require any cows actually graze in Taiwan). In fact, most of Indonesian tropical countries seem to have a variation on this dish using coconut milk and/or sweetened condensed milk. Often its served with tapioca cubes/gels (like bubble tea balls but more jello-y and fruity and candied) like the Philippino halo-halo, which just means “mix” and often includes boiled, sweetened beans, fried plantains, fresh tropical fruit, crushed rice, flan and coconut nata (egg-based sweet custard and flaky pastry – gotta love the Portuguese influence and the “lets just throw in a bunch of other kinds of desserts” mentality) purple yam, ice cream, and evaporated milk. It’s ridiculously colourful (sometimes from the natural ingredients but often from artificial colouring) and is also generally served in a tall glass or bowl for easier consumption than on a dinner plate.
At street vendor stalls over on the sunny side of the world you choose your toppings like we do here at overpriced frozen yogurt shops, except instead of industrialized, delicious junk in the form of oreo crumbs and smarties, they concentrate on intensely sweet syrups.
Speaking of which, back in the Flushing Mall the server at the counter shop squirted a squeeze bottle of mystery glucose-y syrup the bed of ice first. Turned out to be lychee syrup, I’m pretty sure. It was the only un-mango fruit ingredient. Then she realized they had no fresh mango, which actually turned out to be lucky. She called out for a woman to go upstairs to the fruit place and get some. This was a much better alternative than fruit that had been sitting in the fridge waiting to be bought in the form of a shaved ice mountain.
So everything was going well mango-wise, but then we got into a little trouble. See, my Mandarin isn’t so good, and I don’t really know how to say “I can’t digest lactose” in that language yet, sadly, so the counter-woman and I had a long gestured conversation that went approximately as follows:
“Does the sherbet have milk in it?” I asked, craning my neck into the ice cream freezer to try to read the ingredients on the top of the tub. I’d already ordered at the cashier’s counter in the middle of the foodcourt, which is supposed to eliminate this whole problem of having to talk to people who are actually compiling the food orders.
“Milk. Yes! In ice cream,” she replies enthusiastically.
“No, the mango sherbet,” I say, pointing, “not the ice cream.”
“No ice cream?”
“No, the sherbet.”
“No sherbet?”
“No, does the sherbet have cream in it?”
“Ice cream, yes.”
That was clear, I suppose. I should have just figured I was screwed cream-wise, and given up on getting a scoop of anything.
“Can I get it without the condensed milk on top?” I tried another form of questioning.
“No milk.” She replies, a little more hesitantly.
“Right.”
She looks uncomfortably back at the miraculously un-busy foodcourt cashier for help. She waves the lady over and they go off in rapid-fire Mandarin. I still have no idea what cream is, unfortunately, but I assume it was in there somewhere. Probably right next to “annoying customers.”
Between the two of them I’m pretty sure we’ve decided that the sherbet has milk and we can get the mango shaved ice without the condensed milk, but then the woman starts talking about a smoothie and gives me $1.50 back. The special mango shaved ice costs about $5, and while one is enough for at least two people, I don’t figure that cutting out the sherbet and the condensed milk topping warrants a $1.50 refund.
So now the counter server is preparing smoothies. Great! I think. So she’s going to make a thick mango purée to put on as a quasi-ball of ice cream! Nope.
Much frantic pointing later, I’m pretty sure I’ve made myself clear that I do, in fact, want the heap of ice on a dinner plate that she’s already prepared, for which was just waiting for the fresh mango from upstairs.
“No smoothie?” she asks, a little confused and heartbroken.
“No,” I reply apologetically. Amazingly, she doesn’t seem angry, and doesn’t even turn to start a complaining conversation with the foodcourt cashier. In fact, we ask the cashier if she wants the extra money back and she seems so flustered that she just says, “No.” (Post-meal we put the extra money in the tip jar, and hope it gets shared with the counter server for all her appreciated effort.)
Finally the fresh mango comes, and the counter lady pours a thick corn syrup-heavy mango syrup on top of the waiting (and somehow not melting – I think because it was such a huge block, the same way entire ice blocks were harvested from huge slabs in cold locales and then dragged over long, hot distances without melting to thirsty, ice-craving people who’d eaten way too much salty and dried meat and dairy in their lifetimes) plate of shaved ice. No sherbet. No condensed milk. No problem. This is the bare bones version of the dish, but it’s also how it all got started. No fancy jellies, imported ice creams, or cans of valuable milk. A meal of ice dessert later and my teeth are rotting happily (the mango and lychee syrups were much sweeter than the off-season but still tasty fruit. Actually, if the fruit had been completely ripe and sweet the dish would have been unbearable), my insides are freezing (Flushing, NY is certainly not a tropical country where a body needs cooling in October…), and I’m so glad this is an ice dessert and not cream – it’s much lighter, and much more refreshing despite the sugar high.
And fortunately, there’s a long subway ride back to Manhattan in which to sit comatose and weigh the value of learning Mandarin for research purposes. But the money would perhaps be better spent on a lifetime supply of fresh mangoes.
133-31 39th Ave, Flushing, NY
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