To dine at El Quijote is to step back in time almost 90 years, which is to say almost a century. The decor has remained the same: a combination of Spanish kitsch and a literature lesson in pictures, figures and statues of Miguel de Cervantes's novel. I'm sure that a list of its patrons would read like a cross section of America's notables. Once I saw actor Fyvush Finkel, one of the last remaining pillars of the Yiddish theater dining there. He was sitting at a large table with family and friends. Fyvush, who died at the age of 96 in 2016 was only eight years old when El Quijote first opened its doors to the public.
For me, El Quijote was all about the shrimp ajillo (shrimp with garlic sauce) a potent mixture that stayed on your breath for hours and was sure to repel potential amorous encounters as well as your common urban vampire. It was always served with yellow rice. Whether or not they used real saffron to make it yellow was irrelevant. Shrimp ajillo with yellow rice was my meal of choice, preceded by a hot bowl of "caldo gallego," the earthy soup from the Northwest of Spain. On a cold wintry day, when the wind blew up and down 23rd street, there was nothing better.
The other drawing card was the sangría, although here one must acquiesce to the way this libation is prepared at that other venerable Spanish restaurant, Sevilla, in the village. In Sevilla, the sangría has maintained its delicious taste since I first visited this joint in the late 1970s. At El Quijote, the sangría was a movable feast: sometimes too strong, other times too fruity. One time, it was even murky and dark. At Sevilla, the sangría is always clear. El Quijote featured the second best sangría in New York City, let's leave it at that.
The only question left now is will El Quijote open its doors again, and if it does, what will it look like, and what will the food be like? I for one am asking the gods for a speedy resurrection.
2 comments:
The Rent is too damn high!
That's why ol' New York is disappearing fast!
Post a Comment