nunu

I will not tell you the name of this place, because I can’t. It is the type of place a friend must take you to or you must stumble upon when exiting the train because you decide for once not to look down, but look up. The minute you walk in you enter a zone of dark wood and hushed tables and antiques from a South American farm and the warm owner leads you to a table in the back of the room with flourish, where the window peeks out into a garden that is only shadows, navy blue skies and outlines of bare winter trees. You don’t know where you are, but you are not in Brooklyn and it is not 2009, it is 1909. On the table there is a tiny tin cup with two handles, sweetly painted with tiny flowers and in the cup sits three or four tiny wildflowers, trimmed so short that it’s as though they were picked in a secret miniature garden and crumpled into a pocket, to be presented later, sheepishly, to a lady friend or mother. We share the view of the cup with each other by turning it sideways against our bottle of wine so that we can both appreciate its preciousness. The guacamole on the menu seems to be out of place, but “who doesn’t love guacamole?” the keen owner asks us. And the chef is Mexican, though it is not a Mexican restaurant. We forgive such inconsistencies, though, because tough times call for guacamole on the menu. I mention that I am a guacamole expert. “It is my speciality,” I say. “Oh really,” says the owner. “I am going to hold your order so that you can try mine.” A white tin bowl arrives and I will know instantly if it will pass a very specific test. Nobody knows the secret of good guacamole in New York. The avocado is a blank slate for flavor and so few bother to seize on that. We taste. I close my eyes. They pass. And more. The acidic bite of citrus is there, and finishes with a sharp sting from roasted jalapenos. Roasted! A revelation. I remember using roasted green chile from New Mexico once and made a note to do it again. This place does not announce itself as a venue for the best guacamole in New York, as it should not.