Brian Harkin for The New York Times
After much debate, it was decided: masala dosas all around.
The retirees clustered in front of the counter at Usha Foods, then got down to business: Who was paying? Seven credit cards appeared and seven hands waved them at the cashier, until one gray-haired man succeeded in swatting his friends away. Behind them, a scrum waited to order, chattering above the whir of the microwave and the warble of Bollywood hits. Over it all, a young man behind the counter raised a tray high and shouted: “Mr. Kamal! Two chole bhature!”
Usha Foods was one of the first Indian-owned businesses in Floral Park, Queens. Today, it’s where the city’s newest Little India gathers.
On a recent Saturday, Indira Mathur, 54, presided over the cash register in gold-rimmed glasses and a blazer, ringing up plate lunches, flatbreads and black pepper cashews. Her nephew Vardan, 34, speedily dished out plates of spiced chickpeas and creamy pakora curry while her husband, Anil, 57, ran the kitchen. Her son Abhinav, 28, manned the takeout sweets counter. The family bought the shop in 2001, and have already expanded twice.
Floral Park is perched on the far edge of the city, on the Nassau County line. The main thoroughfare of Hillside Avenue is lined with snack shops and kebab houses, sari boutiques and discount salons. A few months ago, a Hindu temple dedicated to the monkey-faced god Hanuman opened in an old supermarket space. Next door, the accurately named Variety Shop sells colorful statuary of Hindu gods and goddesses as well as luggage and watches. If you’re in need of a carrom board — an Indian game of tabletop billiards — you could stop in Butala Emporium down the block.
Intrepid eaters make the trip from Manhattan to visit restaurants like Mumbai Xpress, New Kerala Kitchen, Madras Woodlands and Southern Spice. But for all the cooking going on in this enclave, Usha Foods is one of the few places that is consistently full.
The shop serves pan-Indian, vegetarian comfort food designed to satisfy all comers, like the South Asian version of a diner. There are southern Indian dosas, saucy Punjabi dishes like baingan bharta and Gujarati snacks like dabeli (spiced potato patties served on hamburger buns). “People call and ask if we are a Punjabi shop or a Gujarati shop,” said Ms. Mathur, who moved from New Delhi to the United States in 1986. “I say we are a Hindustani shop,” using the Hindi word for all of India.
On a recent frigid Sunday afternoon, customers streamed in from the cold, salwar kameez and saris peeking out from puffy jackets. Many lined up for to-go boxes of crunchy snacks for Super Bowl parties; others sat at the simple wooden tables tucking into their orders. Outside, Fawad Taj smoked a postprandial cigarette and chatted with two friends. “The food is pretty close to what our mothers would cook,” Mr. Taj, who was born in Lahore, Pakistan, said. “And we’re having a lazy Sunday.”
After their own meal, Indu and D. P. Singh hugged their son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren goodbye. “Every two weeks we meet them here for lunch,” Ms. Singh said. “They have everything: Punjabi as well as southern cooking.”
Ms. Mathur said she particularly liked to see American-born children come in with their Indian parents: “We thought that when our generation gets old, the kids wouldn’t carry on with our foods. But now we see they follow our traditions — when they have a party, they want this food.”
Sridevi Krishna, 8, seemed to agree: Asked if she liked the sweets her father was carrying out, she offered only a huge, bucktoothed grin.
India Ink: Powering an Enclave With Dosas
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India Ink: Powering an Enclave With Dosas