A $7 Beaver Street Lunch Cart Mystery!

Hello everyone,

Welcome to Issue #205 of CAFÉ ANNE!

Yes it’s true, we’re down to a lousy one issue per month, and it will likely be this way until my temp gig at New York Magazine ends in August. You can check out the stories I’ve been writing for the publication’s Curbed section here.

Meanwhile, I got a lot of fun feedback on last issue’s Q&A with Michael “The Bull” Lamonsoff, the personal injury lawyer famous for his subway ads.

In the interview, Mr. Lamonsoff declined to reveal the name of the artist illustrating the ads, which led to number of readers insisting they were AI slop, to which I responded, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO don’t break my heart not true not true not true!!!!”

I later emailed his team to press for details and got a prompt call from Isabella, the Bull’s marketing assistant. “I can tell you it’s not AI,” she said. “We contracted with an actual Marvel graphic artist who we’ve worked with very closely since the very first campaign.”

Isabella said she couldn’t reveal the artist’s name because the other personal injury firms are prone to copying. “But Michael’s whole brand is authenticity and part of that is hiring real artists,” she said. “He is very anti-generative AI!”

In other news, Rob Walker, author of the delightful Art of Noticing newsletter, hosted me for a Substack live chat about my “Worst Of” series. We decided to call it the “Worst Conversation.” It is no longer live, but you can watch it here. And you can decide if it is indeed the worst!

Finally, huge shoutouts to new paid subscriber Tara N. I have to say, there is something truly special about a reader who is willing to pay for a free newsletter that barely exists!

I am very excited, of course, about this month’s issue. We’ve got an update on my summer uniform and a FiDi lunch cart mystery. Please enjoy.

Regards!

Anne

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FASHION CORNER

In the last issue, as you’ll recall, I issued an emergency SOS: The Lands’ End dress I’ve worn every day for the last two summer was seemingly discontinued. I needed a new uniform ASAP!

I stated the required specs: the dress had to be black, sleeveless, knee-length, machine-washable, cost less than $100 and have pockets. Whoever submitted the winning suggestion would get a CAFÉ ANNE tote bag or coffee mug.

I was elated to receive many great suggestions. In total, 30 readers recommended 19 different dresses (several were suggested by more than one person), and every selection was at least in the right ballpark.

When all the nominations were in, I reviewed them online with my gentleman friend, Mr. Miller. First I showed him the original dress, which several readers noted was actually still available.

“I like the sandals,” he said, studying the model in the photo.

“But what do you think of the dress?” I asked.

“It’s good,” he said. “It pairs well with the sandals.”

“Okay, here’s next option,” I said, showing him a dress from Pact. “It was suggested by two readers.”

“No,” said Mr. Miller. “And I don’t like the sandals either.”

We went through the rest. Some of the dresses were too formal and some too casual, but we both liked the Garrison dress from Tulip. “That’s not bad,” said Mr. Miller. “I also like the sandals.”

In the end, I decided against anything that cost more than $100, was shaped like a tent or had sleeves. That left six dresses, which I ordered in size medium. When they arrived, half were too big and the other half were too small. US apparel industry, get it together!

I was disappointed that the Vermont Country Store dress, recommended by no less than six readers, felt bit sad in real life. The frothy tiered Uniqlo dress looked ridiculous on me, while the elegant Fit & Flare Tank dress from Quince was too foxy for every day. But there was one dress that—once I swapped it for a larger size—I just loved. Thank you, Colleen F. in Sunnyside for recommending the $45 Columbia PFG Freezer dress! Please send your mailing address and let me know whether you want a CAFE ANNE mug or tote bag.

The dress is not perfect. First, the version I chose has no pockets. But let’s face it: wallets and keys are for losers! The second problem: it has a white triangle logo on the back that says “PFG Performance Fishing Gear.” I hate logos, and the idea that anyone would actually go fishing in this “sporty” dress is absurd. On the other hand, the logo is on the back, so I don’t have to look at it. Also, the dress is very light, very comfortable, and very low-key. I wore it all weekend and no one even noticed I was wearing a new uniform except for my “friend” Aharon who spotted the logo and said, “Anne, you fucking jock.”

Thank you everyone for your great suggestions! I ordered six of the same dress so now I am set for the rest of the summer. Any ideas for sandals?

DEPT. OF CULINARY INQUIRY

The first curiosity that snagged my attention when I started working in the Financial District recently were the two halal carts—one green, one red— parked next to each other on Beaver Street. Every day, when I walked by on my lunch hour, there were at least 15 customers lined up at the green cart. And the red cart? No line!

As the weeks passed, I noticed additional details. Both carts offered your standard Halal food cart classics—a choice of chicken, lamb or falafel over rice—for the same price, $7. Which is insanely cheap! In most parts of Manhattan, the same dish sets you back at least $9.

But I also spotted some differences. The green cart, Continental Express Halal, had three guys jammed inside, laughing, chatting and hustling to keep up with the demand. Inside the red cart, Masum Halal Food, there was just one fellow working, and he looked a little lonely.

One day I timed the line at the green cart: twelve minutes. That’s a long time to wait in line on your lunch hour. Was the green cart fare really that great? Was the red cart really so bad?

I had my doubts. New Yorkers, as you know, love to stand in line. The longer the line, the more they want to stand in it. Ostensibly the busiest people on earth, they will happily spend an hour queuing up for brunch or tickets or fro-yo. This is because New Yorkers, more than people on other planets, love to think they won’t settle for less then the best, and a long line is seen as evidence of bestiness.

Sure enough, when I questioned Pierre, a sanitation worker standing in the green cart line, he said he made his choice without giving it much thought: “I figured it would be the good one.”

Next, I spoke to Joseph, a finance intern. He’d been ordering lamb over rice at the green cart for seven years—since he was a high school freshman. “I haven’t tried the red one,” he said. “I don’t plan on trying it either.”

“Why won’t you try the red one?” I asked.

“I’m used to the green one. I know how it tastes.”

Joe, a bank administrator from Bay Ridge, had a similar story. “The line indicated that it’s good, and the line proved correct,” he said. “I’ve been here ever since.” This routine started in 2019. He’d never once tried the red cart.

I’m sorry, but this struck me as absolutely bonkers. Assuming you opt for a halal lunch twice a week, you could save twenty hours a year by going to the red cart. Wasn’t it worth a try?

“I know what I’m getting here,” said Joe. “There’s no reason to experiment.”

To be fair, some of the green cart loyalists had more logical reasons for shunning the red cart. “If you’re serving more people, the food’s probably fresher, it’s not just sitting there,” said Liam, an underwriter from Ridgewood.

Brian, who works for the teacher’s union and had been patronizing the green cart since 2006, said he avoided the red cart because there was only one person working inside: “It’s not sanitary. You’re handling the food and the money.”

But reader, I interviewed a lot of people in the green cart line and failed to find a single person who said they were willing to even consider the red cart.

“The line attracts you to this one,” said Kate, a project coordinator. “It makes it seem more like a favorite.”

“What if everybody’s wrong?” I asked.

“I tried this one and it’s good,” she said firmly.

That evening, I looked up the carts on Google Maps. The green cart had 196 reviews and an impressive 4.9-star average. “Best halal cart in NYC, and it’s only 7 damn dollars!” was a typical review. Even the lady who got a staple in her chicken and broke a tooth gave it five stars. And the red cart? According to Google Maps, it doesn’t exist at all.

A few days later, I queued up in in the green cart line with my work buddy Adriane Quinlan. We’d decided to order chicken over rice from both carts and conduct a blind taste test.

Adriane shared my skepticism. A line used to be a decent indicator of quality, she said, but then TikTok came along: “Now it’s something people have seen online. They’re first-timers. If you see a million young people in line wearing colorful clothing, iPhones out, do not stand in that line.”

But the green cart line inspired confidence, she continued: “None of these people are first-timers. These are not influencer-tourists. These are good line-waiting people.’”

“What’s a trustworthy line look like?” I asked.

“You can tell these are people who work in the area—they don’t have big bags with them, they’re not dressed fancy for a day of visiting New York,” she said. “If you’re working here on a job site, you are making shit money and you need calories, and this is the highlight of the day. Trust where the worker eats lunch.”

The line inched forward. There were 14 people ahead of us. “I never wait in line for anything,” I said. “I really don’t care if the food is that great. I won’t do it.”

“Me neither,” said Adriane. “But I think I’m learning from this that it’s a horrible strategy.”

Twelve minutes later, we were at the green cart window, ordering lunch. The three guys inside were hustling and smiling, piling rice into cartons, topping it with chicken, festooning it with salad. The cashier offered a choice of mild or hot sauce, took my cash and thrust a plastic bag in my hand. The whole procedure took thirty seconds. A remarkable operation.

Next, the red cart. There was no one waiting behind us , so I struck up a conversation with guy inside, Masum, who turned out to be the owner. I told him we were trying the fare at both carts.

“Everything here better better better!” said Masum, dusting our chicken with a mysterious red powder.

“What are you putting on there?” I wondered.

“Tasty tasty!” said Masum.

We took our lunches back to office, where Adrian had booked conference room 15-25, and inspected the meals. I set them on my portable scale. Both weighed 22 ounces—a tremendous bargain for $7.

The green cart lunch came in a classy cream-colored container. Inside, the grilled chicken and yellow rice was accompanied by the usual pale iceberg and tomato, plus a surprise bonus: three small strips of toasty pita bread.

The red cart lunch came in a black container with a translucent lid. The chicken was an unsettling shade of red. The surprise bonus: pickle slices!

Adriane closed her eyes and I fed her several forkfuls of both lunches, alternating samples. She loved the first sample’s “spicy aroma” and pronounced the chicken perfectly cooked. The second sample had no aroma, but the spice was more pronounced. “It’s got a little kick. It’s making me happy,” she said. “I prefer B.”

She’d chosen the red cart chicken!

Now it was my turn. I closed my eyes and Adriane fed me two samples of each. The first was perfectly tender and had a wonderful, warm spicy flavor. The second sample? Fine, but a little generic. I also preferred the red cart chicken! And we couldn’t help noticing that after taking a few bites of each, there was far more chicken left in the red cart container.

“Red cart all the way!” I said.

“It’s the better deal,” Adriane agreed. “And my dirty secret is, I love the pickle. I just think it’s weird.”

We polished off both lunches. “I went into it thinking I was a very smart person for saying we should trust what the workers are eating,” said Adrian. “The workers don’t know shit.”

“Maybe that’s the conclusion,” I said. “The working class doesn’t know shit!”

The next day, I returned to the red cart to chat with Masum. As usual, he had no line, while the green cart line stretched down the block.

“So I’m writing a story about these two carts. That one always has a long line,” I said.

“Yes,” said Masum.

“And yours doesn’t,” I said.

“Is medium,” said Masum.

“Okay, medium,” I said, just to be agreeable. “But I tried their chicken and I tried yours, and yours is better.”

“Yes!” said Masum, brightening up. “Most customer, no idea. I am new here. They are long time here, twenty years. I am two years.”

He was frustrated that few were willing to give his cart a chance. “My food is good. No good? No come back. No problem! But try, please.”

So then I couldn’t help asking, why on earth did he park his cart right next to the green cart?

“Health official, the city,” he said.

From what I could tell, Masum had located where the city told him to park. And he was not happy with the location because it forced him to charge $7. “Cheap customer, no good,” he said.

I’m not sure Masum understood my other questions. And I had a lot of trouble understanding his answers. But I did learn that he moved here from Dhaka, in Bangladesh, in 2019, and he loves New York City. He is single and rents a room in Jackson Heights for $800 a month. He works seven days a week, from 10 am to 9 pm. And while he doesn’t do much business, he has no employees to pay, so he’s scraping by okay.

I was happy when our conversation was interrupted by another customer. Shazah, who works nearby, said he’s tried the food at both carts and likes them both. “The koti rolls here are fire!” he added.

“Does the line matter to you?” I asked. “Do you mind waiting?”

“I was actually about to go to him,” said Shazam, gesturing to the green cart. “But I saw the line and I’m like, ‘Hell no!’”

I’ve enjoyed a red cart lunch a few times since then, and I pay Masum $10, because that’s what it’s worth. I’m also trying to spread the word, which makes me the real idiot. Because before you know it, I’ll be waiting in a long line for my lunch.

What’s your waiting in line policy? Vote in the poll and explain yourself in the comments!