Buddha Bowl, NYC Style
2009
Spring Street Natural Restaurant, Soho
Introducing New York correspondent a.k.a Elizabeth Komoroski. I’d like to thank Shane for this incredible opportunity and all of the long nights of counsel, idea-generating and morale-boosting it took to actually get this lone post online. It is my dharma. It is my duty and my privilege. Indeed, this is an exciting opportunity. I’d like to first mention that I studied religion in college, and have since related most of my day-to-day interactions and cultural findings on their connections to religion. I also use my religious studies major to discuss Buddha, on occasion, but luckily for you today, I will only discuss Buddha in the context of gustatory nirvana. I will discuss the ethics of a dish: guiltless… and one that leaves you, penniless. How’s that for potato sack cloth? No matter that Spring Street Natural is Kevin Costner’s favorite restaurant. No one is seeking his opinion unless its fictionalized drama (please, anyone: has he ever played Jesus?). Take it from me– fish-stick-fed, of Southern cheese-dip pastures, raised on the good book which spouts vegetal hatred, I am not one who was ever sanctioned to give you advice about healthy meals. But, thanks to hipster force-feeding, I am the converted, and now the evangelist for one of the healthiest restaurants in New York. If you are not bored to the cross, please keep reading.
Devil and his loins:
As a disclaimer, I must tell you that, no, this post does not involve tofu. Spring Street Natural is a restaurant all about natural foods. This means that plywood is not on the menu. Tofu is, for all intents and purposes, colorless, flavorless, soulless. I don’t care what any Brooklynite says, you cannot season any block of tofu into tasting good. I am not going to talk about it in this post.
Immaculate Conception has a home-delivery:
I tried to copy Natural Taco Salad a year ago this month when the Giants were christened with SuperBowl glory. My friend and I erected the bunny ears on my parent’s first color television and, right smack in the middle of fried chicken, finger-lickin’ Harlem, emulated one of the dishes I shall review for you this evening. Nachos gone organic. Before you bash it, let me first say that hippies are not the only ones who can thoroughly enjoy this dish: full in flavor, weighs on the conscience like a… feather. Incredibly easy to make for football season (maybe next year).
Antibiotic-free chicken, a NYC must (how the hell do you think we can handle all the toxins emitted by cabs?), multi-colored, stone-ground corn chips, black beans, home-made guacamole, fresh sour cream, diced tomatoes, red onions, spring mix salad… and phew, I am exhausted. You get the idea. The chef basically takes his entire ingredient table and shovels out a generous portion of, everything. And the atmosphere is good, too. Statuettes of Buddha and waiters who double as out of work actors. Zen. The mojitos are presentable, their scotch does its job, and so is their (free! free! freeee!) root ginger tea. If you are feeling ambitious and slightly irreverent, try their flank of lamb. Can you say… divine?









































