A Matter of Convenience
An appreciation of New York's many bodegas
BY JAMIE FELDMAR FOR TASTING TABLE
3/13/15
There are a million reasons to love New York, but my first was a turkey-baconmozzarella-pickle-cream cheese-mustard sandwich. That's what I, completely
overwhelmed by choice, ordered the first time I went to a bodega. At 2 a.m. To his
everlasting credit, the guy behind the counter didn't bat an eye.
Chances are he'd heard worse. In a city obsessed with the next wunderkind chef,
bodegas are one of few safe havens, offering a judgement-free zone in which no
sandwich is too gnarly, no late-night craving too odd. Many are open 24 hours. Some
have cats. There is almost certainly one within walking distance of wherever you are
right now, and that fact is one of the more comforting things about living here.
The Bodega, Defined:
If you visit a lot of bodegas, like I do, and think about them for too long, like I have,
you'll start to question what exactly defines one. In Spanish, la bodega is the catchall
word for "grocery store," but almost
no one would describe a Whole
Foods as a bodega. Some use the
term to describe only stores
specializing in Hispanic ingredients,
but others call virtually any small
convenience store a bodega. There
are bare-boned bodegas selling only
canned food and cold beer and
fancier bodegas with full sandwich
bars and sometimes hot buffets
(though this arguably pushes them
into deli territory).
"A bodega should sell sandwiches, loosies [individual cigarettes] and beer—that's
pretty much it," says GG's executive chef, Bobby Hellen, who's from Staten Island and
contends that the best bodegas are those physically located on corners. Chef/owner
at Huertas, Jonah Miller, who grew up amid what he considers "a sort of 'museum
mile' of bodegas on Amsterdam Avenue between 90th and 110th Streets," says that
a bodega must have all of the above, plus "milk, snacks and coffee that I wouldn't
enjoy."
Bodega Dos and Don'ts:
More than one Tasting Table staff member have strong feelings on what a bodega
should and should not sell. "A bodega can be a deli, but a deli is not always a
bodega," assistant photo editor Dave Katz says. "You can get a sandwich at a deli,
but not dried pasta." Food editor Andy Baraghani says that bodegas need "lots of
things that have nothing to do with food, like paper towels and lotto tickets. And cats."
Associate managing editor Jillian King, who hails from Long Island, is strict in her
belief that the only true bodegas are those selling hot rice and beans.
Several chefs and staffers have expressed a sentiment that a bodega is a (welcome)
backup when traditional grocery shopping doesn't go as planned. "You could make a
whole meal out of stuff from a bodega, but it's usually where you go when you forgot
something somewhere else," John Bush, a partner at Talde, Pork Slope and Thistle Hill
Tavern, says. Bodega staffing, too, is a particular thing. "You see the same dude
working there every day, blasting his way-too-loud reggaeton with a straight face,"
Bush says. "They treat you like family, run the neighborhood and let you drink beer
with them," Joseph "JJ" Johnson, chef de cuisine at The Cecil, adds.
Bodegas are highly personal. Aficionados keep a mental Rolodex of local options,
filing away information on which has the best bacon-egg-and-cheese, which owner
will float you a stray buck when you're drunk and short, which has an improbable
stash of imported tropical fruit. Keep that intel at the ready—bodega knowledge is a
precious thing.