Those Kraft-y Egyptians.

Sometimes on the weekends, with a full day of potential explorations possible, I get a little lazy.  Instead of trekking to the far regions of Queens or some previously-obscure corner of Brooklyn, I like to keep my longitude within a few blocks of home.

Fortunately, the trip to Bay Ridge, either by bus or train, satisfies those requirements, and is plenty interesting, as well.  For example, on Saturday, I took the conveniently-arriving 3rd Avenue bus (it literally pulled up right as I reached the stop) all the way from Bergen Street to Bay Ridge Avenue.  I have to say, it’s not quite as interesting as the 5th Avenue bus – the area between Bergen and Union doesn’t have much to offer in the way of amenities, and south of Hamilton Avenue, the Gowanus expressway pretty much renders the west side of the avenue suitable only for parlors of pornography and the occasional warehouse (there was ONE interesting-looking restaurant between Hamilton and 69th Street).  Heck, the whole east side of the avenue was demolished to make way for the expanded expressway overpass (the original freeway was built partially on the 3rd Avenue El structure).  Thanks be to Big Bobby Moses.

When I got to Bay Ridge, though, everything got a whole lot more interesting.  3rd Avenue is a teeming commercial strip that’s very similar to 5th Avenue there, except maybe with a slightly less pan-Arabian flavor.  Indeed, what got me out of the bus but a Norwegian delicacies store (Robyn has covered this one, I think), but it ended up being closed.  I peered in the windows and tried to imagine Norway as a poor fishing country rather than a rich oil-producing non-member of the EU, but failed.

Then I walked down to Bay Ridge Parkway (75th Street), checking out the storefronts on the way.  Eventually I made my way over to 5th, and wandered up to my late lunch destination – Siwa Grill, at 6917 5th Avenue.  Sietsema’s best of (not Cheap Chow Now) list from last year promised a “kooky” macaroni creation called koshary, which was unfortunately not available.  Instead, I had some kind of Egyptian lasagna that kind of reminded me of spanakopita.  A layer of ground beef was situated between what seemed like cheese and what seemed like tubular pasta, and it was micro-nuked from a cold pan when I ordered.  It was a little bland, but not a terrible deal for $6.

I wish there had been a nearby bottle of hot sauce; certain Caribbean-style preparations have convinced me that spicy mac isn’t a bad idea at all.  If only I had stopped at the Mexican grocery in Sunset Park first instead of afterwards, I could have brought a newly-acquired bottle of ancho chile sauce to bear in what might have been a first time culinary fusion.