Trini go bragh?

D00D!!!  I went to another place on the list!!!  W00T!!!  PWN3D!!!

Uh, right.  This was a first-time trip to Flatbush in order to sample the fare at Nio’s Trinidad Roti Shop.  With me was my friend Julie Ann (not her real name) who was admirably spontaneous when I e-mailed her late in the afternoon and proposed some kind of excursion.

It wasn’t clear at our moment of departure from West 4th to which restaurant we were headed – the candidates were Nio’s or Peppa’s Jerk Chicken, both in or very close to Flatbush (not exactly certain what the neighborhood boundaries are, but Peppa’s, at least, is not far at all from my former Windsor Terrace fortress of suckitude).

Julie Ann (not her real name) chose Nio’s, and I’m glad she did.  Not because I think Peppa’s is a bad choice, mind you (I may head there tonight), but because Nio’s was damn good and I really enjoyed checking out the nabe.  We had our own Church Avenue strip down by the afore-mentioned Windsor Terrace apartment, but it hardly could compare as the dining options were minimal (the most interesting spots were the Bangladeshi places on MacDonald Avenue).

Nio’s is a bit past the most bustling part of the strip, standing brightly painted and proud on a street corner and bearing the distinctive Trinidadan flag.  Walking in and beholding the hand-painted menu, I was reminded of a Cape Cod seafood shack, though the fare is admittedly a lot cheaper at Nio’s, where four bucks will buy you the eponymous and enormous burrito-style wrap.  Your roti will be filled with curried potatoes and chickpeas as well as some kind of meat, if you wish.  Don’t miss the hot sauce, which the maker of your roti will apply for you.  Pay up and lug it back to your table, or be prepared to make a mess of yourself if you eat it on the go (the skin isn’t exactly the strongest pouch for the goo inside).  

They also have a full array of juice possibilities – I sampled the peanut punch, which isn’t really a punch at all but rather a milkshake sans ice cream.  Julie Ann’s sorrel drink (not the French sorrel) reminded her of cherry, and she remarked on how it was so sweet it made her worry about becoming a diabetic.  Nothing like a little sugar with your starch, and we stumbled back to Havana Outpost for a beer feeling entirely full, but not before a local corralled me and inquired about how we found the food.

I, having been totally surprised by his hand around my shoulder, reacted quite positively, and he nodded, saying, “Everything here is made fresh daily.”  He then pointed out to us the mural painted on the wall, “In Trinidad, there’s a beach that looks just like this.  You should take your wife!”  Julie Ann (not my real wife) and I had a chuckle.

Later, I found out he had pegged me as Irish.

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