Words and Photos by Claudia Sánchez
COVID-19 is sparring with the world and the virus is winning. Working class immigrant communities like those in Queens, NY, have been hit the hardest. According to a study conducted by Thomas DiNapoli, the New York State Comptroller, NYC’s restaurant industry employed approximately 315,000 people in February 2020 and was its largest sector of growth. By April 2020, employment dropped to 91,000 jobs. Of the 49,100 restaurant jobs in Queens, Jackson Heights/North Corona and Elmhurst/South Corona account for 24,000 restaurant workers, the most of any borough as a percentage of its residents.
It is easy to think of immigrant communities as the other, a collection of nameless numbers, or even somehow undeserving. However, immigrant owned restaurants are central to the communities they represent and pillars of our city. These restaurants celebrate their country’s heritage. These are spaces where customers go to hear familiar accents and share cultural knowledge. They are meeting points for new arrivals to learn how to navigate their unfamiliar setting and to retain connection to their home country. I know this firsthand. Decades ago, my sister and I shared a familiar red leather banquette, playing or sleeping, as my parents enjoyed an evening with fellow Colombians at a restaurant called El Chibcha in Jackson Heights. Immigrant communities nurture our bodies with their work and their food.
Pandemic dining restrictions, mounting debt and sparse government relief, are leaving both restaurant owners and workers feeling weary. In October, Queens Together, an advocacy group, assembled a few Queens-based chefs at Socrates Sculpture Park in Astoria for the purpose of creating a short film that will be used to fundraise for the restaurant community throughout Queens. Chefs cooked at the five grills surrounding the obelisk created by sculptor, Paul Ramíres Jonas (Dominican Republic), called Eternal Flame. The chefs were asked to prepare a dish that reminded them of home. The six chefs represented Mexico, Canada, Ecuador, Bangladesh, Cyprus and a seventh generation New Yorker born in Harlem and raised in Jamaica, Queens. They shared with me their hope, their pride of heritage, and their pain. These vignettes tell a part of their story.
Women Warriors of Long Island City
Chef Cynthia Shepard stood in the kitchen of Corazón de Mexico (now shuttered) speaking with me over video chat, trying to stay clear of the chaos of food pickups and scrambling cooks. It was a busy day at the Long Island City Mexican restaurant – the second restaurant Sheppard owns with her mother, Maria Iglesias. Iglesias immigrated to the United States from the state of Puebla thirty-five years ago. In California, she was welcomed warmly by her family. She had a brother in the restaurant business in Queens and found herself heading east to work with him. He ran the books and she the kitchen, a partnership that spanned Iglesias’s marriage, birth of three children, and divorce.
“I have been working from the day I arrived,” she says. “Working, and working, and even till this day, I am still working.” Now more than ever.
Shepard tells me about the relationship Iglesias had with her brother, “Yes [her uncle] was mostly in ‘charge’ [her emphasis], but we were running it anyways.” Circumstances forced the restaurant her uncle owned to close, leading the mother/daughter pair to open a new version of La Adelita as solely women-owned, a move that caused tension in the family. The women were belittled about their lack of business experience and received little support from their family.
Shepard and Iglesias fight patriarchal Latin culture every day. Not with rifles as in the folk song that gives the name to La Adelita, that glorifies the women soldiers who bore arms during the Mexican Revolution; but rather they fight by running two successful restaurants through the pandemic. Part of their drive lies in becoming a center to help women from the community that are domestically abused. An abuse survivor herself, Iglesias believes in giving women the tools to create a life for themselves, by teaching them skills and giving them employment. Their restaurants have taken the form of a market square where women go for advice of all types. Sadly, Iglesias notes that she has seen an increase in domestic violence suffered by her employees during the pandemic adding to the helplessness she is feels.
La Adelita is in Woodside, where it serves a more traditional Mexican community with foods like barbacoa (slow roasted goat) and chiles relleños that don’t require any heat adjustments. The dishes are served with “Mexican rice and beans to make you feel homey,” said Shephard. “Instead of the regular store-bought flour tortillas, we actually do them in a handmade procedure, and we add anything that the customer wishes to. These are the kind of things that we try to implement to maintain our traditions.” Tortillas are a symbol of Mexican national identity. It is said that tortillas were first made by a poor laborer and presented to a hungry Mayan king. Essentially a mixture of flour and water, even those with limited resources can stave off hunger.
Corazón de Mexico has had to adapt its menu to reflect a more gentrified demographic in Long Island City, perhaps becoming slightly more commercialized––less hot chilis and more burritos, tacos and chimichanga. Nonetheless, tortillas and moles are served at both establishments. Considered by some to be the national dish of Mexico, mole is uniquely crafted in each region around the country. While many areas claim its invention, it’s thought to be an indigenous dish with European influences in a Moorish tradition. Rivalries exist between families and recipes are rarely shared, according to Shepard. It’s fitting that mole was the dish Iglesias made at home and warmed on the grill of Eternal Flame. As if the mole was not enough, they prepared camarones al ajillo and baked a variety of Mexican breads to exchange.
Despite all the adversity Shepard and Iglesias continue to pray to God “to give [them] strength. It’s been very difficult and we are hoping for the best.”
Surviving the Concrete Jungle
Twenty-six years ago, Alfonzo Zhicay deplaned in an unfamiliar place, encountering a language he didn’t understand. His mother had called a distant friend she had in Woodside, asking whether Zhicay could stay a few days. During his teenage years growing up in the south of Ecuador, Zhicay worked in restaurants and hotels, performing jobs from washing dishes to cooking. “Like many immigrants here and living in New York,” Zhicay (pronounced shi-kai) says, “I was looking for the American dream.” His biggest challenge was the language. With his experience in hospitality, he found work very easily, adding “I like to work. I've been working since a little small, little kid.”
Zhicay’s story is a remarkable one. His skills and tenacity eventually landed him a job at Bouley where he met Dan Barber and later became his sous-chef at Stone Barns. He was earning good money, had bought a home, had a supportive family––he had almost achieved his dream.
But not quite.
Inside the mind of many chefs, lies the idea of opening a restaurant of their own. Six years ago, Zhicay opened Casa del Chef Bistro, a jewel whose storefront measures fourteen feet across, and seats thirty. Chef wanted to bring fine dining to Woodside, where he still lives, in order “to lift the community. I wanted to make Woodside better.” After a year of fighting the previous tenant’s building violations, dealing with a nasty landlord that he still has, hiring and firing plumbers and architects, he opened the doors. Woodside loved it. The New York Times noticed. Like Dan Barber and David Bouley, Zhicay applies French techniques and adheres to seasonality with his cooking which he calls New American cuisine. At Casa del Chef there isn’t a hint of Ecuador, other than an occasional song in the background.
On that sunny Monday in October at Socrates Sculpture Park, Zhicay dressed his picnic table at the foot of Eternal Flame, lining up utility trays containing small stacks of green packages tied with twine. He carefully laid out squares cut from vivid green plantain leaves, added hearts of palm, smoked tomatoes, onions, celery and some herbs. He chose to prepare a typical Amazonian dish called maito de pescado. The indigenous people of the Amazon use a leaf called bijao, taken from the engulfing canopy trees found in the rain forest, to envelop a white flesh fish like tilapia or flounder, and adding whatever flavorings they find to it before sealing it closed.
“I brought this dish that's part of the culture and our country,” Zhicay shared. “Just keep in mind that our country has a couple regions. There is a lot of diversity over there. I'm bringing something that is the Amazon, part of the forest and part of the coasts.” In the Amazon, maito is cooked straight on the flame. Zhicay’s choice is symbolic because it is bringing attention to an area that is at risk of exploitation, as the actions of President Bolsonaro of Brazil show. It celebrates indigenous forms of cooking and ingredients. Zhicay can’t really help himself. His maito is prepared with the flair his culinary pedigree dictates. The fact that maito is traditionally cooked in an open flame, also speaks to chef’s inherent understanding of the meaning of Eternal Flame when preparing his dish.
Like most immigrants, Zhicay has his feet in both worlds.
During the pandemic, Casa del Chef was allowed to expand beyond the fourteen feet of storefront to accommodate additional outdoor seating. Once indoor seating was permitted, Zhicay staggered reservations and began using bio-degradable bamboo plates and utensils in an attempt to keep his family and guests as safe as possible. He let go of several employees and is running the restaurant with his son, daughter and a kitchen helper. Now with the second wave as strong as it is, Casa del Chef is closed and Zhicay texted me, “We’re dying here.” In preparing this traditional Amazonian dish, Zhicay may also have been saying, small restaurants like his are at risk of extinction if relief does not come soon.
A Very Challenging Time
“As soon as this is over, I think people will go out and eat. That’s the hope we have you know. We are just trying to ride out the storm and hope for the best, you know, waiting for a good, a good sunny day to come for all restaurants” ––Tozammel Tanzil
COVID-19 continues with fury. Tozammel Tanzil is part owner along with his sister and mother, of four Bangladeshi restaurants in Queens: Boisshakhi (Astoria and Ozone Park), Sultan’s Dine Halal Restaurant (Richmond Hill) and Nababi (Jamaica). Boisshakhi in Ozone Park and Nababi opened February 2020.
Tanzil immigrated with his family when he was thirteen years old from Dhaka, Bangladesh over twenty-five years ago. Like his home life in Dhaka, Tanzil’s family home in Queens was multigenerational. There were aunts, uncles, along with his parents sharing the expenses and childrearing. His mother, Shahara Khan, grew up in the village of Narsindi, not too far from Dhaka, working in kitchens to help her husband support their large family. Tanzil remembers his grandparents fondly, particularly when it comes to food traditions.
Tanzil shares timidly over Zoom, “I grew up, well, it was a big family, we all grew up in one house.” He continues, “My grandmother knew a certain way of cooking and you know, like
you pass down your recipes from generation to generation. I'm very lucky that I had a connection with my grandfather and grandmother. He would tell me stories of how the country used to be.” Tanzil’s face fills with pride. He goes on to share a little of the history about the culinary influences found in Bangladesh. Flavors from the Ottoman Empire, the Middle East and Persia pepper different dishes. In describing which foods he misses the most from Bangladesh, it’s the vegetables and fruits, especially mango which he says is so fresh that if he cuts one open in his house, “somebody from down the street will smell it. It’s intense.”
The inspiration behind the restaurants is his mother, Shahara Khan. After Tanzil and his sister finished their studies, the duo started looking for storefronts and found one in Astoria. Having worked in a number of Indian and Bangladeshi kitchens around New York City, Khan was ready for a place of her own. Chef Khan would not compromise flavors or ingredients, she wanted to taste her native country and landed a review in the Hungry City section of The New York Times. Their business boomed which led to the opening of two more restaurants just before the pandemic shutdown.
Tanzil manages the business side of the restaurants while working full-time for a technology company, but he is known to carry a tasting spoon no matter which restaurant he visits. His sister, Shamsun Rimi and her husband, Abu Taher Atip also lend a hand. Tanzil feels a strong sense of community through the restaurants. That said, he feels burdened with the need to keep all the restaurants stay afloat so that his family and employees are taken care of.
“We are all struggling and running restaurant is not easy, keeping employees, keeping the door open,” he confides. “It costs a lot of money and this pandemic is not helping. Anybody who's business depends on customers. They're having the hardest time of all.”
A cycle of shutdown, partial reopening, and back to takeout, demands a close monitoring of fragile inventory. Changes have been made to help manage expenses like reworking menus so that only the fastest moving dishes from each restaurant are offered. They introduced a tap-and-pay credit card system as well as increased their reliance on delivery apps. Unfortunately, he has had to let go of some of his employees. Tanzil sounds frustrated as our conversation turns to delivery apps and New York City inspectors. Services such as Doordash, Seamless, and the like, had already started to become controversial prior to the pandemic. Consumers nationwide have decreased their spending in restaurants by 35 percent while the amount of revenue earned by delivery services is up 140 percent. Tanzil has every right to be upset.
“They're charging the restaurant big amounts of money, and charging the customer,” he says. Delivery apps are pulling from both the customer and the restaurant to earn their revenue. Despite the NYC council capping fees and extending that cap until restaurants are permitted to open indoor dining at full capacity, restaurants are still feeling the sting.
City agencies have also been a problem and their rules appear in conflict with each other. While restaurants are permitted to extend beyond their storefront, if they block a sliver of the rectangle associated with the bus stop, hydrant or trash collection, for example, the owner could receive a fine from New York City’s Department of Sanitation, the Department of Transportation and even the Fire Department. The Health Department is also out inspecting restaurants and bars, which is necessary, but according to Tanzil, they are harsher than ever. Mounting fees and fines are not what small restaurant owners need. Restaurants need concrete financial assistance to help them stay afloat. New York City should be looking to generate revenue elsewhere.
Queens is said to have over 160 spoken languages mirroring the different cultures that live tightly and peacefully in the borough. The pandemic has hit this borough hard where many of the restaurant workers do not qualify for any government assistance due to their immigration status. In regards to PPE funds, many restaurants either were turned down, didn’t qualify, or received a notice indicating that the government had already dispensed all of the available funds.
Queens draws hardworking immigrants to its communities––like Maria Iglesias, Cynthia Shepard, Alfonso Zhicay, Tozammel Tanzil and Shahara Khan. These are family run businesses. Many pay homage to their family’s traditions and all respect their countries culinary cultures. They each share a tenacious spirit and the willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed. These owners have a desire to give back to the communities that have welcomed them and supported them over the years. Hard work is something that they just do. Their strength is their community. Their individual culture is their backbone. They desire to make an imprint on their community as well as the place they now call home. At this moment, they are all buying time to survive. The food community needs all the federal, state and city support it can muster. Afterall its ecosystem expands beyond customer, owner, and worker. Florists, laundries, food suppliers, and farmers all depend on restaurants to drive their revenue. By preparing their meals together, using five separate grills and one chimney that day in the park, these individuals united to express one voice, and remind us that we need to work together to ensure not only our own survival during this trying moment, but also unite behind the city we call home. We are stronger together.
Claudia is entering her last year in the food studies program. Recently she was the publisher and editor of edible Queens and edible Idaho magazines.