Lee Cruz’s gastronomic tour of Fair Haven was filled with wonders, and one regret: No one touched that last spoonful of Peruvian Chinese rice with chicken.
We were a small, enthusiastic group, mostly grownups. Two were Cheshire residents, originally from South American countries; one came from New London with his companion, a local teacher; one woman drove from Bethany. I had expected more New Haven residents — people like me, my husband, and seven-year-old daughter (pictured above) — who live in town and are happy to eat lots of good food. And there were some: one young woman, a nurse, lives within spitting distance of the Quinnipiac River Park.
“I know there’s a place to get ice cream sandwiches,” she said vaguely. “I think it’s the pizza place.”
Our first stop was Grand Apizza, a Fair Haven institution with several branches in neighboring towns. We all enjoyed slices of cheese, mushroom, pepperoni, and sausage pizza and learned the history of the place. I learned that this is where you get the ice cream sandwiches, too — actually, gelato sandwiches. Cruz also advised that Grand Apizza has the best meatballs, which my daughter has plans to explore.
Our restaurant-savvy child now is angry that we’ve been keeping the Peruvian restaurant La Molienda a secret from her. We ate ceviche (wonderful); mussels (I think New Zealand) covered in a spicy onion and tomato relish; and a dish that I can’t stop thinking about: Peruvian Chinese rice with chicken. When I tasted the rice, I gasped, and so did everyone else at our table. It was served family style. All of us were too polite to take the last spoonful, which I regret leaving there.
The next stop was Santa María, opened last month. Here, the group got cozy. It was heartening to confirm that we’d all come together simply because we were pigs. First came chicken and beef soft tacos, sliced so everyone could have some; then chocolate-frosted tres leches cake; a hefty slab of smooth, light flan; and amazing cemita de Milanesa sandwiches — one beef and one chicken, both with queso Oaxaca, both stunningly delicious.
Cruz, perusing the refrigerator case where the bottled drinks are kept, yelped: “Malta Goya!”
The couple next to me, Juan and Luz — the couple from Cheshire — knew the drink, a dark brown malt beverage, and smiled. I’d seen it before, but hadn’t ever tasted it. Cruz got a bottle and poured fingers of it into cups so people could sample it if they wished. I tasted it and mused that it would be good with condensed milk mixed in, as well as having it straight. Juan said that was how he drank it when he was a child. My husband and I agreed that it tasted like slightly carbonated, cold Postum.
“Like molasses,” said April, to my right. It was a strong flavor that people either love or hate. We loved it.
Next stop: El Coquí, a cafeteria-style restaurant. Steam trays were filled with at least two dozen entrees and side dishes. There was arroz con gandules, fried plaintains, chicken cooked with potatoes, and blood sausage. We’d consumed a staggering amount of food already, but it was so good, we persevered. I embarrassed myself with the fried plantains.
I realized we’d been eating for two hours straight when Cruz announced one more stop: a bakery, La Tapatía Panadería y Pastelería.
Ben Geertz Photo
In Tapatía, the smell of sugar sends you back to whatever the best bakery was when you were six. We sampled the flan, and there was a serious, nearly scientific debate on how it differed from the Santa María flan. My family wandered around the bakery, dazed. We are no strangers to pastry but the little one is mostly familiar with the fussy French things you see at Marjolaine or things like Orangeside doughnuts. The baked goods at Tapatia are big, friendly, luscious things. They are not to be placed on delicate porcelain and nibbled, nor to be consumed in utilitarian fashion, dunked into coffee. These are sugar monsters to be crammed joyfully into your mouth.
I used to take the C bus up Grand Avenue to work, and seeing the restaurant and bakery signs I’d think, “Some day, I will get off the bus on my way home and check these places out.” But by the time I was headed home after work, I was always too tired. I am ashamed of myself now. As soon as we got home from the Grand Avenue Gastronomy Tour, my husband said, “I wish we had some of that Goya Malta.” He turned around and drove to a store to buy a dozen bottles. We’re already discussing dinner out later this week.