We are often impressed by Sietsema’s vocabulary. This week, we learned the word “fusty,” and we intend to not be able to remember it next time we’re playing scrabble, or the next time we see some old people doing the electric slide and want to make a smart comment about the scene.
Moving right along. Our Man moons over the big, fresh-baked pitas at Olympic Pita on West 38th Street this week, as well as the various pickles, the Iraqi kebabs, and garlicky hummus. But baba fans (holler), steer clear. Somehow, the eggplant dip tastes like Miracle Whip. Gross.
58 West 38th Street
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on August 29, 2007