Staten Island Restaurant Tour, Part I: Angelina’s (Tottenville)
Sometimes you hatch a plan and it goes awry. My idea was a Staten Island Restaurant Tour: a way to get out of my Manhattan apartment, explore unfamiliar neighborhoods along the borough’s single rail line, and stuff my face with comfort food, knowing that my newly slimmed-down 157-pound senior body would recover in a few days, as it would from, say, a Häagen-Dazs attack. My mistake was choosing the day after Labor Day and a very distant location — Tottenville, the southernmost extremity of the big island — only to find that area restaurants were closed that day, internet misinformation notwithstanding. The best I could do was a grilled chicken sandwich from Cracker Barrel. Here it is, in my lap, as I sat waiting for the train. I will say that the undercurrent of peanut sauce was pleasing.
The nice people at Cracker Barrel may have been bemused at my sorry appearance. It was a hot day, I had been walking around, fruitlessly searching for a place to eat, and I was sweaty and disheveled. They sold me the sandwich and a bottle of water and were kind enough to let me use what was probably their employee restroom. Human kindness is a rare find. Perhaps it was worth the trip.
When I set out again six weeks later, the sun was shining out of a clear blue sky, but it was much cooler and more comfortable. A great lady smiled on my voyage across the harbor. And this time I was sure the restaurant would be open.
Nice shiny sign for the SIR. People call me that now. Did they know I was coming? An old man appreciates little touches like this. SIR actually stands for Staten Island Railway. Fun fact: Staten Island Restaurant Tour and Staten Island Rapid Transit share an acronym. SIRT is a subsidiary of the MTA, which operates the SIR, as well as the subways and buses in NYC, so maybe it’s not all about me.
Staten Island, the least populous of the City of New York’s five boroughs, lies at the southern tip of both New York City and New York State. It is more suburban than urban and the train cuts through some wooded areas. The sun flickered pleasantly through the greenery.
We have arrived in Tottenville! This city neighborhood with a small-town ambience was originally the home of the indigenous Unami, a branch of Manhattan’s Lenape, before the first settlers arrived in 1638. It is predominantly upper middle class, and in terms of crime, pollution, health, and education it compares favorably to the rest of NYC. More about Tottenville here.
Exit the platform, upstairs, across, and downstairs…
…and you’re right there.
Angelina’s interior was beautiful, though it was dark, even on this bright day. Perhaps the lights were off in the main dining area as I was kindly directed to a brighter area that would offer a smidgen of the water view. More generous water views may have been available on the terrace, of which I caught a glimpse, but today was a little nippy for outdoor dining. This bit of wet stuff is called Arthur Kill. It runs between Staten Island and New Jersey, from Newark Bay to Raritan Bay, after which it empties into the Atlantic.
For a better view, I went out back after lunch. I had not realized until later that Tottenville was across the Kill from the town in New Jersey where my Uncle Sonny, who preferred to be known as Big Ed, and Aunt Jean lived. I had been there many times as a child before moving to NYC.
If you’ve ever been inside an Italian cathedral, Angelina’s classy tile floor may resonate. I wonder if the Italian artisans who created so much of the beautiful ornamentation in New York’s prewar buildings laid these floors?
A quick hand-wash in the restroom, where the gleaming facilities were first class.
High marks on the bread basket, one of the loveliest and most varied I’ve seen in my admittedly scanty high-end dining experience. I spotted tomato focaccia bread, cranberry and plain rolls, slices of your basic Italian bread, and a couple of pretzels. That may have been sweet eggplant chutney off to the side. What looked like butter was actually hard sharp parmesan cheese, which folded nicely into the sliced bread.
Down to business. I had my eye on the rigatoni carbonara in pre-lunch research, back before my abortive first visit, and asked for it, after the waiter said he’d arrange a lunch portion of anything on the dinner menu. Yes, please. The bacon (or pancetta, I guess) was both crispy and succulent. I have had pancetta before, and wasn’t impressed, but this time I was.
I was especially pleased that the chef didn’t do a lazy carbonara leaning heavily on cream or butter, which would have upset my stomach. I can always tell — after a few hours. Nope, eggs were the key to this creamy magic. With a drizzle of parm grated at table, it practically turned into food porn.
Full of good food and good cheer, I remained serene when the SIR train pulled away as I reached the nearby station. Up to that point, waiting time had been near zero — every train and ferry had been right there waiting for me on what felt like a magical day. If I hadn’t paused to grab that shot of the Arthur Kill, I’d have made that SIR.
But I didn’t mind waiting 29 minutes for the next train. I spent the time on the platform posting a preliminary version of this report to Facebook.
And so ends Part I of the Staten Island Restaurant Tour. I don’t even know where I’m going next, but trust me, there’s a list.
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