Staten Island Restaurant Tour, Part XXXV: Casa Blanca (New Brighton)

Victorian Gothic castle on Pendleton Place, New Brighton, Staten Island.

New Brighton is one of Staten Island’s two or three or maybe four neighborhoods derived from the old Brighton, renamed St. George after construction of the ferry terminal. My local expert source acknowledges West Brighton, but is dubious about West New Brighton, and I’m afraid to even ask him about Brighton Heights. New Brighton features the island’s most sumptuous Victorian Gothic homes, especially on Pendleton Place, the curved street where I shot the home above. In other SI neighborhoods I’ve seen Christmas decs still up well after the holiday. The owner of the home below is more into Halloween — like, really, really into Halloween — judging from the more than life size skelly outside. In late June.

Another house on Pendelton Place.

In these two-family homes, nobody has to go without their own porch.

Porches for everyone.

Steps up from the street reflect the neighborhood’s hilly terrain.

And prevent garages from being carved into the ground floors.

A touch of Mock Tudor.

Hybrid Mock Tudor, with siding.

The day began as usual, with ferry riders shooting the sights. A couple admired the Brooklyn Bridge, which somehow had escaped my camera lo these many trips, while a dude aimed his lens at the out-of-frame Lower Manhattan skyline.

Freedom Tower not pictured but somehow present.

Having recently enjoyed a challenging but ultimately worthwhile hike through Clove Lakes Park, with its trio of interconnected lakes and embedded restaurant, followed by a wholesome stroll around Silver Lake Park, I thought it might be fun to walk through another trio of interconnected parks in New Brighton. First up was Allison Pond Park, named for former public works commissioner George Allison. According to the local press, a relatively recent rehab brought planting of “American beech, tulip trees and swamp white oaks, mountain laurel, marsh marigolds and a variety of ferns.”

There were also turtles here though I didn’t see them.

Nearby is Mariners Cemetery, associated with the Sailors Snug Harbor retirement home, much of which survives in the nearby Snug Harbor Cultural Center (where the Tour probably will wind up). According to the plaque, the graveyard is the “final resting place of many merchant mariners who spent their final days at the Sailors’ Snug Harbor Home from 1833 until it closed in 1976.” A walk here might have been interesting, but it was not accessible, as far as I could tell. Online maps don’t acknowledge its existence. Old cemeteries can be dangerous: visitors are barred from large amounts of London’s famous but neglected Highgate Cemetery because the authorities are afraid the ground would give way and people would vanish into the earth.

Mariners Cemetery.

A bridge that appeared to be of relatively recent construction — within the past decade or two, judging from fresh stonework — took me deeper into Allison Pond Park as it transitioned into Goodhue Park. It has three hiking trails, the White, the Red, and the Blue.

Bridge over a quiet stream.

I took what was probably the longest one, the White Trail. It had an arboreal but creepy vibe. A long spirit arm stretched beside the path, its creepy fingertips threatening the unsuspecting passerby.

Not that I mind being grabbed. I’m just fussy about whose arm it is.

Tree roots looked haunted, as if the dead were roiling and seething beneath the ground, ready to grip the living with angry limbs.

As a recovering English major, I call this foreshadowing.

But onward. Who can argue with a leafy path? The insect community was energetically assuring my face of its timeless and universal appeal.

Bzzz bzzz bzzz.

Occasionally there were reassurances of “OK to walk here, we got you.” Presumably this part of the path might get a bit muddy.

In dry weather it was fine.

Tidy bridge over sweetly babbling brook.

An easy hop.

Arboreal vanishing point. Gentle sound effects, water caressing elderly rocks.

View from the bridge above.

Like budget Frederick Law Olmsteds, the forest upkeepers have left behind a place to sit.

Modest but inviting.

More places to sit, made of harder stuff.

Stone benches.

These contoured stumps have been described as part of an amphitheater, though I couldn’t find the low stone walls representing the stage — other photogs have captured them. Do actors stand in the greenery declaiming Shakespeare?

A place for rituals.

Gentle vista at left, mysterious block pavement probably connected with the old reservoir, a conventional wooden bench, a winding path to the right.

Looks like a park to me.

The brackish water, crowded by trees, reflected some tree green but little sky blue. The sun shining down into the water produced a restful shade of olive.

Panorama shot.

Goodhue Park does offer idyllic moments on a summer day.

Loaded with subtle harmonizing shades of green

And a winding woodland path.

Along the stream.

It narrowed a bit, but not enough to freak me out.

Still on terra firma.

Eventually the path widened to present the official entrance at the north end of the park. That’s two of the three, I thought to myself: Allison Pond Park, Goodhue Park. Now should I continue into Jones Woods Park? Or should I quit while I’m ahead?

I made the wrong choice.

I exited Goodhue past the American Legion’s World War II Memorial, which flies both the American and POW-MIA flags.

Always on duty.

Third of the day’s three attractions: Jones Woods Park. It had a sign. It had an inviting path.

What could go wrong?

A wide beaten path, a hint of light and open space at the end.

What could go wrong?

Homes and civilization were nearby, though fenced off.

What could go wrong?

The path was thinning but there seemed to be plenty of space around it.

What could go wrong?

The path narrowed. Open space disappeared. This was where I should have turned back.

Uh-oh.

Oops. No more path. But I recognized those slender white structures sticking out of the ground. They were saplings, planted to reforest the forest. I figured that if the Parks Dept. was planting trees here, they must have a way to get in and out. Delusionally reassured by this sign of human activity, I forged on.

Dumbass.

I was rewarded with views of the saplings, encased in their protective shields. Reports say that local youth have not been kind to them. I’m not sure if the encasements are standard procedure to protect young trees or specific to the exigencies of this hostile environment.

Protected saplings.

Oh no, what happened to the path? At this point I stopped taking pictures because the local thorny flora were drawing blood on my legs. I frantically scanned nearby houses for ways to safely exit, but uncertain footing on an unsafe slope and backyard fences made that impossible.

Lost among the saplings.

And then, this. Reportedly local groups patrol the park to prevent this kind of thing.

Yikes.

Someday, I may need one of these, I thought, but I couldn’t see myself carrying it home on the ferry and stuffing it in a closet. I cautiously picked my way through the mess but still couldn’t find a way out. I retraced my steps.

Until…

Deliverance (not the movie). Of all the homes in New Brighton, this one may not have been the grandest, despite the fresh dove-grey vinyl siding, but it seemed the most beautiful thing in the world. A moment earlier, I had been wondering if I would ever get out in one piece. I might have called 911, I guess. “Help, I’m a militant pedestrian, and I’m trapped in a New York City park. Save me.”

Steps down from Jones Woods Park near Van Tuyl Street.

These peaceful streets for working-class earners, so orderly and calm, with their modest houses, and concrete sidewalk, and asphalt pavement, and parked cars, and telephone wires, and open blue skies instead of all that scary green… I felt I had been spared from something seriously blanked up. Covered with sweat, I staggered down the street on legs bloodied by brambles.

The streets were mercifully empty, so no one saw me.

This is either Skyline Park (according to the Parks sign) or Skyline Playground (according to Google Maps). You can’t see the pickleball court, but the mural celebrates “LOVE … COMMUNITY … FAMILY.”

LOVE and COMMUNITY farther down the street.

In a state of near-collapse, T-shirt splotched with continents of sweat, I reached the oasis of Casa Blanca, offering Spanish food with a Dominican and Puerto Rican twist. Like many specialized restaurants, it flaunts its taste sensations in window displays. Google sometimes shows menus, except when it doesn’t, so streetside visuals can be helpful.

Casablanca (like the Moroccan city) on the awning, Casa Blanca (Spanish for white house) on the internet.

View from my seat — shot after the meal, after the phone’s auto-focus had recovered from heatstroke. Disco balls hinted at evening fun.

Love the paintings.

View of the bar, where a balloon-blowing operation was in progress. Impending birthday party, I’d guess. Neither the woman who took my order or the manager said anything about my sweaty, disheveled condition.

Once again, Staten Islanders come through with tolerance for a stranger.

I had the mofongo with chicken, artfully served, as you can see. Mofongo is a traditional Puerto Rican dish reflecting Spanish, West African, and Caribbean indigenous influences. It’s basically mashed plantains often combined with pork fat and enlivened with medley of spices, always including a triumphant note of garlic. A thinly sliced, lightly deep-fried plantain was fashioned into a feather. Looking at the picture now, I visualize skilled hands deftly carving the decorative indents. Fried in fresh oil, it was delicious in itself.

I could have eaten a whole plate of the things.

Mofongo generally includes added protein and a thin salty gravy. The ones I’ve had usually distribute the chopped meat in the molded mofongo, but more may be provided on the side — in this case, wonderfully tasty roasted chicken.

Mofongo closeup.

Lookin’ good, roast chicken!

Golden brown.

Awesome bell lamp with butterfly wings.

Shot while the phone was still a little shagged out from the heat.

This is what happens to your mofongo when your phone cam isn’t feeling well.

Or maybe your photo-blogger.

Back on the ferry, the captain was clapping people on board. “OK to shoot?” I asked. He gamely posed with a thumbs-up. What a gent.

I later verified that is, in fact, a Staten Island Ferry captain’s uniform — summer version.

I rarely go total phone zombie on ferry trips — not with all the people-watching opportunities. A big handsome fella relaxed on two seats, while to the right a dad was fishing in a baby carriage for a fresh tank top.

SI Ferry, looking toward Manhattan.

When I got home, I inspected the damage and applied triple antibiotic ointment. I suppose I could pass this off as a Heidelberg dueling scar.

Though strictly speaking, those are supposed to be on the face

But considering what I saw in that little junkyard — not only the discarded toilet seat, but also lots of broken plate glass, and a board with a three-inch rusty nail sticking straight up — I got off easy.

A cautionary tale for the urban explorer.

A postmortem was in order. Where did I go wrong? It appears that I continued straight when I entered the park from Lafayette Avenue at the left. Somewhere in the middle I should have taken two sharp left turns, and then a right, to wind around and emerge at the north end of the park. More on the park’s hiking trails here.

Courtesy of OpenStreetMap.

Had I emerged on Franklin Avenue, at the end of the trail, I could have followed it to the island’s north shore and the site of the U.S. Gypsum plant, which produced wallboard until 1976.

Photo by Herbert A. Flamm, courtesy of Historic Richmond Town.

It wasn’t my first failed research trip but it was my most spectacularly unpleasant one. A little more due diligence, prior to setting off into the unknown, would have brought me to a scenic outlook overlooking Tompkinsville and the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. I caught it on a more cautious return trip. Here is what should have been my exit from the park — but today it was where I entered. It was at the end of a dead-end street and looked forbidding.

Park entrance, path to the right.

The path looked good.

So far, so good.

Until it didn’t. At this point, according to the map a few pictures up, it probably made a gentle right turn.

A couple of saplings flanked the path.

But I didn’t need to go any farther. I made a left turn that led a brief way to the overlook. Plants gently brushed against the scabs on my legs; I was careful not to panic and make any sudden moves, though none of them were thorny. Here is the full view in panorama, looking over New Brighton, with Tompkinsville (the neighborhood nearer the water) and the Verrazzano not very visible in the distance.

Overlook in Jones Woods Park, New Brighton.

Zoomed closeup of what are probably New Brighton’s distinctive two-family houses, from the righthand side of the overlook.

Homes with a view.

Zooming to the left, toward the bridge of my dreams. Not sure if the view would improve in winter, with leaves off the trees. But that is not a theory I am likely to test. I was still freaked out from my last trip here and got out as soon as I completed the mission.

The bridge is one of the few good things Robert Moses ever did.

On the way home I treated myself to another New Brighton lunch, at the Nago Cafe, where pokebowl, bubble tea, sushi, and hibachi were on the menu — but smoking, loitering, hanging out, and drug dealing were not.

Hanging out with friends over sushi is probably fine.

The interior was pleasant and calming.

Looking toward the back.

View of my table, in the front. The gentleman was not loitering, just passing by.

Vertical knotty pine, horizontal tile in varied greys.

My Tri-Color Sushi Lunch came with salad…

… and carrot-tofu dressing…

…plus miso soup and free tea, both welcome in this rehydrating phase of the trip. Asked if I wanted the tea hot or iced, I opted for rocks.

There is nothing like freshly made iced tea.

OMG, the Tri-Color Sushi Lunch was gorgeous.

Red, white, and orange, with a little yellow and green.

The hand rolls — tuna, yellowtail, and salmon — were memorably colorful. I have never seen such deep colors.

Quality ingredients here.

Glad I ordered brown rice. It had a blood-red hue and may have been Thai red rice. I must get some to try at home.

Red from the rice, not from the tuna, though the tuna was red too.

While I was eating a dude stood in front of the door for about 60 seconds and stared into the restaurant toward the counter where I’d given my order. A warning beep was heard from that area. My New Brighton friend says this stretch of Jersey Street — not far from where I exited the park on my ill-fated first visit — was the “bad side.” I should add that nobody bothered me and I wouldn’t hesitate to return to the Nago Cafe for more of that delish fish and red rice.

That was some good sushi.

On the way home, I relished New Brighton’s thrustingly vertical terrain. Google maps calls this area Brighton Heights and you can see why. Some houses are on steep hillsides with dramatic ascending front entrances.

Up into the parlor.

There were a few derelict houses in the area. This one seemed to have suffered from a fire and was for sale.

According to the sign at right.

We end as we began, with a bit of New Brighton beauty, a sporty car parked outside to match the front door.

New Brighton chic.

Previously on the Staten Island Restaurant Tour:

Part I: Angelina’s (Tottenville)

Part II: Fina’s Farmhouse (Arthur Kill)

Part III: Laila (Richmond Valley)

Part IV: Il Forno (Pleasant Plains)

Part V: Breaking Bread (Prince’s Bay)

Part VI: Woodrow Diner (Huguenot)

Part VII: Il Sogno (Annadale)

Part VIII: Riva (Eltingville)

Part IX: Marina Cafe (Great Kills)

Part X: Do Eat (Bay Terrace)

Part XI: Canlon’s (Oakwood Heights)

Part XII: Prince Tea House (New Dorp)

Part XIII: Inca’s Peruvian Grille (Grant City)

Part XIV: Colonnade Diner (Jefferson Avenue)

Part XV: Baci (Dongan Hills)

Part XVI: Chinar on the Island (Old Town)

Part XVII: Cinco de Mayo (Grasmere)

Part XVIII: Phil-Am Kusina (Clifton)

Part XIX: Lakruwana (Stapleton)

Part XX: Pier 76 (Tompkinsville)

Part XXI: Chang Noi Thai (St. George)

Part XXII: Mike’s Unicorn Diner (Bulls Head)

Part XXIII: Melt Shop (New Springville)

Part XXIV: Da Noi (Travis)

Part XXV: Big Nose Kate’s Saloon (Rossville)

Part XXVI: The Manor (Manor Heights)

Part XXVII: Luk & Bart Homemade Food (Mariners Harbor)\

Part XXVIII: Rinconcito Paisa (Graniteville)

Part XXIX: New Dinette (Port Richmond)

Part XXX: The Stone House (Clove Lakes Park)

Part XXXI: Hitto Ramen (Castleton Corners)

Part XXXII: Primo Pizzeria (West New Brighton)

Part XXXIII: Don Roberto’s Classic Italian (West Brighton)

Part XXXIV: The Veranda (Silver Lake Park)

If you’re enjoying the Staten Island Restaurant Tour, please follow my blog by clicking follow next to my name at the top. Then subscribe to get emails on new episodes. You can also subscribe to the SIRT channel on YouTube. For offline reading, the first 21 episodes of the SIRT are available as an ebook. See you soon!