KING OF FALAFEL AND SHAWARMA

By Sinatra Bees

Welcome to Sinatra Bees, a journalism group from The Bennett that searches and explores small food businesses in the area as alternatives to large franchises. If you have a store you want us to explore, email Mr. Scheiner at mscheiner@fssahs.org with the name, address, and any additional information you’d like to share.

There’s a restaurant nestled under the leg of the subway sprawled over Broadway—3015, Broadway and 31st Street to be exact in Astoria. 

My favorite food spots have always been places that somewhat resemble a house. A kitchen filled with cousins, chatter, and the smell of food that suddenly bites a shovel into your stomach, digging out trenches until you feel too emaciated to even walk. While I have enjoyed the occasional commercial spot, it’s always because of my company and never the soul of the store itself. So when I go to King of Falafel and Shawarma, I appreciate the feeling of eternity before I get to eat. 

The restaurant is a narrow strip of space made narrower by colorful baskets and paintings dressing the walls. They are remnants of a traditional and nostalgic Palestine. And a newly painted mural is parallel to the front counter, depicting the war on Gaza. I’m trying to ignore my hunger. And the staff must know how truly agonizing this wait is, because they offer a free falafel to any customer who steps foot in the store.

But today, I’m waiting for Fares Zeideia, the owner, to sit down with him and record his story. He waves to me from behind the counter: he’s tall, with playful downturned eyes and gray hair marring his chin to count the years he’s worked here. 

I order myself a six-piece of falafel to occupy myself while he finishes his work. He hands it to me, and, foolishly, I let him see my wallet slipping out of my pocket—

“Ah-ah. You don’t want to get me upset.” He warns me with a wagging finger, shoving the food into my hands. If he were my uncle or my cousin, I would have set off the age-old Middle Eastern argument over payment. But I have no leverage here. I’m the guest of the King, in his castle. So I offer him my defeated thanks and sit dutifully at my table, and make sure he sees there’s nothing but crumbs on the tray when he finally joins me.

– — –

I just want to say, if you feel the need to go on a tangent; tell me a story…

“I’ll tell you all of it. If it’s close to the subject, I’ll tell you what is good,” he says.

So tell me a bit about yourself. Okay.

“My name is Fares. Or, as everybody knows me: Freddy. Or “the King.” I came over here in 1981, when I was 15 from Palestine. I came over here for just… three or four months to get my paperwork and then go back. But that three or four months became 42 years now, officially. I bounced from one job to another. I drove a cab. At the end of the ’90s I was looking… As a Palestinian, you’re always wanting to eat falafel and shawarma.”

Since the ’90s, halal food carts and to-go shawarma have become a common sight in New York City. People eventually began to catch wind of the vibrant food culture brought by the Arab diaspora when more establishments opened and grounded themselves in their communities. The genesis of King of Falafel and Shawarma was a food cart, which earned the Food Vendor’s Award (The Vendies) to help propel the franchise into a restaurant. There are four remaining cart locations in the Bronx, Bayside, Ditmars, and Williamsburg.

“And I was nominated in 2007, 2009. I was nominated every year. I went 2007, 2009, 2010, and finally I won it. The judges’ award and the people’s choice. So I won the two prizes at the same time. Officially, it was like a stamp of approval that I’m the King,” Fares tells me with a smile.

These awards are well deserved: The food is deliciously authentic. I’ve dragged my friends here to eat their variety of wraps and their meat platters. Their baba ganoosh is a great side dish: an eggplant dip you eat with olive oil and pita bread. Fares details his recipes to me for most of our conversation, about how his seasoning is specially sourced to remain true to the flavors of his childhood.

Fares’ shawarma is one of their best sellers.

“So, to maintain one of that flavor that I grew up with. What to do? So that’s when I started the truck. It took me almost two years to perfect the falafel to the way I grew up with. Imagine. Two years. For the customers the falafel was good, but for me it was not. The shawarma took me about four months, and then I perfected it,” he said.

Hearing this, I grew curious about the future of the store. It takes a certain type of person to work tirelessly at a recipe for two years, and the kitchen isn’t meant for everyone. Fares tells me that he hasn’t cooked for a few years, growing tired of the stress. At some point he had even wanted to sell the store.

You mentioned preserving those original flavors. I know anytime I try to cook anything my grandmother makes, it’s really sad. Considering that you’re saying now you’re kind of stepping back, what do you see as the future for this business? You know, preserving that flavor and that perfect recipe?

“Well, the recipes already, I have it done. You know, it’s really nobody that has it. I have them on CDs that I’m going to give to my daughters. If they want to give it to their husbands. I don’t care. As I said, it’s a recipe… for us, as an older generation, to go back into the seventies and sixties. You had to live it. If you, like yourself, you were born here; or a lot of people born here. They don’t know exactly the taste if you didn’t go back and have the older version,” Fares said.

His eyes light up, talking about his family. His hands fly in the air to create pictures of the faces of people I don’t know. I listen. He tells me the story about how his attempt to sell the store was thwarted.

“That was the biggest mistake. I told the customers that I’m going to sell–they freaked out. Everybody freaked out at me, yelling at me, calling me, coming in here, ‘You’re not going to sell! We’re not going to give you the business…’ Blah, blah, blah. But then I have a granddaughter, she’s 10 years old. So last year, I’m going home. She’s coming downstairs before I finish pulling in the driveway. She’s coming down, having her hands on the side and telling me to lower the windows. It was summertime. She didn’t wait for me to finish pulling in the car. I lower the window…” 

Fares is talking through laughter, mimicking a high, sassy voice with, “‘I heard you selling the family business. What am I going to tell my friends at school, that my grandfather is not King of Falafel anymore?’” We both start laughing, and he rubs his temple with a finger. “So that little one gave me a little bit… that’s a stab right in the…So what to do?”

So what did Fares do? Well, he called off the deal with the buyers because they refused to keep up the tradition of offering every customer a free falafel. And so his palace remains under his rule thanks to his princess.

“I mean, if my grandson tries, eh. But the way she did it!” He says, his smile having creeped up onto his cheeks.

Throughout this interview, I’ve grown fond of his witty way of telling stories. He huddles up with his friends when they come to visit, hovering by their table to humor them before the food comes. So before I leave him to entertain his other customers, I ask him what he wants students who drop by the store to know.

“Oh, that they are always welcome. To chat and talk and make memories, because I still have kids that used to come to me. Now they get married and have kids, and then they bring the kids,” he said.