If August were a day of the week, it’d be Sunday. Summer’s over and the realization that it’s time to get serious kicks in. Another year…The light lengthens and the cool breezes augur fall. So today I felt like breaking out, doing differently my Monday. I biked to Sunset Park.
I biked along 52nd street in Boro Park, watching little Jewish children’s payos swing and their headwrapped mothers push childful carriages. I crossed Brooklyn’s China Town and smelt a vague waft of fish. Up, up the sycamore lined streets, with the sun striating into my eyes through the crests of the stucco apartment buildings, the trees arcing to touch, their leopardy bark bringing back remnant memories of my childhood just a couple of miles away, in Bay Ridge.
Taco Matamoros was good. I got the highly recommended al pastor taco. I ate every bit of it, spacing bites with the radishes they gave, a refreshing touch. But best Mexican food in the city? Doubt it. I hear their ceviche and seafood dishes are good, so I’ll have to return, but as far as tacos go I’ll head to Los Hermanitos any day. Unless I want to go to Sunset Park.