Out of Wok

Now I’ll have to get my wonton soup someplace else.

My local Chinese restaurant, the Hot Wok, went out of business last week and yet I still have this urge to swing by and pick up an order.

The Hot Wok was my go-to place on many a Friday night, when I gave into the call of the comfort zone, got a vat on wonton soup and a mound of fortune cookies, before scurrying on home to watch the latest offering from Netflix. (Exciting life I lead, no?)

The Hot Wok is—was—located at 69th Street off Narrows Avenue, the middle store in a trio of businesses that I like to call “Bachelor’s Row,” starting with the pizzeria on the corner, the Wok, and then the deli, all lined up and waiting for the man who doesn’t feel like cooking.

I had noticed their gate was down and I prayed that they were just on vacation, but when I called them, I got the “number is no longer in service” message. A few days ago, one of the customers at the deli confirmed the awful truth: the Hot Wok was no more.

I’m still bummed about this, and not about just the food. The people were great and they were very nice to me. After my accident the owner—I’m sorry I never got her name—greeted me so warmly when I started walking around the neighborhood again.

And her daughter Vicky liked to break my chops whenever I came in. One night she put me through a spirited version of the why game, where she greeted all my responses to her questions with a “why?”

“What is your name?” she began.

“Rob.”

“Why is your name Rob?”

“My parents liked the name.”

“Why did your parents like the name?”

That went on for 10 solid minutes of hilarious torture. By the time I got my order, Vicky was doubled over laughing at her own schtick, while I grabbed my soup and ran like hell.

Too Damn High

Vicky would often stick her tongue at me when I walked by, but I’d just take out my phone to get her picture and she’d quickly cease and desist.

And now the whole family is gone as if they never existed. They made no announcement and left no forwarding address.

The place served good food and it was always hopping on a Friday night. The phone would ring nonstop and the owner would take my order while handling the customer on the line.

I suspect the Hot Wok was done in by high rents, an on-going nightmare in New York that’s driving small business out of existence and filling this town with scores of empty storefronts.

Earlier this year, Mayor de Blasio suggested slapping blood-sucking landlords with a vacancy tax if they keep their stores empty in hopes of scoring top dollar rents.

If something isn’t done, the city will lose its mom and pop stores and funky little businesses and all we’ll have left will be banks, chain stores, and fast food joints.

And speaking of rents, my great blogging buddy Ron had to pull the plug on his dream to move back to New York from Philadelphia because he can’t afford to live here.

I’m sure there are plenty of people scrubbing their plans to move here while long-tine residents are moving to places with cheaper rents.

The thing is we need local businesses like the Hot Wok and we need people like Ron to give this city character and color. We don’t need any more hedge fund managers, real estate tycoons, or Russian oligarchs buying up every inch of available space in New York.

And adding to all this confusion is the fact that my own situation is up in the air now and I’m looking a new direction. The Summer of 2018 is certainly ending on harsh note.

Last night I went to the Panda on Third Avenue to get an order of wonton soup. The people are very nice and the soup isn’t bad, but it’s a longer walk from my home and there’s no Vicky to tease me.

I’m just hoping these people can stay in business.