STEPHEN LYLE

I was very pleased when the young lady answering the phone couldn't understand the question, "What time do you close tonight?"  Nothing bodes authenticity better to me than a New York City restaurant that has no need of English. She doesn't need English because she belongs to one of the (very) lost tribes of Israel. Bukharan Jews have lived in Uzbekistan for the past 2500 years. In the early 90's, when the Soviets eased things up, 40,000 of them moved to Rego Park, Queens and Cheburechnaya is one of their main hot spots.

Cheesy Russian music videos blare.  Fluorescent lights reflecting on a deli case in the back give the place a cafeteria ambiance. Sad that so few cafeterias serve beef heart, lamb liver, and sweetbread shish kebabs. Now that's my idea of school lunchmeats. But what really makes the trip worth it are the eponymous chebureki.  These are divinely flaky, deep-fried stuffed pastry turnovers the size of a catcher's mitt.  The fillings include meat, cabbage or onions and the cheburekis are to be doused with a spicy tomato vinaigrette that tastes the way V8 was meant to.  The ensuing combustion of rich filling, hot flaky pastry and the vinaigrette brought tears of joy to my eyes.  Salt, vinegar, pepper and garlic are employed like tactical weapons in this cuisine, leaving no doubt as to the cooks' intentions. I look for that in food. Tell me what you mean - don't whisper incoherently in my ear.  The waitress chose our Georgian wine, and we were as awed as she by its red velvety exterior. No, I mean the bottle was actually wrapped in red velvet.  Just try to beat that, you screwtops.

http://www.sdjewishjournal.com/stories/oct03_5.html
http://www.cheburechnaya.com/home.htm