Thursday night, after taking down two plates of Malaysian sandwiches, I arrived home just as my roommates were exiting.
"Where are you off to?" I asked.
"We're going to Laser Cat," they responded.
"What the hell is Laser Cat?"
"We don't know."
We roommates navigated our way to a vacant lot in Williamsburg, where we were greeted by a giant inflatable cat that shot laser beams from its eyes. These lasers were, in fact, projectors, producing an array of perplexing, modern art in GIF format against the side of a brick building. All the while, a DJ spun a mix of pop and electronica, and four bearded men handed out free beer.
Laser Cat was, without question, the single greatest party of all time.
This amazing spectacle of life was only in town for one night, existing as a traveling free art project that draws in greats (the likes of David Lynch) to contribute to the bizarre, trippy phenomena. For one song, there was only a projection of Homer Simpson, dancing in a field of toilets, alternating with a short motion film of a model being slapped in the ass with a handful of glitter.
Again, greatest party ever.
There's something about a gathering of so many random people, drunk off some mysterious wizard's free alcohol, to celebrate for no reason at all, gazing at bizarre moving pictures of muscle bound men with lizards climbing on them, that so epitomizes New York.
Sandwich 46: Pasar Malam
My goal this year, if nothing else, has been to push people's minds on the limits of what constitutes a "sandwich." I hope to further shatter your sensitive brains with Pasar Malam, a Malaysian "sandwich" joint in South Williamsburg.
The interior is somewhere between a nightclub and a Malay night market, with hanging wildflowers and vast murals painted across the walls. They serve drinks with massive hunks of dragon fruit and have a take on sandwiches that will baffle and amaze.
Using roti canai, a type of flatbread famous in Singapore, Indonesia, and Malaysia, these culinary show boaters form the exterior of a sandwich. The buttery, crispy, yet somehow also chewy bread smoothly compliments the interior, a combination of ground beef, egg, onion, and hot pepper. What takes this creation to the next level is the vegetarian curry dip it's served with. For the first time ever, I used chopsticks to pick up and dip a sandwich.
Also worth your consumption, the Kaya Toast. Somewhere between a dessert and a snack, it is Malaysia's dirty secret from the rest of the world. The toast is made of a specially crafted white bread, heavily stuffed in sugar and then doused with "kaya," a type of coconut jam. What this amounts to is a custardy, sweet Malaysian treat that, I assume, will be all the rage with hipsters in about a decade (or whatever we have in those days).