A late summer's Sunday. We board the adventure mobile and head into Queens. We cross the Robert Kennedy Bridge, and as I look back I see the spire of WTC 1, a horrid spike impaling the sky. I turn to face Queens and try to forget the spire. We blast Weird Al, the bass thumping, me and my homies filled with anticipation. Why were we so excited? Because we were heading to Pio Pio Riko, a Peruvian roast chicken house in Sunnyside. The aromos of chicken become apparent, and we know we are close. We park and start walking. "Shield," I say, and a protective shield folds out and covers the adventure mobile. Oh god the aromas of the chickens are unmistakable, and even if we had been blindfolded at this point we could have found our way to Riko. We enter. "My good man, a table for six!" I call out. We order sangrias and ceviches and chicken and salchipapas (fries with hot dogs, yes), and tostones and rice and beans and yuca and lomo saltado, a beef stir fry with onions and peppers and rice and french fries! The food comes and we throw ourselves at it, dousing our food in the mysterious green sauce prevalent at Peruvian restaurants. It is a feast for the ages, and as we dine we discuss life and poetry. In the end, we munch on tres leche cake for dessert. Back to the adventure mobile. "Shields down." We ride home.
Pio Pio Riko, Sunnyside Queens