Does anyone say kaddish for a dead McDonald’s? Spill a 40 for a shuttered Taco Bell? Cry for Crossain’wiches at an expired Burger King?
Hell no. Fast food establishments are cockroaches: Kill one, and hundreds rush to fill the void. But their architecture lives long past the fryer grease, littering the landscape with confusing symbolism. Is McD’s still McD’s if Big Macs have departed?
A better question might be: Is a White Castle still a White Castle if it serves vegan grub? Such is the case of Veggie Castle, the yin to a formerly meaty yang. Veggie Castle operates inside the failed home of Kleenex-thin hamburgers. Stiff-backed booths and fluorescent lighting remain, but all animal flesh has been exorcised.
Veggie Castle is a West Indian–flavored, no-creature-serving, health-food haven that crushes hippie-dippie conceptions. Bye-bye, bulgur and sprouted bread. Hello, heavenly spiced, mildy sauced, good-for-you grub.
My first encounter, I haphazardly biked past the towering sign: veggie castle, it proclaimed. natural juice bar. delicious vegetarian food. Intrigued, I pedaled into the parking lot. On a neighboring wall were exceptionally psychedelic murals featuring a fairytale castle surrounded by fruits and a rising sun.
The images served as a cowboy’s lasso that, despite my recent gut-stuffing dinner, roped me into a dizzying world populated by fake meat and more than 40 juice drinks. They claim to, among other miracles, cure the munchies, soothe menstrual cramps and eradicate impotence.
The liquid offerings comprise acres of menu real estate, but the gleaming, steaming, 20-item buffet is the Castle’s centerpiece. Too full to stomach ersatz oxtail, I instead sampled a veggie patty and a jerk tofu patty ($1.25–$1.75 each; faux duck and fish are also available). The veggie featured chunks of identifiable carrots and broccoli, while the jerk was a speckled-brown mash of spicy awesome. Top the crisp, flaky pastries with homemade, salsa-like hot sauce and woo-boy! I inhaled every crumb, making my belly appear six months pregnant.
Several weeks later, I am again ready to conquer the Castle. My fellow conquistadors include a vegan chef and a certified vegetarian. We arrive famished and eyeball the buffet like ravenous beasts. About $11 buys three “proteins” and three “sides” (portions are colossal enough to sustain three people). The proteins encompass countless tofu iterations and meat mimics, while the vegetal matter is a hodgepodge of Caribbean standards (pumpkin, squash with soy) and southern cooking (okra, collard greens).
“Just load us up,” Certified Vegetarian instructs, as a heavy-handed server fills our silver take-out container. When she’s finished, it has bowling ball heft. We drag our meal to a booth and munch something stiff and unnerving.
“Did I just eat a bone?” Vegan Chef says, nibbling the chewy circles of “oxtail”—seitan—before biting into the white center nub. It’s sweet yet fibrous, delicious but disconcerting. Sugarcane.
“Oh, that’s good,” Vegan Chef says. He sips his spicy, carrot-apple-ginger juice (about $4 for a small), visibly relieved.
Equally stellar are the savory collard greens and BBQ protein chunks, which are chewy nibs stolen from a Carolina cookout. The bits famously mix with the fluffy, pigeon-pea rice. In appreciation, we nod our heads to easy-listening soul. Conversely, frowns greet the falling-apart pumpkin chunks. They’re flavorless disappointments, as is the tofu. Its sour undercurrent make Certified Vegetarian park the soybean curd in his plate’s far corner, where it remained, unloved and uneaten. No such malice is felt toward the value-priced burgers. About six bucks buys a mountain of golden fries, a bottled juice and a crispy veggie disc on a feather-soft bun. Ask the chefs to skip the sweet sauce, however, and paint the burger with a tongue-blistering, pepper-sauce condiment.
Though the Castle keeps cooking until midnight, the freshest eats are found during the lunch and dinner rushes. Other times, food wallowing in steam is soggy and sucky. One evening I ordered a veggie patty, and I received a stiff, half-moon doorstop—vittles no finer than the fast food that once roamed the restaurant. Still, the Castle’s quirky charm and commitment to mission win out. The food is lovingly prepared and expediently served with a smile, lessons any fast foodery should study. Veggie Castle’s no king of its domain, sure, but there’s nothing shabby about being a prince.
Veggie Castle
2242 Church Ave. (betw. Flatbush & Bedford Aves.), Brooklyn
718-703-1275
