I once dated a vegan who was rather particular about my taste.
“Eww, you just ate a burger. No kisses until you brush your teeth,” the college ladyfriend once said when I angled in for a smooch.
She was an odd mix: An ecstasy-popping raver and militant animal activist who once painted herself like a tiger and entered a cage to protest Ringling Bros. But I was in love-—or was perhaps experiencing hormonal lust. I dutifully brushed incisors and molars in expectation of sex that, like a late-night Brooklyn bus, never came. Perhaps my luck would’ve changed if I had a helping of Pukk (means vegetable in Thai).
This East Village Thai venture is sibling of Soho’s Peep and the Meatpacking District’s Highline, and like its family members, Pukk offers spicy, bang-for-your-buck grub. Unlike its brethren, Pukk’s décor is cross-bred between “The Jetsons” and a YMCA pool.
The hotdog-shaped restaurant features floor-to-ceiling green and white tiles, accompanied by elevator-friendly techno and Granny Smith apple lighting. The hip and hippies, the crow’s-feet and fresh-faced alike, sit on squishy plastic pads and clear plastic chairs; exhibitionists grab the glassed-in window table, where they’re displayed like beef in a butcher shop.
This is my perch one afternoon as Pukk turns six crumpled dollars into a soup, appetizer and entrée feast. Sure, the same daily lunch deal is found in East Sixth’s Curry Row, but Pukk’s vittles are lively and inventive: My square noodle roll is folded like a Christmas present, stuffed with mushrooms and drizzled with sweet chili sauce. It’s pleasantly squishy and zippy and I’m soon sucking water like a camel.
Likewise for the red curry duck main dish. Duck? Yes, ersatz flesh centers on duck and chicken, fashioned from TVP. What sounds like street drugs or toilet cleanser is “Textured Vegetable Protein”: a soybean derivative concocted by separating soy flour’s protein. This creates energy-packed putty that’s shaped and colored to approximate animal. Well, as much as a chewy, pinkie-sized blob can approximate an animal. In other words, not really.
My stop-sign-red curry, with spiciness tempered by sweet pineapple and bamboo, is rice-soppingly good. The faux duck is fowl in name only. It’s soft and flavorless, like chewing sun-warmed gummy bears. This trick is repeated on another visit, when duck is added to the orange panang curry ($7 for an entrée). The duck only flies when fried and lightly sauced in the spring-fresh duck basil ($8). Stick to veggie options or plain ol’ tofu, which is what I do during this one delicious dinner.
To keep the eating objective, I invite a gaggle of meat-eaters.
“I … I just don’t know what to order,” says a blond steak fan, who’s also opposed to fiery food—Pukk’s polar opposite patron. He’s examining the menu as if it’s written in hieroglyphics. I act as the table’s Rosetta stone, and soon we’re dipping chunks of a crispy pancake into a curry bath ($4). It’s flavorful without overpowering, and whets our appetites for the standout lemongrass mushroom salad ($5). A molehill of sautéed mushrooms are topped with tomato nibs and set in a fragrant slick, flavored with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves.
Pukk’s muse is fungus. The golden mushroom ($9)—fried, Godzilla-sized fungi caps paired with asparagus and painted with panang curry—is vacuumed from the plate in minutes—a minor accomplishment, as servings are supermodel-size. Diminutive portions hardly diminish the awesomely named triple crispy ($7). Sappy tofu, carrots and string beans are glazed with a gentle garlic wine sauce. It’s mild enough to appease even the biggest hot-pepper wussy.
Vegans, conversely, best avoid the egg-packed pad Thai ($7) and fried rice ($6), while parties of six or more may order nothing: A scant 36 seats means sidewalk backups. Worth the wait? Carnivores, truthfully, are better suited at Pam Real Thai or Sripraphai; without fish sauce’s sour tang, Pukk’s dishes lack an integral layer of nuance. But vegetarians will savor Pukk to the content of their heart and other useful organs.
Pukk
71 1st Ave. (betw. 4th & 5th Sts.)
212-253-2741
