A hobo stands at the door, palm extended for a handout. Well, not a real hobo, but a life-size fiberglass one, and he slouches between you and the front door of Cupola Samarkanda II, a Uzbek restaurant under the F tracks on Brooklyn's McDonald Avenue, in what might be Gravesend, or maybe Bensonhurst—even the locals aren't certain. Later, after we sat down, the waiter instructed a Russian-speaking friend, "You're supposed to put a quarter in the hand, for luck." In spite of not having pressed money into the derelict's palm, my guests and I were very fortunate that evening, because we enjoyed some of the best Uzbek fare in the city. The food is cooked with a flamboyance one doesn't find in the kosher Uzbek spots of Rego Park. In fact, Cupola has no detectable religious underpinnings—which, in Uzbekistan, would mean Jewish or Muslim. How can I tell? Well, because you can order a fatty pork shish kebab there ($3.50)—anathema to both religions—grilled over charcoal and as smoky as a fireman's glove.
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