Summer in the city: Yesterday was the Siren Festival at Coney Island, and though there were a few bands I would have like to have seen, it was too damn hot to join the indie-themed masses gathered on the blacktop drinking warm beer and complaining about how damn hot it was. So a couple of friends and I decided to show our local stripes and hop the free Ikea ferry (awesome) to Red Hook (awesome), where we unhesitatingly bypassed the superstore and headed to the ballfields. To play ball, you ask? Hell no. For a Latin feast, natch.

Yesterday was opening day of the Red Hook Ballfield Food Vendors summer season, and it was phenomenal. Heaven is the innumerable vendors hawking ethnic variations of the pork-beans-cornmeal trifecta. There were Ecuadoreans selling pickled cabbage enchiladas, Salvadoreans papusas and plantains, Mexicans tacos and huaraches, and Colombians seeking revenge by sending their gringo customers away with plates loaded with enough steak and sausage to ensure an early death. There was corn on a stick and smoothies and horchata and fried sweet bean and plaintain donuts. There was Ballantine's in a brown paper bag sipped through a straw. And though there were times when, due to the deliberate pace of our Latin friends getting in line seemed akin to stepping into a Beckett novel, by and large everybody who had trekked to the Brooklyn hinterlands understood that their patience would be handsomely rewarded.

Word to the wise: you don't go to Red Hook just to pick up a taco or two and be on your way. This is a full day's worth of waiting and eating, and strategy is required if you're going to maximize your time. I would suggest beginning at the southernmost vendor, which yesterday was occupied by the Colombians, and ordering something to munch on while you get in line for the next vendor. Repeating this tactic 5 or 6 times will take 3 or 4 hours, but will result in a comprehensive tour of Central and South American street cuisine. If you need to there is plenty of shade in which to lay down and take a nap; alternatively, you could pop into the Ikea and pay penitence for your gluttony by walking the either delightfully confusing or maddeningly deceptive aisles which are themselves reminiscent of Managua.

Oh, and if you're keeping track: This is why I'm awesome.