The Queens International Night Market, set to reopen in April, takes a different approach than other open-air events; ‘I think the vendors all feel like we’re in this together’
On a damp, chilly night last month, John Wang hunched in the back seat of a silver Ford Explorer parked at a deserted corner in Queens. The contraband emerged from plastic bags: pulled-pork sandwiches with Latin Caribbean spicing.
It was near the end of an unglamorous day for Mr. Wang. A 34-year-old with law and business degrees from Yale, last year he realized his dream of creating a night market in Queens but is struggling to make it a profitable operation.
The market, inspired by the open-air evening markets popular in Asia, is set to reopen on April 23, but while it will remain in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, the exact configuration is still in flux. The lineup of food vendors is also up in the air. In addition, Mr. Wang lost his donated office space over the summer and doesn’t have a car, forcing him to trek to far-flung meetings with city officials and potential vendors by subway and on foot.
The pressure is getting to him. Uncharacteristically, he cried throughout a recent viewing of “The Martian,” starring Matt Damonas a stranded astronaut fighting for survival.
“It was a premonition,” Mr. Wang said.
ENLARGEOpen-air food events like Smorgasburg and markets like the Pier 57 one planned by Anthony Bourdain have captivated New Yorkers. Popular markets have sprung up across North America, from Vancouver to Los Angeles to Philadelphia.
Despite the crowds, keeping a market running is challenging. The Queens International Night Market drew about 6,000 people a night to Flushing Meadows Corona Park when it opened last April. The first night was so crowded and traffic-snarled that Mr. Wang switched from promoting the event via social media to dissuading people from coming. Overall, the market lost about $100,000, he estimated, and two Kickstarter campaigns failed for lack of donations.
As these food events have proliferated, they have ignited fantasies among aspiring chefs, some of whom toil in unrelated day jobs like construction or real estate. But competition is fierce for vendor slots: Smorgasburg and Brooklyn Flea received 400 applications this winter for about 20 spots, said co-founder Eric Demby.
The odds are better in Queens, though still daunting: This year, Mr. Wang estimated he received around 130 applications for 50 food vendor spots.
His approach diverges from nearly every other food-centric city enterprise. In a foodie culture dedicated to discovering hidden gems, Mr. Wang has a different perspective: He doesn’t care how the food tastes.
“I feel like that’s not for me to decide,” he said. “It’s really the story that counts.”
ENLARGEMr. Wang generally rejects fusion concepts—sorry, Ramen Burger!—and caps the price of every dish at his market at $5. His vendors are a mix of aspiring entrepreneurs and families looking for a fun, health-department-compliant activity. Many fall in between.
Last week, he sampled food from three potential vendors, starting in a sweltering Roosevelt Island kitchen. There, Jacob Ding, a 26-year-old Chinese immigrant who works as a real-estate broker, strained store-bought noodles and microwaved his “secret sauce” based on the dishes he grew up eating in Guilin, China.
Mr. Ding said he immigrated to the U.S. eight years ago and was looking for a more stable career. “Real estate, finance, they have too many cycles,” he said. “I also have a passion for food.”
ENLARGEHe was accepted but withdrew after being accepted to a different food market in Long Island City that doesn’t have price caps.
Mr. Wang hopped on the 7 train to Woodside for his next stop: a meeting with Dawa Bhuti, 33, whose culinary credits include a stint at Mercer Kitchen.
Ms. Bhuti prepared three different momos, a type of Tibetan dumpling, with a spicy tomato and fenugreek sauce and blood sausage.
She had been inspired to search for vending opportunities to spare her father, who lugs up to 50 pounds of food across the city in a handmade trolley. “I told myself that I have to come up with something way easier for him,” she said.
Ms. Bhuti, who was born in Nepal and raised in India, saw the night market as a solution. A few days later, she learned she had been accepted.
“I feel such a relief,” she said.
Mr. Wang got back on the train to head to Corona, where he waited in the rain for Richard Gonzalez to arrive.
Mr. Gonzalez, 40, a Queens native who works for a local concrete supplier and dreams of selling guava-glazed barbecue, drove Mr. Wang to the edge of a park while describing his vision.
Crown City Barbecue would feature a logo of the 7 train converted into a smoker against a royal-blue background—“I’m a Mets fan,” he said, explaining the color—his hands miming the way he would pull meat from the smoker.
But his fusion barbecue didn’t fit with the theme. Mr. Wang couldn’t book all the spots yet, he said, because he needed to maintain flexibility for the inevitable surprises ahead.
“There will be some weird things happening,” he said.
Other market operators hold “auditions” for prospective vendors, requiring them to show up at a central location.
Mr. Wang shrugged when asked why he did the time-consuming alternative of conducting individual appointments.
“They all have jobs,” he said. “There are a lot of things I could do differently. At the end of the day, I think the vendors all feel like we’re in this together.”
