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Generally I don't like
to eat anything prepared this close to 1500 idling buses, but given
the proximity of my office, and the hour at which I was working at
said office, this joint would have to suffice. So a co-worker and
I sidled up to the counter in this amazingly stereotypical diner and
ordered our grub from the grunting short order cook. He scrawled something
on a cheap pad of paper that looked liked something that you'd find
scratched in feces on the wall of a loony bin and proceed to throw
stuff on the open grill. Looking out at Ninth Avenue and over at the
roving gangs of shaky circus freaks that hang out under the ramp overpass
of the Port Authority's Ninth Ave. entrance, I couldn't help but feel
that this place was (literally) an institution. I tried to imagine
the generations of diners who had contracted TB and salmonella poisoning
whilst sampling the diner's delicacies over the years. Would I be
the next? Turns out the answer was no, and that my fantasies of roach
droppings and rat-tails was all in my head. My souvlaki, while done
with minimal flourish (and garnish), was serviceable and even tasty
in bites, and the fries weren't half bad. I still think that diner
food is better eaten in house, but when that house has a view of a
puddle and four drunk dudes smoking from the bar next door, one might
as well chow in the privacy of their own open work space. [MF]
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