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There's nothing like
ordering your sandwich in a broom closet is what I always say. Okay,
that's a load of crap, but I would totally order a chicken sub in
a small box thirty feet under the polar ice cap if it meant getting
a fresh mouthful of poultry and honey mustard when I most need it.
Size-wise, Good & Plenty hardly qualifies as a restaurant. It's more
like somebody greased somebody's palm and that somebody ended up being
able to open a food establishment in the hot water cubby of a midtown
condo building. Ordering and getting to the cash register is somewhat
akin to seeing a Fishbone show circa 1990 inside a tampon box. I think
I actually caught an elbow from some freak skankin' to the beat (or
maybe she was doing the lawnmower; I have trouble discerning my ska
dances from my punk ones). I finally made it out of there and enjoyed
my grilled chicken sitting in a plastic chair outside the joint on
43rd Street. Talk about classy environs... Speaking of classy, the
second time I went here, there were two huge parrots sitting on the
garbage can right outside the front door. It made me urp a little
thinking about my slab of poultry simmering inside the bag, but once
I got it back to the office and tasted its fresh, tasty chickeness,
I could think of nothing else but going back--Amazonian parrot harbinger
be damned. [MF]
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