Broke-Ass Stuart’s Goddamn Website

295 Grand Ave @ Havemeyer St. 

Cheap vegan fast food?  What the fuck?  I thought vegan food was all about lengthy meals involving earth tones, tea sipping, deep conversation, and hugs that last just a little too long for comfort.  Oh wait, I forgot that it’s not just hippies that are veganing out these days, somehow the hipsters got tangled up in this protein deficient phenomenon too.  At least the hipsters got the price thing figured out; everything on the menu here is under $8 and there’s tons of different fake meat options. 

Personally, I like real meat, just like I like real tits, but I’m not gonna hate on anyone who feels the opposite…Ok, to be completely honest, I have had some pretty good fake meat in my life, but I’ve never actually felt fake tits before.  Is that weird?  There’s even a girl I dated briefly in college who’s gotten them since then, but it’s not like I can get fake boob  reparations.  I can’t just walk up to her and say, “Hey J–, since you didn’t have those when we were together, do you mind if I cop a quick feel?  Come on, it’s not like I haven’t felt your tits before.”  The thing is, for once in my life I’m not being pervy, this is strictly for scientific purposes.  So hey, if you’re liberal with your fake tits and we run into each other, let me know if I can feel you up.  Thanks in advance.

PS To all you vegans out there, don’t forget to take your vitamins.  Nobody wants to hang out with an anemic with rickets.   

106 Mosco St. btw Mulberry & Mott Sts., also at 99 Allen St. btw Broome & Delancey Sts.

The only English words the ladies at Fried Dumpling know are “How Many?”  And that’s enough, because the answer is usually five.  Yes friends, you get five of the best dumplings you’ve ever had for $1. And apparently instead of change they give you dumplings.  I bought a 75-cent coke and instead of giving me back a quarter, she just gave me another dumpling.  Sweet right?  The funny thing though is if you come and say you want $20 worth of dumplings.  The ladies kinda bug out, curse at you in Chinese, and then go into hyper drive.  My fantasy is to bring in that Japanese eating champion kid, (Kobayashi or something like that) throw down a $50 and let him face-off against the dumpling ladies.  It would probably be the best fifty bucks ever spent.

331 W 4th St. @ Horatio St.

When I first discovered this place, I told Sacagawea about how I found this amazing little gem of a dive bar in the West Village that would be perfect for the book. When he asked me the name of it, and I told him it was the Corner Bistro, he and the two girls sitting at our table laughed in my face. Of course my reaction was, “Eat a bag of dicks, fuckfaces,” with which, they responded to with more laughter (my insults are never very convincing). Apparently the “discovery”, which I had attributed to my finely tuned, broke-ass sensory perception, was really quite famous, bordering on being world-renowned. Sacagawea hammered this point in by telling me, “It’s like coming to me and telling me that you found this great place called the Chelsea Hotel.” Regardless of my newbie naïveté, I can tell you that this place hits pretty much every benchmark of what makes a bar great: $2.50 Budweisers, $3.50 Stellas and $5.75 for one of the best burgers you’ve ever had. Plus it looks like someone completely forgot to gentrify it. It has exposed brick walls, old wooden booths, a register that whirs when used, and has a jukebox that plays nothing but jazz and blues. And the best part of this is that none of it meant to be ironic; it’s actually this way. What? That’s not enough for you? It also manages to attract hotties of all persuasions too. If you see me there, buy me a drink.

210 W 10th St. @ Bleecker St. 

A cute and tiny place, Westville is supposed to seem like a random restaurant in the countryside instead of a spot in the middle of Manhattan. It’s pretty hard to imagine yourself out of the West Village though when you look out the window and see a man in hot pink biker shorts walking his Chihuahua, who also happens to be wearing some type of hot pink sweater dealie. The food is pretty good, and is well priced for the neighborhood, but that just means that it’s scraping the ceiling of what might be considered “cheap”. I guess I’ll let you be the judge of that. All I know is that they earned major points with me because they have Tapatio as their hot sauce, and if you don’t know what Tapatio is your life will be much better once you do.

15 E 7th St. @ Cooper Square 

Founded in 1854, Mcsorley’s is New York’s oldest bar and because of this its slogan is, “We’ve been here since before you were born” Are you kidding me McSorley’s? You’ve been here since when my ancestors were getting raped and pillaged by fucking Cossacks. No shit you’ve been here before I was born. And you know what McSorley’s? I love you for it. I love that your walls are crammed with photos and memorabilia from over 150 years of dedicated drinking. I love that your chandelier probably hasn’t been dusted since when they use to call WWI “The Great War”. I love how your urinals are weird and old and bigger than some of the apartments in this strange city that you and I both inhabit. And you know what else I love about you McSorley’s? I love that you only serve two drinks, light beer and dark beer, and that they’re both delicious and only cost $2.25 each. Who cares if it wasn’t until 1970 when you begrudgingly let women through your hallowed doors because of some namby-pamby Supreme Court case? You’ve had Abe Lincoln, John Lennon and Woody Guthrie hang out at your tables! Who needs chicks right? I guess what I’m trying to say Mcsorley’s is that you might be the best bar in the world, except for Friday and Saturday nights when your sublime atmosphere gets screwed up by too many guys who’s favorite band is Sublime.

25 St. Mark’s Pl. btwn 2nd & 3rd Aves. 

Oh Kenka….Kenka….Kenka….Kenka. You are one of the weirdest fucking places I’ve ever eaten in my entire life and for that, I salute you. I’m literally sitting here in front of my computer trying to find the proper words with which to describe you and the only thing that keeps popping into my head is “bull penis”. Yes, bull penis. You sell bull penis. To be eaten. By people. For $5.50 a pop. And yet there is more to your menu than just penises, squid beaks and cow tongues; there’s also the drawing of a guy sticking a revolver up the ass of a bound half-naked chick. While I’ll admit that I am just pointing out some of your more…er, colorful qualities, it must be noted that everything on your menu is amazingly cheap. Most of your food (including your far more normal dishes) rings in at around the $5-$7 range and you sell beers for $1.50 each or $8 a pitcher. That my friend is beautiful; almost as beautiful as the scores of vintage bondage porn posters that line your sacred walls or the rules written on the bottom of your menu saying “No fighting, masturbating, having sex or drugs. You will be ejected.” Kenka, you’re my kind of place and I just wanted to say thanks for the cotton candy that you give out at the end of the meal; it helps to get rid of the lingering bull cock taste.
P.S For those interested I think Kenka is only written in Japanese on the outside sign, which can make it harder to find when searching for it.