Eat Me NYC's Fast in the City 2006

Summer is upon us, and a young woman's fancy turns to that of quarter pound burgers, foot log hot dogs and ice cold lemonade. So, for little other reason than all the cool kids are doing it -- mostly lists of great hamburgers, at last count I've seen four best-of lists clogging the arteries of the internet -- and because I almost want to keep track myself, my top five favorite fast eats in the city. These are roughly circumscribed by under fifteen minute preparation time (not wait time, that's very important), possible portability (not needing much more than a fork or straw) and of course old fashioned gut-stuffing greasy goodness, though I have to admit with only slight chagrin, there are places on here that serve healthier than average fare--hey, it's New York for a reason.

1. Gray's Papaya. It's practically a cliche now, the hot dog and fruit juice stand but somehow the formula survives, and quite cheaply too. Pull out a five, and get yourself two hot dogs doused in cooked onions or saurkraut and a serving of mango, pineapple, pina colada and yes, papaya juice on the side. Eat it standing up around the bustle of West Midtown (their 38th Street location is on 8th Ave) or go to its imitators all around the city-- Papaya Dog is one and I know I've seen another around 86th and Lex.

2. Dumpling Man. Tucked into a hole on St. Mark's bet. 1st and Avenue A, Dumpling man is everything you want but never can get from Asian fast food-- delicious food, clean surroundings (except for the bathroom--DO NOT ATTEMPT) and a possibility of friendly service. Anyways who cares about all that when you get a batch of a half dozen seared chicken dumplings, covered in the spicy "monster" sauce and are out in the street looking at bongs in less than a half an hour?

3. Godiva. Okay, I won't say this place is cheap and the neighborhoods are tony and far away for many a New York denizen but regardless this mid and uptown staple of high end chocolate still cannot be beat. Yes, the scenesters can have their Dylan's Candy bar, but just park me in that almost sterile cocoa labratory and watch my eyes roll back in my head. They've introduced a line of drinks, called Elixirs which do somehow magically seem to restore the spirit. Coming in white, milk and dark they are heavy enough to only want once a week and light enough to keep you out of a coma. Make eyes at their new logo, incidentally; they have traded their much stodgier prior logo to a squiggly rendition of our nude lady on a horse. Scandale!

4. Shake Shack. For all the reasons I have said earlier and more. The only pity here is that Madison Square Park, once a peaceful little oasis in the Flatiron District the unheralded gem of Manhattan Parks, has become basically standing room only. I like the burgers, I really do, but this is not worth it for discriminating chowhounds. I mean, the point is to eat quickly, isn't it? Regardless it still has among the most charming places to eat in the city, outdoors, under the strung fairy lights. With your burger.

5. White Castle. White Castle, I realize is multi-state (heck, Godiva is practically worldwide) and its appeal may actually lie more with those in the suburbs, as Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, attested. But regardless, nothing is quite like those little sliders, and the history behind them--scattered in black and white photos all over the joints' walls. They may be fake, I admit I never took a close look, but they still imbue the experience with a chipper retro sensibility as you try out their decidedly not retro jalapeno cheeseburgers. The fries always leave me cold (and I leave them, cold) but regardless, if you like feeling dainty while unbuckling your belt, eat a White Castle burger. Pinky up!

Burp. New York, it's been fun eating you and I have more plans for you soon...

-Sherry

Gastro-nostalgia: England

There are three main components to humor about the English: the sex, the teeth and the food. Now the sex has been somewhat refuted by any number of parties, from the Beatles, to Eddie Izzard to the mass proliferation of mainstream sex shops Babes in Toyland can only dream of. And the food too, in all its varied forms, is not damn bad either. In fact I think on any given day when I lived on Mile End Road, studying at Queen Mary College, on the rough (and it really was, too) East end, I ate better than when I actually try and eat well here. On that road, in roughly three city blocks you had Japanese, Indian, Chinese, Thai, a roast chicken place, three or four traditional pubgrub places, and a fish and chip shop, the prescence of which still brings a tear to my eye and a drool to the corner of my mouth.

I had probably the opposite experience, as a child than most--most of my fish was raw, looking quite red and defeated on a plate or occasionally my mom would whip up something that looked at me as if accusing me with its cold dead eyes. Bless her, but seafood was not her fore; the fire alarm was more often than not our kitchen timer and our oven never really recovered from the Bass Charring of '99. And as far as Americana went in Vegas at the time, seafood meant something rather ominous and fried at Long John Silvers.

Now I'm not saying that the fish and chip shop on the East End was about to clear your arteries and save your blood pressure, but what it was, was utterly delicious. And reeking all over of tradition, too--all sorts of people, students like me, businessmen, geezers off the street would stop in and order up something that could in the best twist, be paid almost entirely with loose change from my pocket (ah the money has a bit of the Proustian in it too; pound coins are both convinient and just the right heft). And then you see your golden filet of whateveritwas get wrapped expertly end on end in butcher's paper and popped into a bag with french fries, all groaning with the mass weight of steam, grease and attitude. If you point quick enough the "chef" would douse the fish with liberal amounts of malt vinegar and salt and you would take the bag home and consume the thing til the paramedics intervened.

Here in New York there is no such ubiquity and though I like me a good slice (review of Ben's forthcoming except to really GET Ben's I realize you have to be pretty much drunk, which is why I don't know exactly where it's located in the Village) I still think fondly and very very hungrily in the middle of the night of London, and its vast array of food purposefully unhealthy, made for speed and drink, and horrible dentistry. What?