This venue is closed.
While West Chelsea’s nightclubs compete to outclass each other, this proletarian corner deli, open since 1981, quietly keeps it real—if "real" pertains to a movie-set-ready interior that seems to have been decorated by a 14-year-old boy: Fake shingles, wood paneling, and a deer head mounted over the griddle give the bright, narrow nook, outfitted with just a few plastic-top tables, the feel of a dumpy German lodge. Walls sport a photo of the Dream Team, a plaque declaring Barry Bonds the home-run king, a poster of Wayne Gretsky, and other passé sports memorabilia. Mailmen, sanitation workers, and bouncers amble in to check on the game and rap into Poppy’s good ear as the uninitiated scan a bright-red plastic menu that hilariously misspells “berbers.” The burgers, cheesesteaks, and 24-hour breakfast specials (French toast, hash with potatoes, jellied toast) tend to be greasy, to the delight of too-cool-for-school club kids, and the fries are always soggy. But the point here isn’t the quality of the knishes and the usual Boar’s Head sandwiches; it’s the fact that you can sit down without $300 bottle service. A cheap Coors tallboy straight from the fridge will do just fine, thank you.