Maybe it’s the pop and sizzle of frankfurters frying or the smell of fat wafting. Or it could be the bright red-and-yellow color scheme, or those papier-mâché fruits hanging overhead like piñatas at a children’s birthday party. But just crossing the threshold at Gray’s Papaya still gets us as excited as kids in a candy store. We miss the slightly roomier branch that used to be on the corner of Sixth Avenue and 8th Street, within walking distance of our apartment. Now, a round-trip subway ride to the Upper West Side Gray’s costs nearly as much as a Recession Special, but for nostalgists and tube-steak aficionados, it is, as a Michelin inspector would say, worth the trip.