Best place to buy a decent bottle of wine for ...

uy a decent bottle of wine for under $10

Warehouse Wine & Spirits

735 Broadway (betw. Astor Pl. & E. 8th St.)

212-982-7770

We all know that wine is the blood of Christ, and Christ, like Marx, was for the people. It follows that his blood should be affordable. And so Warehouse Wine & Spirits was created. It's not your fancy neighborhood wine store, but it is full of quality wines marked anywhere from 20 percent to 45 percent less than you'd pay at your cozy local retailer. Although it does feel something like a warehouse, it has an impressive assortment of wines from around the world, including an excellent sake section. Warehouse's near-NYU location keeps the atmosphere unpretentious, while the clerks remain helpful and patient, without the usual condescension. This is a place for the wine enthusiast who is also a bit of a wino.

So next Sunday instead of dropping by church drop a couple dollars on a bottle of wine and remember: Christ is with you in spirit and expense.

Best Comfort Food

Pizza Plus

359 7th Ave. (betw. 10th St. & 11th St.), Brooklyn

718-768-5327

Still ain't nothin' but a sandwich. Go to most any deli in town and order a hero, and you know what you get: a stale, soggy bun dripping mayonnaise and packed with a cubic foot of shredded lettuce. If you look closely-if you really look in there-you might eventually come across a thin slice of fatty, gray meat or maybe some cheese. It's pretty messy and depressing all around.

Now, Brooklyn's Pizza Plus, to be honest, could easily be given a Best Of for any number of things. The proprietress is a sweetheart. The pizza far outstrips almost anything you'll find in Manhattan. The salads are crisp and enormous. The spinach rolls are made fresh when you order them; they haven't been sitting in a case for three days.

But their heroes are really something else. They're monsters, but comfortably so. Although we've never actually weighed one, we'd guess they're a good two pounds apiece, on average.

The small restaurant offers your typical meatball and chicken parm and the other usuals.

They're very simple-just meat, cheese lettuce, tomato, sometimes roasted peppers and dressing. But here's the clincher: The buns are always fresh, they pile the meat on heavy and limit the lettuce to a single thin leaf. Better still, the dressing isn't slopped on the way it is in most places. It's there, but it's hardly dripping. Each costs about six dollars.

There's something comforting about these sandwiches. Like nearly everything else we've had at Pizza Plus, they obviously put some real care into them.

Best way to clog your arteries at lunch

Bond 45

154 W. 45th St. (7th Ave.)

212-397-5956

The lunch and dinner entrees at Italian steakhouse Bond 45 are the same, down to the price and portion sizes, and we've discovered that the carne misto isn't something you really want to order at lunch. It's a massive plate that includes a lamb shank, short ribs, sausage, prime rib and pork loin. And while this might seem like the perfect Atkins-feast, the side of risotto puts the lie to that.

If you do decide to gorge on this at lunch, let's just say we can see your future. After eating it five times in two months, we can safely predict that your day will involve stumbling back into work in a meat coma, falling asleep at your desk, logging onto fleshbot.com and then going home five hours later, still full.

best choice for Cheap Gourmet

Trader Joe's

This fall: 140 E. 14th St. (betw. 3rd Ave. & 4th Ave.)

While Whole Foods makes us want to murder, visits to Trader Joe's in other cities inspire the opposite effect. Everybody is so happy to be getting cut rates on gourmet prepared foods from a house brand that doesn't suck that they chat madly with each other, mingling promiscuously in line. An entire cheesecake is less than a slice at your average bistro, same with the quiche. Everything is tasty and selection is plentiful. If you must, you can even get a Trader Joe's meatless corn dog. NYU has done some very bad things, most notably colonizing an entire neighborhood with non-disaffected youth, but moving Trader Joe's into the so-called NYU Palladium on 14th St., while ironical, is a pretty good deal for the rest of us.

Best Restaurant We'll Never Eat at Again

French Quarter

102 E. 25th St. (betw. Park Ave. & Lexington Ave.)

212-598-4555

Time to put Baby in a corner. Although NYC can sustain any number of restaurants serving obscure ethnic cuisines, our Cajun joints have roundly sucked. You could get better gumbo in the New Orleans airport than anywhere between the Hudson and East Rivers. So when French Quarter opened, flying its crawfish and tasso ham in from Louisiana, it was filling a spiritual need. Oysters Bienville have a smoky, campfire musk under a bearnaise blanket. Crawfish etouffee is creamy, not watery, with crawfish that are sweet, not skunky. But-not to get all Bruni on you-we can never, ever eat there again, because the music drove us away.

In an almost empty restaurant, blasting the Dirty Dancing soundtrack would be bad enough without the three skanky young waitresses-perma-tanned, fake bejeweled and bleached-at the end of the bar singing "I've Had The Time of My Life" at top volume. Check please.

Best Crusty Waitstaff

J&J COFFEE SHOP

442 E. 14th St. (betw. 1st Ave. and Avenue A)

Can you keep a secret? You're gonna get a better cup of coffee for under a dollar at J&J than anywhere on nearby Avenue A, and somebody will even talk to you there. The other day we ordered a seltzer, setting off the counterperson in charge: "They forgot to get the friggin' lemons again!" she exclaimed, before treating us to the history of the defunct seltzer machine. "It was a real moneymaker, but now everything comes out smellin' like mold!"

J&J is supposed to be open 24 hours from Wednesday to Sunday, but it often can't manage that. Everyone on the staff seems to be a heavy smoker, a habit that leaves them all with deep, scratchy voices. The refreshing lack of ambience brings out the loyalty in the lingering neighborhood regulars: "J&J tries to do its best with what little it has," says Melody J. Doves. "There are decorations around the holidays, and the waitresses try to act cheerful!" What more could we ask for with our moldy seltzer?

Best (and perhaps only) Tex-Mex restaurant

Lobo

188 5th Ave. (betw. Sackett St. & DeGraw St.), Brooklyn

718-636-8886

218 Court St. (Warren St., Brooklyn)

718-858-7739

Cheez, glorious cheez. We've spent the better part of five years looking for authentic Tex-Mex food, craving a very specific taste: processed cheese. Basically, good Tex-Mex food should involve something that resembles melted Velveeta, and for the longest time, our search was for naught. Then Lobo, like an angel from heaven, opened, first in Cobble Hill and then in Park Slope, serving up real Texas-worthy chili with no beans, great catfish sandwiches and gut-busting entrees.

At $10 or less for almost everything, all the food is a huge bargain, which makes up for the $8 margaritas. And we'll forgive this price gouge because we've finally found the cheese we were looking for. We must toast you and thank you, Lobo, for making us whole.

Best Japanese Bread

Panya Bakery

10 Stuyvesant St. (betw. 3rd Ave. and E. 9 St.)

212-777-1930

The Japanese have taken over large swathes of East Ninth Street and used them to show us how to live. The bread at Panya is bright white, puffy and, our friend Kensuke assures us, perfectly baked. Native Japanese find our unstable fluctuations-from wildly sweet cake to throat burning spice-untenable, and are desperately homesick for this bland and wonderful variety of baked goods. If you doubt their wisdom, just remember: We are fat, and they are not? Yet.

Best burgers for Drunks

Lucky Burger

91 Avenue A (betw. 5th St. & 6th St.)

212-358-1079

It took a couple of former bar owners to come up with the perfect formula. Lucky Burger, open until 5 a.m., has bright lighting that won't make you look too bad. The counter is kind of high up, subtly conveying authority, a flat-screen TV is usually on, so you can just sit there, quietly drooling between bites of just about the best burger and fries you've ever had. On a recent predawn visit, a beggar was treated with finesse, nonviolence and some fries. Plus, the milkshakes are genuine and amazing. This is what we really need late at night, and apparently we will behave ourselves while enjoying well-rendered comfort food. Turns out it's all we ever really wanted.

BEST NACHOS for Drunks

SAN LOCO

111 Stanton St. (betw. Essex St. & Ludlow St.)

212-253-7580

The first year we ate there, we thought the restaurant was called Wacky Taco. To our drunken ears, that sounded perfectly plausible. Wacky Taco. Wacky Taco!

We always went with friends, who escorted us to our faux-Mexican manna. One night, however, we tried to visit Wacky Taco on our own. It proved as elusive as Atlantis. "Where's Wacky Taco?" we asked random Lower East Side dwellers. They looked at us like we drank a bad batch of bleach. After much confusion, we called the friend who had introduced us to this wonderful place. "How come no one knows where Wacky Taco is?" we asked.

"It's called San Loco," she answered. Our riddle was solved. Though there are several other San Locos downtown, the best nachos are still found on Stanton Street. Try the beef (not the chili beef), a perfect antidote for post-drinking binges. The restaurant is open until 5 am, catering to drunkards not too drunk to find their way to San Loco.

Best Mouth-Incinerating Taco Served on 10th Avenue

Tehuitzingo Deli Grocery

695 10th Ave. (betw. W. 47th St. and W. 48th St.)

212-397-5956

Behold our Buddha-belly, peeking mouse-like out the bottom of our too-tight T-shirts, and you'll know we're never ones for moderation. Flambés, soufflés, snickers: We're halfway to the fat American cliché. A dollop of moderation, however, might serve us well at Tehuitzingo.

Located on a feisty stretch of Tenth Avenue, Tehuitzingo is a Mexican deli selling Jarritos and cactus leaves. However, past the soda-stocked refrigerators sits a tiny window where intrepid gourmands can order tacos and quesadillas. This is not a run for the border: Tehuitzingo's chefs are schooled in obscure treats like sweet, pumpkin-flower quesadillas and crispy, pork-skin tacos. The damage? About two bucks.

We always order two spicy pork enchiladas. They arrive on a paper plate inside a double-tortilla layer, as red as a fire truck and sprinkled with cilantro. To this we add smoky red salsa, offered gratis alongside chopped jalapeño and onions. We overload on the fiery mixture, adding carrot discs from a jar of pickled peppers. The first bite is revelatory; the second, ulcerating. But we don't admit weakness, licking the paper plate until it disintegrates on our happily blistered lips.

Best Bar to Drink a Dollar PBR and Head-Bang With the Ghosts of Alcoholics

Duff's

28 N. 3rd St. (Kent Ave.), Brooklyn

718-302-0411

At the millennium's dawn, any headbanger worth his spiked collar headed to the Port Authority's urine-soaked shadow. There, near Sterno-sipping lifers, sat Hell's Kitchen's Bellevue, a be-careful-where-you-sit dive with horror-movie décor (including a coffin) and copious amounts of pre-irony Pabst. Metal veterans like Pantera and Rob Zombie often snagged stools and watched tooth-deficient septuagenarian Dancin' Dominick hoofing it to Danzig like "your grandfather on crack," says Jimmy Duff, Bellevue's former co-owner.

Six years later, Bellevue and Dancin' Dominick are both dead. (Well, Bellevue chugs along with less horror and more yuppies, which means it's kaput in our book.) Blessedly, Duff has resuscitated both Bellevue and Dominick at Williamsburg's heavy-metal outpost named, naturally, Duff's.

Until 9 pm, cram inside the former check-cashing shop, sit on a cow-print stool and down a dollar Pabst. Ogle the Jesus memorabilia and concert posters and, perhaps, spin some Sepultura. If you visit on weekends, grab a free wiener grilled on the outdoor deck. Then bow your head: Dancin' Dominick's satin jacket is encased in glass on the wall and, on the TV, there's grainy footage of the infamous postal worker, boogying eternally to his own peculiar beat.

Best caffeinated ex-lax substitute

Gorilla Coffee

97 5th Ave. (Park Pl.), Brooklyn

718-230-3244

When we're, ahem, backed up after another week of our pizza-and-fried-food diet, we trek to Park Slope for a cheap, effective and foolproof remedy: a large cup of Gorilla Coffee's lung-tar-black java.

Sure, the large might be overdoing it-akin to ingesting a dozen aspirin for a paper cut-but when we get down to business, we get down to business, if you know what we mean. First, we double-check to make sure the bathroom is available. Then we dump the house-roasted, Fair Trade fuel down our throat and grab the table.

The coffee cuts through our GI tract like an irate general, urging decomposing food to march onward. Soon we're sweating. Then our stomachs rumble. Then we're hobbling, bowlegged, to the toilet, which greets us cool and welcoming, like a lover we've missed for far too long.

Best SZECHUAN Pickle Noodle Soup Served Near the Diamond District

Hing Won

48 W. 48th St. (betw. 5th Ave. & 6th Ave.)

212-719-1451

Diamond District dining always leaves us in a pickle. Should we eat falafel or, well, falafel? Luckily, Hing Won is an unlikely savior. At first glance, it's a cookie-cutter Chinese dive with a glassed-in buffet loaded with General Tso's and rice glop. Yet a peek at the menu reveals an atypical array of roasted Cantonese meats (try the duck) and blistering delicacies like double-sautéed pork with cabbage.

During the lunch rush, the line stretches 20-deep. But don't worry: Chefs slice and stir-fry with the efficiency of a methed-up assembly line. Bide your time by watching office workers suck meat off bones, then order one of the fantastic Mandarin noodle soups. The beef with noodles in broth is a safe bet, but we push the culinary envelope with the shredded pork with Chinese pickles soup.

It arrives, steaming, with a layer of needle-thin yellow noodles. On top sit chewy pork slivers, zucchini and tart pickles. Snag a mouthful with chopsticks and hold a tissue close: The broth is fiery enough to unleash a stream of tears. Consider them tears of joy.

Best Deal for Wannabe Bourgeois Winos

The Bourgeois Pig

122 E. 7th (betw. 1st Ave. & Ave. A)

212-475-2246

We have never been winos, because we can't afford wine. Forty ounces of malt liquor, tall boys of crack-fuel Sparks, sure, but wine, well, that's always fallen outside of our Utz chips budget. Then along came a little piggie. The Bourgeois Pig, to be exact.

During the daylight hours, this antique-y eatery (hello, grandma's floral furniture and massive mirrors) fries up crispy beignets-owner Ravi DeRossi's mother's recipe. When the sun dips, however, the specials begin. Every day until 8 pm, you can stain your teeth on a bottle of house red Le Snoot for about eight bucks. On Mondays, the same deal lasts all night long-or until you stumble outside, spewing red wine on the sidewalk like a fountain of inebriation. But live it up, bucko: for tonight, you're drinking like a pig.

Best OUT-OF-CONTROL KOSHER Feast under $20

Olympic Pita

1419 Coney Island Ave. (betw. Ave. J & Ave. K), Brooklyn

718-258-6222

Venture out on the Q Train to Midwood and enter a land of parve delight. Nestled amid kosher bakeries, pizza shops and cafés is a place where God and Zeus hook up to offer one of the city's greatest bargains, Olympic Pita.

Consistently mobbed with a mix of in-the-know locals and kosher connoisseurs, Olympic Pita specializes in Israeli-style cuisine, offering up succulent shwarma, falafel and other Middle Eastern delicacies. The enormous shwarma plate is best complemented by the salads sampler, which is a baker's dozen of small plates of eggplant, hummus, tahini and the like, all intended to be consumed with the accompanying tray of pita. The price for this feast, which leaves us gasping for air, making false proclamations never to eat again? Just under $20. Hoooray Jews!

Best Idea for a Web site That We Thought of Years Ago, But Were Too Lazy to Do

myopenbar.com

Once upon a poorer time, we sussed out the city's finest free-drinking deals. We'd log onto the nyhappenings Yahoo group, and, after sifting through 40-odd pleas of bands desperate to attract ten fans to the Continental, locate gratis vodka or Bud at some hole like the East Village's Lit Lounge.

"Wouldn't it be great," we'd think, double-fisting Rheingold, "if someone had a list of every open bar every night of the week?"

Yes, it was a great idea, would be our reply. Why don't you do it?

"Because we're drunk," was the invariable answer.

The idea percolated, off and on, in more lucid moments. But like many liquor-conceived ideas, this one died before being born. So imagine our delighted surprise when the Internet unveiled myopenbar.com. Published by self-proclaimed drunken-hipster Jews Rob Hitt and Seva Granik, the site's a clearinghouse for complimentary cocktails and beer. From the L.E.S. to Carroll Gardens, nightly options abound for no-wallet inebriation. You can sign up for a weekly mailing list and plan your carousing accordingly. Or log on daily for the liquid carrot that will lead you through the 9?5 trudge.

Best Banh Mi Sandwich Where You No Longer Expect It

Saigon Banh Mi

138-01 Mott St. (Grand St.)

212-941-1541

We don't like swatting Chinese women's hands, but that's what it took to grab the city's best three-buck banh mi: a Vietnamese creation featuring crusty French bread, pickled carrots and crispy pork. The sandwiches were lovingly wrought by a perpetually harried trio in a most unfortunate locale: a toilet-sized shop near the Chinatown bus nexus.

Whenever the banh mi urge bit, we steeled our nerves and sliced a swath through ticket-waving Chinese women, who cried, "Phil-a-del-fee-a!" like banshees doomed to repeat themselves.

"No, no, banh mi!" we'd say, sweeping hands off our arms. We'd point to the faded maroon awning advertising our swine-and-bread meal. The women would nod and smile. They understood: These were good fucking sandwiches, man.

One day, we strutted to the shop. "No, no, banh?oh my!" we said, shocked. The metal grate was drawn, a white handwritten sign with the dreaded words-We've Closed? and relocated to Mott Street.

Blessed be, gods of budget eating! Saigon Banh Mi simply moved into roomier digs in the back of a Mott Street jewelry shop near Grand. We visited and we're happy to report that the sandwiches remain toasty crisp and the price a three-dollar steal. Plus, we're inflicting far less bodily harm on defenseless Chinese women, which is a win-win proposition for all.

Best stuck-in-the-1940s italian restaurant

Gene's restaurant

73 W. 11th St. (6th Ave.)

212-675-2048

Gene's is the Chuck E. Cheese of the octogenarian set. On one crowded weekend visit, three sets of families were celebrating birthdays for grandma or grandpa.

Such are the joys of a restaurant founded in 1914 and stuck in the 1940s. The menu hearkens back to a time of simple Italian and Continental cuisine, frog legs sautéed provencale. On Sundays, you can score a roast prime rib of beef (ask your waiter-who has never had a headshot-about the price). And when you are seated, the waiters bring bread and butter-plus a tray of olives, carrots and celery on a bed of ice-a classic trope of 1940s and 1950s "nice" restaurant service. Just ask Grandma.

BEST BUTT-NAKED EMPEROR OF NEW YORK

MAGNOLIA BAKERY

401 Bleecker St. (W. 11th St.)

212-462-2572

Ah, the bakery of Sex and the City fame. It blows our tiny mind that shark-eyed idiots will wait even two minutes for cupcakes that are little more than finely frosted Duncan Hines. In an act of mind control, this bakery convinced the gullible public that it produces something unusual.

We recall standing on Bleecker Street once while a space-pirate couple in the traditional designer-for-designer's-sake-not-cause-it-looks-good clothing and matching cowboy hats drifted past. The woman, with a thick Valley-Girl accent, said something like, "Magnolia has this banana pudding that's, like, sooo..." She paused, clearly searching for the word to express her intense feelings. We began, irrationally, to expect something Scrabble worthy. The silence continued for another beat, raising hopes. Finally, she concluded, "...good." This woman needs a damn helmet if she hasn't already walked into traffic.

If you can afford to eat Magnolia's product, you probably have an oven. Our advice: Pick up a box of Duncan Hines "Butter Recipe Golden." Melt some quality chocolate into a small quantity of heavy cream in a makeshift double boiler. Have a real double boiler? Even better. Pour the mixture evenly over the cake and allow it to cool at room temperature. Cover and refrigerate for maximum freshness. Eat better cake! Help restore New York!

Best-Kept East Village Secret

The Garden at Neptune Café

194 1st Ave. (betw. 11th St. & 12th St.)

212-777-4163

Octopuski's garden. As Corporate rigor mortis continues its creep into the blocks just south of the First Avenue L stop, this low-key Polish-American g-spoon only grows in our epicurean esteem. Newly triangulated by Dunkin' Donuts, Popeye's and Pizza Hut, down-homey Neptune can't help but look the poor but proud, threatened immigrant, destined to fall victim to some looming Pizza Hut pincer maneuver. But that day is not yet, and until it comes, you will find us during the cold months sitting by Neptune's large windows reading by the winter sun, slurping cabbage soup and nursing coffee out of a chipped ceramic mug.

Cozy though it may be, the upfront space isn't what lands Neptune in these pages; it's the open-air oasis out back. From early spring to deep Indian summer, we encourage you to find the plastic car-wash curtain by the kitchen, beyond which is a shaded, leafy, L-shaped garden unspoiled by gabbing tourists, students or day-trippers. Here we find regular refuge with a frosty stein and a bowl of delicious cold beet soup. It's the best idyll to be found within ten blocks in any direction.

To justify your lingering presence, choose from a menu of Polish staples like pierogies, kielbasa and stuffed cabbage, which share the list with American diner fare, including cheap and tasty hamburgers, sandwiches, omelets, blintzes, potato pancakes and salads. As for piwo, like the cute fresh-off-the-plane waitress says, "If you like drink, you'll have a drink the best Polish beer!" We recommend Okocim.

Best New Bar/Cafe in East Williamsburg

Stain

766 Grand St. (betw. Avenue of Puerto Rico & Humboldt St.), Brooklyn

718-387-7840

We lived three short blocks from this place for three long months before we realized it was even there. And while we have on occasion been accused of space-shot behavior, it turns out we weren't the only ones to overlook the place while walking right past it. An informal survey quickly revealed that few of our neighbors knew it was there, either. Sandwiched on a gritty stretch of dollar stores, laundry joints and hole-in-the-wall greasy Sino-Mexican cuisine, Stain might as well be half a world away from the nearby tree-lined yupster thoroughfare Graham Ave., with its health food shops and A Tree Grows In Brooklyn?era family Italian eateries. It is here, on nearby Avenue of Puerto Rico, where Pheobe's reigns as the café of choice, sucking away most of Stain's morning business.

At least for now. If it can survive its two-block geographical purgatory long enough for the East Williamsburg/Bushwick gentrification wave to catch up, Stain should become a successful neighborhood fixture. Comfortable, smartly designed with vintage furniture and overflowing into a large garden out back, it offers free wi-fi and regular tastings of local libations like Harlem's Sugar Hill beer and Long Island's Gristina wine. The calendar, meanwhile, is dense (perhaps overly so) with readings and performances by Brooklyn artists.

A perfectly and lovingly realized neighborhood café/bar, this is one stain that deserves to remain in the neighborhood's underwear, if only people could see it.

Best Retort Heard at a Brooklyn Bagel Store

The Kosher Bagel Hole

1431 Coney Island Ave. (Avenue K)

718-377-9700

Shalom. It means peace, and there's no better way to foster inner harmony and enjoy a Saturday morning breakfast than with a traditional Brooklyn bagel. And one of our old standby spots is the Bagel Hole, replete with all the spreads, lox and tuna salads for which we could ever hope.

On a recent visit, our mom (we love you, Mom) ventured in to buy some bagels and found herself familiarly elbow to elbow with a crowd of Orthodox Jewish folks trying to do the same thing. It's Brooklyn and it's every man for himself, and the bagel store is no exception.

One man was particularly aggressive in his quest to reach the counter for six light sesames. He was a portly fellow, and seemed unconcerned with the elbows he was throwing all over the place to clear out his space. It just so happened that Mom was none too amused by these aggressive tactics. After all, it's a day of rest. Peace in the Middle East, baby, or at least at the Bagel Hole.

She tolerated a few jabs, but after several more forceful pushes, she turned to him and blurted out, "Jesus Christ!"

Taken aback, he turned to her and, mouth ajar, retorted, "Madam, he has nothing to do with this."

A Jewish girl herself, she replied, "That's what you think."

best pre-game for a broadway musical

Russian Vodka Room

265 W. 52nd St. (betw. 8th Ave. and Broadway)

212-307-5835

We made a mistake. A bad one. The kind of boyfriend blunder that merits foot massages, face-losing and a wallet spread wider than the Atlantic Ocean.

"You're going to have to take us to Broadway," our girlfriend said-"Hairspray. I want to see Hairspray."

Oh, no.

We have long thought Broadway musicals the eighth circle of hell, the purgatory Dante would have envisioned if he lived in the era of Cats and Chorus Line. We'd much rather succumb to a hot-water colonic than an evening spent watching whale-lunged women sing and Silly Putty?limbed men prance. It's the type of activity that requires drinking. Lots of drinking.

Which is why, pre-musical, we pony up at the Russian Vodka Room. Across the street from the Neil Simon Theater, the RVR is where livers die. Dozens of clear vats of house-flavored vodka line the walls. Until 8 pm, you can purchase a double shot for three dollars. Go crazy with ginger vodka. Lick up the lemon. Sing along to the piano player tapping out American standards, or grab a blintz topped with caviar. Or not. Perhaps it's best to conserve your cash and do as we do: Drink so that we pass out just as the curtain drops.

Best Rep-Worthy Cupcake

Baked

359 Van Brunt St. (Wolcott St.), Brooklyn

718-243-0999

The Great Cupcake Rush of 2004 has slowed to a frosting-covered halt, giving way to the Year of Barbecue. The media's attention has turned to hulking men with guts approximating globes, fingers stained with tangy, vinegary sauce. Consider this good news, sweet fiends, because stellar new cupcakeries now fly under the foodie radar.

On that list, Baked. It's located on Red Hook's burgeoning Van Brunt strip (which includes French bistro 360, Pioneer Bar and real-estate mogul Barbara Corcoran's new home), a sorta-desolate block slowly springing to life. Baked is a Swiss ski chalet gone 2005: blond wood and metal patio furniture sit beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier. But enough about the décor.

The $1.50 cupcakes are the size of baby palms and covered with whipped, creamy goodness that'll make you lick every errant dollop like it's the answer to the universe. Baked is a bit of a subway hike, so we grease up our 10-speeds and pedal to the Hook. It's just far enough away to keep our sugar levels in the three digits.

Best restaurant bench

Murray's Bagels

500 6th Ave. (betw. W. 12th St. & W. 13th St.)

212-462-2830

We're all animals. People-watching is one of those terms that makes tourism seem like a perversion. It implies clinical observation of some other species, and Greenwich Village-groaning under history and "Sex and the City" locations-attracts more than its share of tourists. From this ash-wood bench outside a damn-fine bagelry, bebopping BlackBerry-beating West Village walkers move among dowagers and pampered students. All very colorful. But swivel to your right on the southern bench and you can stare at puppies scampering in the sawdust-strewn window of the pet shop next door. Shifting perspective between captive animals and sauntering humans makes you feel lucky to have your own lease, your own calendar, your own sapience. Sip your coffee; it's stronger than you'd expect from a takeout joint. And feel a renewed solidarity with the humanoids on parade.

Best Food Court to Incite Panic Attacks and Paralysis

Whole Foods

10 Columbus Circle

212-823-9600

America may be the land of endless choices, but on our lunch break, we revisit our sex life as a 17-year-old: in and out, quickly. We prefer pizzerias, dumpling stalls, gyro shops: finite options, not the world on a plate. Unlike Whole Foods.

We're not badmouthing the organic-food giant's pricing scheme, which entails signing over your first-born's stem cells to afford the heirloom tomatoes. Who buys groceries, anyway? Rather, we're centering on the Columbus Circle food court. Here is where the indecisive die.

Located near Central Park, this lunch court attracts buffalo stampedes of European tourists and harried salary men alike. As tenured subway riders, we can handle overcrowding. However, we can't handle Whole Foods' overwhelming lunch buffet. Sushi, samosas and spaghetti; walnut salad, warm black beans and watery melons. Minestrone, mini-egg rolls and moussaka-the options paralyze us, causing us to spin around in circles. We twirl like this, dizzy, hungry, disoriented, until we stumble toward Central Park for a simpler, less complex lunch: a street-cart hot dog.

Best Espresso

CAFE LA FORTUNA

W. 71st St. (Columbus Ave.)

212-724-5846

We enjoy espresso very mu-mu-much and find that it ha-ha-hardly makes us ji-ji-ji-excuse us-ji-ttery. But beyond the buzz, some demitasses have better flavor, better texture and a richer aroma than others.

La Fortuna's beverage is particularly dark, its flavor is toward the bitter end of the spectrum, but it is not acrid. The roast has bite, and you'll want to drink it in small sips, savoring its strength. The texture is smooth, with a thin layer of froth at the surface.

The café is the oldest in Manhattan, which is quite a boast. Opera plays romantically in the background; signed pictures of stars line the walls. Small lamps of colored glass hang low over the ceilings, and, if you find your espresso warrants a snack, the display case is full of pies, biscotti, gelato and other Italian desserts. The sweets are brought in from the Little Pie Co. and Veniero's, among others-but the espresso is homemade and worth the trip.

Best Mullet-Minded barkeep

Donovan's Pub

5724 Roosevelt Ave (58th St.). Woodside, Queens.

718-429-9339

Woodside is a 15-minute subway ride from Manhattan on the 7 train so don't moan about this best bartender in New York working too far away. Chris Santangelo is worth the trip. And to those who know him he is called "The Mullet Man." His day job is as an actor and if you play a memorable role in a "Sopranos" episode, you're pretty much stuck with the Mullet Man name.

Chris Santangelo, 35, was born and raised in Woodside, Queens. He caught the acting bug and knew he had to move into Manhattan. But every Thursday through Saturday he returns to Woodside to tend bar at Donovan's. Donovan's has one of New York's best burgers for a mere six bucks. And when Santangelo is behind the stick, they have the best bartender in New York. He's funny, quick and attentive, and if you meet him once he'll remember you and what your drink is months later.

Over a cold beer we met Santangelo at Donovan's and talked about his dual careers.

"My main goal in life is to be an actor but tending bar is great because I get to watch people. I deal with all these different personalities. It pays the rent, and is entertainment and an education on human behavior."

He is good with the buyback, and he has patience and listens to every patron like a father confessor.

As we talk a regular at the bar comes over and growls, "You know the difference between a bartender and a proctologist?"

"What?"We bite at the joke.

"A proctologist only has to deal with one asshole at a time."

Santangelo goes on to tell us his fascination with acting. He teaches scene study at the Deena Levy Theatre Studio and has appeared in countless plays and has scored TV work on "Sex and the City," "Law & Order," and "Third Watch." But it never got him out of Donovan's.

He's not bitter about it. "Love Woodside," he tells us. "I think it is one of the best neighborhoods in New York, and Donovan's has been here 37 years. The people here might be crazy but they would do anything for you."

We asked about his Mullet Man nickname.

"I went into The Sopranos' casting office. They offered me a job but told me I would have to wear my hair in a mullet."

Santangelo thought he had caught a break. A spot on the hot HBO show was what he needed. It was the episode where Adriana, Chris-ta-fer's fiancée, gets whacked for turning on the mob.

"The scene is me with my mullet walking with a nagging wife and annoying kids toward a beat up car. Christopher watches me like the poor sap I am, and he realizes that if he joins Adriana in the Witness Protection Program that will be his life so she has to go."

Santangelo tells us that after the episode aired people would yell at him on the street: "Yo, Mullet Man, you got Adriana whacked."

"It was nice to be recognized for the role. The Mullet was my lucky break. I had no idea it would be such a pivotal point in a memorable episode."

Best Spot to Shun Modern Technology (OrHave It Shunned For You)

Caffe Reggio

119 MacDougal St. (betw. Bleecker St. & Minetta Lane)

212-475-9557

Opened in 1927, Macdougal Street's Caffe Reggio has a history that reads like a laundry list of prereqs for membership in the inner circle of institutional New York establishments. 1) Remain open and relatively prosperous for 75-plus years. Check. 2) Play host to literary personalities-in this case, Kerouac, Burroughs and Ginsberg. Check. 3) Secure status as New York institution by making cameo (playing self, of course) in incontestably New York movies such as Shaft, Serpico and The Godfather II. Check. Oh, yeah, and 4) Claim to have introduced cappuccino to America. (That can't hurt either.) Check plus.

However, Reggio might be the first city institution to realize that maintaining its legacy means asking its more modern-minded customers to step back in time. Plenty of spots around the city uphold (thank god) a cell phone ban to prevent the kind of hairpulling tussles that can result from hearing a woman with frosted lipstick tell her dronish beau she loves him for the umpteenth time.

But banning laptops at a café so obviously exploitative of its history as a Mecca for writers, poets and people in need of outlets for their very deep thoughts? Short of curbing the potential noise pollution caused by the call-and-response bleeps of an IM junkie, we can't see Caffe Reggio's rationale for this unofficial rule. Unless, of course, Caffe Reggio aspires to be Manhattan's version of Colonial Williamsburg, where instead of milkmaid costumes and tricorner hats, visitors are asked to don the technologically-naïve, rustic glow that surrounds those forced to dispense of their thoughts with pen and ink. The resulting tableau-the studious regular scrawling away in the corner, a young woman reading under the Caravaggio, a waiter shuttling drinks from the Garden of Capuccino Eden-is artificial. But the effect, while not quite as gratifying as a Renn Faire jousting competition, is downright vintage.

Best Chiang Yee Moment

Devon & Blakely

461 5th Ave. (40th St.)

212-684-4321

The gong show. In one of Dr. Chiang Yee's twelve Silent Traveler books-The Silent Traveler in San Francisco-he describes the art of what he calls "listening receptively."

The three sounds he never tired of hearing in that city were the mournful foghorn at Golden Gate; the ring-a-ding-ding of the cable cars (a noise meant not to sound a warning, says Yee, but to announce the arrival and departure of the cable car), and the barking of the California sea lions on Seal Rock.

We think of the dearly departed Silent Traveler whenever we find ourselves at the tossed-to-order salad bar at one of the Devon & Blakely stores on Fifth Avenue (there's another one further up). We love that moment when the keyed-up salad maker has our greens in the mixing bowl and starts the business of adding the toppings with metal tongs like a prosthetic third hand. After each pickup and throw of a new topping, a gong sounds from behind the counter as the tongs come down on the rim of the bowl to shake off any loose bits from their claws. The gong as such is merely incidental, but its rousing quality is so appealing, we can't imagine the show without it. We suspect the salad makers feel the same way, and strike their bowls slightly harder than necessary. We sometimes order one more topping just to hear the gong a final time. Dr. Yee would have understood.

Best Mexican Food, period

Don Paco Lopez Panaderia

4703 4th Ave. (Betw. 47th St. & 48th St.), Brooklyn718-492-7443

Only a special brand of masochistic curiosity would compel us to eat at so-called Mexican restaurants on this island. After all, nothing can ever be as good as our dear Mamacita's cooking; all other pretend victuals from "South of the Border" carry out an attack upon the soul, a Montezuma's Revenge upon the spirit, if you will. Thus, we roll our eyes at the very suggestion to try out the latest trendy chalupa joint or corner fonda run by disgruntled Dominicans on coke (though we must admit the highly illegal take-out margaritas are genius!).

There is only one place in the whole five boroughs that can satisfy our deeply ingrained cravings for the real thing: Sunset Park, Brooklyn. We are comforted by the knowledge that Saturday or Sunday (though, sadly, only Saturday and Sunday) we can head east over that wretched river and find a true gustatory paradise.

Don Paco Lopez Panaderia is our favorite establishment; the owner and his wife, natives of Puebla-one of the culinary capitals of Mexico-work magic into their traditional home cooking. Thanks to them we can procure our vital dose of vitamin T (tacos, torta sandwiches, tostadas, tamales, etc.), mole and other essentials such as quesadillas and huaraches (oval-shaped tortillas covered with fresh cheese and especially delicious salsa). Best of all, we can feast for under ten dollars.

Best Pizzeria Name

Pizza Cave

218 W. 72nd St. (betw. Broadway & West End Ave.)

212-874-3700

Someone get them a Teenage Caveman poster! The food's pretty good, even if their specials are decidedly overrated. (A free drink isn't a real deal unless you're pitching a 20-ouncer.) We also like how Pizza Cave continually strikes us as the only Jewish pizza establishment in town. You'll find a lot more yarmulkes than baseball caps in the joint. And be sure to try their homemade knishes!

The vegetarian pepperoni is also surprisingly good. Above all, though, Pizza Cave is really appealing because we like the idea of telling people to meet us at the Pizza Cave. Nobody in the East Village ever thought to cop a name that cool-and if they had, they'd turn the lights down too low and have a jukebox playing crappy old rock tunes way too loud.

Best game of chance involving fresh fruit

closing time at Chinatown fruit stands

Yes, we have too many bananas today. Over by the B/D Grand Street stop, aggressive and vigilant vendors watch over racks of produce broader and cheaper than anything you can scare up at your food co-op. Families from as far east as the public housing on the river come to inspect and haul home durians, papaya, purple eggplant and greens with frond-size leaves. As it gets dark, though, the lightning round begins. With cries of "One dollar! One dollar!" the stand managers unload the tropicals that won't last til morning. You can stock up on bananas for a steep discount this way-but you can also get a lot of mush. If the guy wants to stick you with ten bananas, he will. What are you going to do, throw them out?

Best Dunkin' Donuts

166 2nd Ave. (E. 11th St.)

212-533-4100

Now that reporting on city politics requires posting witty factoids every single minute (thanks again Ben!), weary reporters need a place to blog. The always-tempting combination of Internet porn and Game Cube (we're one hand each pros!) makes working at home impossible for even us sometimes. Luckily, there's free wi-fi at our favorite Dunkin' Donuts. It's 24 hours, has plenty of electrical outlets, and there's a low ratio of homeless to homed folks inside. And just when writing about the sexually charged world of talking heads, polling and dimpled chads have us ready to burst, there's a college dorm next door. At 2 am, any student body will do.

Best Oatmeal cookie

The Read Café

158 Bedford Ave. (N. 8 St.), Brooklyn

718-599-3032

We love cookies. And we've had the best in town. But there's one cookie that just blew us away. For us, this cookie is like slow-motion in a Sam Peckinpah movie-the high mark just prior to the heroic death.

But Manhattanites know not of our epic sojourn to the county of Kings to sate our kingly repast. Onward, to Billyburg and let none call this irony lest they dare to challenge the steel, yo.

Best late-night Turkish eats on Orchard Street

Kebab House II

144 Orchard St. (Rivington St.)

212-477-5200

It's a pleasure to meat cha. Lower East Side families, passers-through and dedicated late-night sots know to walk two blocks south of Bereket for fresh Turkish grub. But they barely know the half of it. One night we ordered the adana platter, a mound of meat and rice roughly the size of a half-watermelon. We asked for a chicken and lamb mix. When we got only lamb, we approached the counter. "You said nothing, brother, I hear only lamb!" Well, the lamb was as moist and densely spicy as anything we'd eaten in Istanbul, so who wants to be a prick? We sat down and started sopping up the gravy with the perforated Turkish bread they toss into every take-out order. Then the diminutive waiter appeared, squinting, sweating under his paper hat, dispensing an equally tall Mt. Chicken Adana. No hard feelings. No need to buy lunch the next two days. No going back to Bereket. Ever.

Best Milkshake at a Place You'd Never Guess Offered Milkshakes

Juan Valdez Coffee

140 E. 57th St. (Lexington Ave.)

212-421-8300

Yeah, you remember those goofy