I felt like George in the soup Nazi episode trying to order a sandwich in this joint. There was a line of about six dudes lining the right wall of the small space, while a tall counter takes up the whole left wall. Apparently when it’s your turn, you step away from the wall, announce your order to one of the guys standing about four feet above you (or so it felt) and he silently acknowledges you and whispers to another guy who makes your food. The menu is limited and the space sparse and somewhat dingy. In fact, it’s not even really evident what you’re ordering when you do get to the front of the line. And don’t ask for honey mustard, cuz they don’t have any. And know what kind of bread you want and hope they have it. It was all just a giant guessing game. I did get my turkey sandwich on a roll (with regular mustard) and it was actually pretty cheap, and relatively decent, but I’m not about to run back to the place for fear I’ll break the silent code and be cast into the giant muffin pit under Ninth Ave. [MF]
476 9th Ave.