Nothing spells class like a subterranean fast food burger joint near The Port Authority. As bad as this sounds on paper, you really have to experience it in real life to get the full flavor of just how creepy it is. Unfortunately the day we were there we got the newbie behind the register. She looked as if she had been doing face first grease slides by the fryer. She was covered in condiments and slop, her hair was coming out of its sweaty bun and her ill fitting uniform was exposing her ample gut. As if the fly-strewn surroundings weren’t enough to turn my stomach, I now had to endure an eyeful of this Jonathan Winters look-a-like sloughing her orange and brown polyesters while the smell of garbage from the street above wafted throughout the windowless space. Somehow that new Chicken Whopper didn’t seem worth it. Especially after I realized that the “new” chicken sandwich was merely the old BK Broiler in disguise. It’s amazing the lengths to which humans will go to fulfill their junk food cravings. This started off as an adventure for a couple co-workers to try the Back Porch Grillers (which, by the way, were the size of a 12 point period) and ended up as a depressing trip into true American depravity. [MF]
777 8th Ave.
