NYC 2007; Three days on the cheap(ish)

Located near the Chelsea hotel. You will be hard-pressed to find a nicer place to eat a chili dog. The menu includes about 10 gourmet hot dogs offered and your choice of toppings. The usual soft drinks are on hand, but we liked the raspberry lemonade best (an exclusive to F and B's... Darn). No street meats here, the dogs here are the goods, the kind that pop when you bite into them. It was almost a shame to have ordered it with the chilli. For dessert, beignets with icing sugar complete the whole guilty-pleasure meal. The impressive decor (lunch counter by way of efficient Swedish design) changes the whole experience of noshing on kid food.

Upstairs, nice stuff for $10.00 and up. Downstairs, everything that was remaindered from upstairs at discount prices, including snarky silkscreen tees and kicks to match (Puma, Adidas, Converse, and more). Fill up your closet for a song! Highly, highly recommended.

Inside and out, Kenka has an edgy, anything- can-happen vibe to it. From the street, you can see the bustling kitchen, servers and patrons at communal tables going full steam. When we're seated, we have a better look at the wall art - Oriental chicks in bondage - and handed menus featuring same. The restaurant's house rules, which explicitly prohibit breaking plates, vomiting and masturbation make me reconsider ordering the sashimi, but we bravely move ahead. When our food arrives, our reactions are mixed. Crispy vegetable tempura is served as a patty over white rice, and is wonderful. As is the miso soup. Fried gyoza is served with this incredible sesame-curry sauce that we're licking off our fingers long after the gyoza is gone. Steamed shrimp dumplings are perfectly delightful, just skip the over-sour, soy based dip. The cold, unsalted. edamame is plunked down in front of me, straight from the restaurant fridge. The salmon sashimi is partially grilled which does little for the taste, and even less for the presentation.

All in all, it's too irresistible an experience to pass up, and we conclude that we've just ordered the wrong stuff. Our bill arrives with two tiny cups of banana powder, which we now know is for the cotton candy machine outside, and not to down like shots in front of your amused table mates. Oh well, we know for next time. And there will be a next time.