The Best Student Eats in New York

I don’t know about the rest of you, but back where I grew up you couldn’t take a half-hour subway ride to a secret taxidermy restaurant, a pickled herring boutique, or a hipster-filled cupcake bakery. There was no intestine-packed derma to be had, nor were there North African restaurants that doubled as belly dancing parlors and Eurotrash pickup scenes. You certainly couldn’t eat olives surrounded by zebra print at 4 a.m. and walk away with a complimentary condom and, depending on the other patrons, a reason to use it.

The culinary riches of New York are weird, endless, and exciting. But let’s face it: we’re all busy, and trips below 110th Street are sporadic at best. With this in mind, the intrepid staff of the Spectator food section has scoured New York for the most essential eats the city has to offer. —Ben Everett

Best Place to Stock Up for the End of the World

A Lower East Side haven of tradition par excellence, Russ & Daughters (179 E. Houston Street between Orchard and Allen Streets) has been selling impeccable smoked fish, pickled herring, and dried fruit since 1914. The overwhelming majority of goods in their old glass cases are preserved somehow: caviar is salted, salmon is cured, and jams are canned. All methods were originally conceived as a means to extend the finite lives of fresh foods, which makes Russ & Daughters the premier stop for stocking up for the Armageddon. And, they even do catering.

Joel Russ’ original shop geared itself towards selling a bit of the old country to the Eastern European Jews who dominated the neighborhood. The recipes and methods he imported had grown out of the climate of this notoriously frozen region and the poor fortunes of its inhabitants. Anything that could be preserved was preserved. These days, even though our modern gizmos make this task obsolete, we still laud and crave the peasant foods the store sells. The store’s continued success is testament to how rooted these tastes have become in our palates. That culinary heritage holds a special place in the heart of this city, and, lined up between Katz’s Deli and Yonah Schimmel’s Knishery down on Houston, Russ & Daughters delivers the best around. —Matthew Daniel

Best Reason to Eat Ramen for a Month

Occupying prime three-story real estate in the Meatpacking District, 5 Ninth (5 Ninth Ave., between Gansevoort and Little W. 12th Streets) bears no welcome mat and no neon sign—nor any sign, for that matter. Just keep your eyes peeled for the bouncer and you’ll know you’re at the right place. Inside, the atmosphere is understated and ultra-chic. Well-dressed diners sip well-dressed martinis at the bar as servers scurry up and down the antique wooden staircase with trays of full of culinary marvels.

Upstairs on the second floor, a warm yellow light softens the rustic wooden tables, dispelling all airs of pretension. The focus here is gnocchi, not Gucci. The menu, developed by chef Zakary Pelaccio, blends inventive Asian-influenced cuisine with high-end fare, as seen in dishes like Lobster 5 Ninth Style, served with Chinese celery and ginger beurre blanc. The food is unbelievable, and I am not one for incredulity. Gnocchi with fresh ricotta and Tuscan kale, though billed as an entrée, strikes gold as a shared appetizer, fluffy but packed with flavor. Beef with potatoes au gratin exceeds the expectations of its banal description in leaps and bounds. For dessert, warm banana bread pudding is another redefined homespun favorite, guaranteed to end in a battle of the spoons. Hands down, a 5 Ninth meal is the best bang for your buck—and since that’s a lot of buck, that’s a whole lot of bang.

On the third floor of this converted townhouse, the drinks get harder, the lights get dimmer, and the air gets smokier. Yes, it’s true—Lucky Strikers are indeed in luck inside the 5 Ninth lounge, where multi-tasking a drink and a cig is once again an art form. For a laid-back yet sultry evening of sunset cocktails, dinner, and late-night drinks, there’s no need to cavort all across town. At 5 Ninth, you can enjoy all three without even putting on your coat. —Laura Regensdorf

Best Place to Eat When Everyone Else Is Asleep

“Open all-nite”. The lady on the billboard outside says it all.

Yaffa Café (97 St. Mark’s Place) is considered the default after-hours eatery for the Gothic-Industrial scene. Yet, scattered among the black corsets, torn fishnets, and facial piercings are artists, clubbers, sex industry workers, computer programmers, NYU students, and anyone else who happens to walk by.

Like these customers who are up well past their bedtimes, Yaffa Café exudes rebellious spirit. The garish and kitschy décor including glued-on plastic fruit, tree lights, zebra- and leopard-print furniture, and sky-with-puffy-clouds wallpaper would never make it into the pages of Home and Garden, nor the respectable abodes of suburban America. Yet, surrounded by gaudy glamour and a steady industrial/house/techno-beat, young, urban creatures of the night feel right at home.

In the same spirit, the menu is an eclectic entourage of vegetarian and Mediterranean cuisine with spatterings of Asian influence—not your usual Chinese leftovers and cold pizza. In fact, Yaffa turns the midnight snack into a midnight feast, and a healthy one at that: try the Middle Eastern Platter ($5.95), a medley of spreads, dipping oils, and olives, followed by the Potato Crusted Salmon ($12.95), the Red Pesto Fettuccini ($7.95), or the all-vegetable Sunshine Burger Platter ($6.95). Ask for Yaffa’s homemade carrot dressing on the salads ($6.50), which are large enough to be meals by themselves.

Finally, remember to pick up your Yaffa Condom at the cash register on the way out. Indulging your appetites beside restless souls may result in an even later night than you expect. —Mariko Foster

Best Way to Spoil Your Dinner

Contrary to popular wisdom, the best cupcake in New York is not at Magnolia’s. Sure, this West Village bakery deserves credit for sparking the city’s cupcake craze back in 1996. Today, Magnolia’s cachet keeps tourists and those who don’t know any better standing in a line that stretches halfway up the block, poor souls.

But no, the city’s best cupcakes are at Sugar Sweet Sunshine Bakery (196 Rivington Street, near the Broadway/Delancey stop on the F train). This place is the icing on the cake of any excursion to the vibrant, arty Lower East Side. Founded last year by Debbie Weiner and former Magnolia’s employee Peggy Williams, Sugar Sweet Sunshine Bakery serves up moist cupcakes topped with ample frosting that is stiffer and more flavorful than the competition’s. They offer standard variations on the vanilla/chocolate theme, as well as pistachio, pumpkin, and—my personal favorite—lemon varieties.

The funky ’60s decor, friendly staff, and ample seating attract a diverse crowd of hipsters, Bowery locals, and waiters taking a quick sugar break from the nearby, über-hip Schiller’s. Despite the motley clientele, you can rest assured: there’s never a line. —Martina Brendel

Best Place to Eat (and Party) Like a Sheikh

Le Souk (47 Ave. B between 3rd and 4th Ave.) is like the Alhambra: the exterior is unassuming to say the least, but the inside is an intimate maze of unexpected wonders. You first enter the dining room where comforting and sensual smells from the kitchen intermingle with the fragrant smoke of hookahs from the adjacent lounge. As the night progresses, you might wander through Le Souk to discover a garden (currently covered for winter), a patio, or a bona fide tent with ottomans, belly dancing, and a Euro dance floor and bar.

According to its owners, Le Souk aims to give you “visual, oral, and tactile experiences.” Le Souk delivers all of these, but more than anything, it stands as a culinary experience of North Africa. Appetizers ($6-7) come both hot and cold. It’s hard to recommend one over the others, but a few outstanding choices are the Moroccan cigars (chicken, kafta or vegetable pastries), Tunisian Briks (phylo dough pyramid stuffed with tuna, potatoes, capers, and over-easy egg), and marinated, grilled baby octopus. Main courses ($13-18) are comprised of grilled meats (lamb chops, merguez, chicken, fish), grilled vegetables, a variety of tagines, and lamb shanks. —Tessa Angle

Best Place to Woo That Cutie From Your English Class

First dates are like Dobermans: treat them with skillful care, and they’ll be your best friend, but make the wrong move, and they’ll turn on you viciously. How to tame the beast? I don’t know about Dobermans, but wine bars are a foolproof way to woo yourself a new lover.

Bar Veloce (17 Cleveland Place, south of Spring) is an especially good bet. The sleek interior is long and narrow, with a polished wooden bar running its length. There is a good selection of Italian wines, which you can pretend to have knowledge of. And the price is right: with most wines running around $8-10 a glass, it’s affordable without looking cheap, but expensive enough that you won’t drink to the point of copping a grab right there at the bar (save that for the second date). —Ben Everett

Best Schmaltzy Midtown Deli

Tucked away on an unassuming side street in one of Midtown’s seedier areas, Ben’s Delicatessen (W. 38th St. between 6th and 7th Ave.) is one of New York City’s old-style Jewish delis. It’s a place that continues to serve up stuffed derma and pickles in today’s homogenous McWorld. You need not be a connoisseur of Jewish delicacies to appreciate Ben’s; anyone who enjoys a good pastrami sandwich will feel right at home in the chintzy ’50s-style restaurant. However, if you yearn for Jewish deli foods, Ben’s will send you on a one-way trip to seventh heaven.

Ben’s corned beef and pastrami combo is no mere sandwich—it’s an entire platter. The juiciest, smokiest pastrami this side of the old country is piled high alongside delightfully fatty corned beef, all atop a piece of rye bread. If this open-faced monster isn’t enough for you, turn your attention to the stuffed derma. For the uninitiated, stuffed derma is matzo meal, sifted flour, grated onions, salt, black pepper, paprika, and chicken fat, all stuffed into an intestine-sausage casing. When heated, the casing sweats flavor into the fillings, creating perhaps the tastiest treat ever wrapped in organ meat.

If you’re still hungry after pastrami and derma, you should be commended for your gastronomic stamina. You should also try Ben’s famous latkes. The latkes are thick wedges of pan-fried potatoes that are crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. Also remember to sample a can of celery soda—admittedly an acquired taste, but well worth acquiring.

The prices range from $7-15 a meal. This might sound steep for sandwiches, but I can guarantee that you will walk out of Ben’s with a doggy bag. —Daniel Haley

Best Place to Look Your Dinner in the Eye

After only three months, Freeman’s, a “secret” restaurant at the end of a graffiti-tagged alley off Rivington Street, has been discovered. The New Yorker ran an exposé in September, and the Times has blown its cover twice since then.

Inside Freeman’s creaky barn doors, the walls are studded with taxidermy and antlers, and mantles are decorated with branches of pine and poisonous red berries. A moose head looms over the bar, pencil tucked behind ear, awaiting your order.

The drinks menu details an array of house cocktails. A good rum swizzle is offered in place of the usual mojito, sans mint, but the East-Indian—a creamy, cognac-filled delight topped with freshly-ground nutmeg and orange peel—is the knockout. The food has the same Anglo-Saxon vibe as the Spotted Pig in the West Village, but it’s peppered with American comfort: the mac and cheese is gooey, and a piping hot artichoke dip is served with thin slices of baguette.

Last Saturday the bar was crammed with convivial types, and the wait for a table was, as the maitre d’ casually put it, “a couple of hours.” Locals knocked back one drink after another, and a trio of scantily clad 20-somethings celebrated someone’s birthday with a bottle of champagne and cheese plate garnished with rounds of bright orange squash. A middle-aged woman ordered a glass of red wine, unwound her scarf, and, with a glance at the girls, whispered to her date that this was not a strapless kind of place. —Johanna Smith