singing the praises of the automat

If you have read any Truman Capote stories, you may have heard the phrase “let’s grab lunch at the automat.” And, unless you lived in 1940s NYC, you probably had only a vague idea of what an automat was. You may have dictionaried it or even wikipedia'd it, but if you’re anything like me, you still only had a very general idea.

The automat needs to be experienced in person.

Thanks to our Japanese friends, who dispense everything via vending machine, the automat has made a comeback in NYC. OK, so there’s one. But it’s awesome. For $2 in quarters (change machine provided) you can get a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, grilled cheese, mozzarella sticks, mac & cheese, and many other items. There are a couple of things that are $3, and one that is $10 (a t-shirt). There is a 24-hour kitchen continually refilling the empty slots with fresh food, and an attached counter where you can get drinks, french fries, or ice cream if you want real human interaction. Another counter has all the condiments you could want.

At approximately 11pm Sunday night, I made my first trip to my new favorite place. I had the grilled cheese (3 perfect triangles) and the mozzarella sticks (3 big sticks, with marinara sauce). Both could be described as hella good, though not by me because I wouldn’t use such a phrase. Definitely the best instant food one can purchase while wandering the East Village at all hours.

While hanging about eating my $4 meal, one of the nice Japanese boys working the counter offered me a large order of fries for $2 (a $6.50 value!). Some drunk kid had ordered them and wandered off before they were ready. So I indulged and bought the giant paper cone full of fries. Though tasty, it was more fries than I could ever think of finishing, even with help from 4 others. Also, the 10 buckets of salt on the fries caused all of us to stop in a nearby bar for drinks.

The fries turned out to be my downfall. I was awoken from my much-needed sleep to search for some medicine to cure the kind of upset tummy that only too much greasy food can leave. If I hadn’t given in to bargain hunter’s peer pressure, I’m sure I would have been fine. And I’m sure I won’t be offered a giant serving of French fries for 1/3 the price every time I go. Oh yes, I will go again. I may be heard uttering the phrase “let’s grab lunch at the automat” like the Capote-esque NY socialite that I am.