I’ve been ogling blow-ups of Dunkin’ Donuts new waffle breakfast sandwich since they started appearing around town, even though I was certain it was bound to be a let-down. I’m not knocking Dunkin’ out of sheer snack snobbery. After-school sojourns to the drive-thru for creamy-sweet coffees are what got me hooked on caffeine back in high school. But the donuts and breakfast sandwiches always had a slightly stale taste, like dashed expectations thrown in a microwave. This morning though, on day eleven of the cold from hell, my resistance crumbled and I found myself standing in a Dunkin Donuts, ordering a #8 combo–a waffle sandwich with medium coffee ($3.99).

The 410-calorie count made sense as I tore the paper away, revealing a sandwich no bigger than my palm, flattened between two slightly-soggy waffles. On the plus side, the waffles were subtly sweetened with maple, the bacon was actually crispy on the edges, the eggs were not nearly as rubbery as I’ve had in many a fast-food breakfast sandwich, and the American cheese was–well, orange and inoffensive. By the time I was finished I felt a surprisingly satisfied. I have to admit, in a pinch or far from Manhattan, I’d order this again.

Seriouseats.com does a side-by-side comparison of the Dunkin’ waffle sandwich and the McGriddle.

Dunkin Donuts 166 2nd Ave – open 24 hours

After a hard day’s night of bar-hopping, one bite of Crif Dog’s “chihuahua,” a smoked, deep-fried hot dog wrapped in bacon and topped with avocado and sour cream, practically made my face explode with happiness. A below-street-level dude’s hangout replete with 80s arcade games Millipede and Spy Hunter, sports on TV, and the smell of waffle fries lingering on the air, Crif Dogs is just the late-night spot to hit up when a dog smothered with fried egg and cheese is the best idea you’ve ever heard of. But even for a quick snack, these aint half bad if you don’t care about blowing your diet all to hell. Just be sure to try a one that’s spiraled in bacon, which adds a crisp, salty kick to whatever creative combination of toppings you can dream up. If you’re used to Gray’s Papaya prices, be prepared for sticker shock, as these dogs range from $2.75 to $5.00, but the toppings are generous and really make the whole experience.

Note the sliding wooden door on the left wall when you’re walking in, and the window behind the counter through which orders seem to disappear. Next door is speakeasy-themed lounge PDT, an upscale spot for masterful cocktails where you can order food from Crif Dogs. It’s a strange juxtaposition but worth checking out.

Crif Dogs/PDT
113 Saint Marks Place between First Avenue and Avenue A
Sun-Mon: 12pm-12am Tue-Thu: 12pm-2am Fri-Sat: 12pm-4am

I washed up at Joe’s Pizza for the first time four years ago, after I’d been suckered into going to Misshapes. (As we pushed into the party and I saw a barely-twenty-year-old girl with Weimar-era makeup and a sculptural Isabella Blow-ish hat/mask covering half her face I understood why the doorman had looked at our outfits and pronounced us tragic). The thing about feeling ridiculously old and unfashionable at 25 is that you still have the stamina to drink and dance all night, or at least until you feel start feeling pretty good. Still, certain worries edge this pleasant little mood you’ve blundered into–it’s so late, I’m so hungry, everything is closed, I’m so hungry, where the hell am I going to eat?

Joe’s Pizza at 4 am glows like a molten cheese bubble in the strange afterhours dark of the closed-down city. A glittering, laughing, sweating, exhausted cross-section of nightlife clings to this oasis, and spills onto the waiting sidewalk, held upright by booze and the smell of baking pizza. Unlike pizzeria of the moment, Artichoke, whose counter people serve with a slowness that seems lackadaisical or sadistic, depending on how hungry you are, the service at Joe’s is brisk. Orders are asked with a glance as a fresh pie is spun into slices that are scooped, drooping onto paper plates exchanged for cash–fast, fast, fast. If you’re lucky enough to snag a fresh mozzarella slice right from the oven ($2.75), go for it. The regular slice ($2.50) is good too, with sweet tomato sauce, the right balance of cheese and a thin, chewy crust that’s got a teeny bit of burnt crispness. The crust, however does not hold up for long, so the slices are best eaten HOT and immediately–and if you happen in at a slower time, it’s worth the wait for a fresh pie. There’s little to no seating to be had, but there’s benches in Father Demo Park across the street.

Since that evening Joe’s has been my go-to spot when I’m in the area at some unseemly hour, looking for a little comfort at the tail-end of a long night.

Joe’s Pizza 7 Carmine Street Open every day 9 am – 5 am

Update 3/18/09: Kossar’s is no longer open 24 hours. See hours below.
I never tasted a bialy before I lived in New York City. Even in New York these cousins to the more-mainstream bagel are hard to come by. Try to find a good one and most likely, you’ll end up standing at a certain spot on Grand Street, where trendy Lower East Side melds with Chinatown and overlooks a grim shoreline of projects. Here stands Kossar’s Bialys, the remaining stronghold of downtown’s vanished bialy-baking industry.

Inside it seems like little has changed since they opened seventy years ago. Behind a simple counter stand a few wire racks piled with warm bialys, bagels and bulkas. Across a powdery floor, trays of dough placed in tall racks await their turn in the brick oven, whose depths are plumbed by a lone baker with a pole. Seating consists of a bench outside, with an old guy already sitting on it.

But atmosphere isn’t the point–this place is all about bialys. While bagels are boiled rior to baking, rendering their crusts hard and shiny and their innards dense, bialys are simply baked, leaving them lighter and airier, but still chewy and delicious. Instead of a center hole they have a dimple filled with sweet chopped onion. Kossar’s doesn’t toast, so if you do so at home you’ll find even more flavor unleashed, especially with a thin layer of cream cheese or butter spread over top. If you haven’t been for a while, steel yourself for sticker shock–the price of a bialy has skyrocketed from sixty to ninety cents since the halcyon days of 2006. Don’t tell them but I’d probably pay more.

Snack spots, even good ones, come and go quickly in this hood, and I don’t tend to get too attached (witness, if you will, the Chase Bank that was once the venerable Second Avenue Deli). Although the reflex sentiment toward gentrification is dismay, I don’t think shrugging off the past is necessarily a bad thing (now scheduled for demolition/cries of protest–the funeral pyre-ish tower of bedraggled toys on Sixth Street and Avenue B–good fucking riddance). But, ye Manhattan gods! Leave us Kossar’s Bialys! Someone make this a designated landmark of snack before it’s too late!

(shot of the Tower of Toys on East Sixth Street)

Kossar’s Bialys 367 Grand Street at Essex Street. Sun-Thurs 6am-8pm. Fri 6am – 2pm. Closed Saturday. REPEAT: Closed Saturday!! If you forget and head down on a Saturday, don’t worry. Doughnut Plant is a couple doors down, and is worth a visit.

The pizza at Alligator Lounge is an unexplainable phenomenon of budget snacking. I can’t quite figure out how it’s free. Well, it’s not exactly free–you must purchase one drink, at about $5 a pop, to get a free pizza ticket. If you want toppings, it’ll be $2 for the first and $1 for each additional. But assuming you don’t, in about ten minutes you’ll have a piping-hot 12-inch pie to accompany your beer at a cost of zero dollars (except possibly a tip for your pizza guy).

How is it possible? Because the pizza actually isn’t terrible. True, it tastes better after several beers. And you might want to blot the grease with several napkins and go heavy on the crushed red pepper and oregano to give it some extra taste. Better yet, you might want to carry along your own personal pizza spice-rack for just this situation. But if you spice it up just right and be sure to eat it fast before the cheese congeals–this is the miracle of which I speak.

The kitschy-tropical ambiance is bearable, to a point: potted palms and bamboo shades, flamingos and rainbow lights, a decent digital jukebox, pool table, and inevitably, crowds. Alligator lounge may not be the main attraction for your night, but it’s a good late-night hunger fix (open until 3:30 am), or a place to get the party started before moving on to some serious drinking at Spuyten Duyvil.

If you don’t feel like hopping the L, there’s even an East Village outpost. And if you can handle two pizzas, you get another free one with your second drink.

Brooklyn: Alligator Lounge, 600 Metropolitan Ave. at Lorimer St. Open Daily 3pm-4am

East Village: Crocodile Lounge 325 E 14th St. at First Avenue Open Daily 12pm-4am