Signing Off: New York City Rejects Potty Vibe

By Mitch Broder

New Yorkers this year took a stand against eating a Chinese novelty food while sitting in a urinal.

I am so proud.

Kung Fu Bing, at 189 East Houston Street, posted a notice reading “Store Is Temporary Closed For Restructuring,” which, loosely translated, means “If You Liked Our Food, Feast on Your Memories.” All that was left inside were mirrors, counters, tables — and plastic chairs reminiscent of the more contemporary tinkling stations, such as the Toto Toilets Model UT104E#01 Low Consumption Compact with Integral Trap.

The restaurant, another notice explained, had been there to introduce “a unique integration of Asian flavor in the form of a sandwich. ‘Bing’ means ‘pancake’ in Chinese and is the heart of our concept and the secret of our success.”

The statement concluded with the hope that the bing would become “as popular as the ‘taco’ from Mexico, the ‘pizza’ from Italy, and the ‘naan’ from India,” though not the “hot dog” from Coney.

It’s not working out. Before closing after its brief stay in the East Village, Kung Fu Bing closed after a brief stay in Chinatown.

The failures may be partly related to the food. Online comments range from “Oily, gummy yet crispy” to “Greasy, nasty sauce, weird meat. One of the worst things I’ve ever tried.”

But maybe the failures are also related to the unappetizing chairs. If I had found bings before they bombed, I would have avoided them on the grounds of toilet seats.

Fast-food establishments, of course, are known for accommodations that encourage fast feeding — but they usually make at least a passing attempt at camouflaging them.

In any case, seating comfort rarely figures in dining reviews. I don’t get it. My butt aches enough as it is without paying to make it ache more.

Vintage New York believes that ninety percent of New York City restaurant seats could use a cushion.

The Primeburger Coffee Shop: Have Lunch With Some Tomatoes

By Mitch Broder

Among the best scenes for meeting chicks in Manhattan are the lounges, the clubs, the cafés, and that old place where you eat in a high chair.

The chicks you meet there may live in Argentina, but I never promised a lasting relationship.

The place is The Primeburger, whose menu attraction is the Primeburger, but whose main attraction is its portrayal of 1965. It has barely changed since its renovation that year, which is why it still has the high chairs, which I personally see as airplane seats, which doesn’t make them any less humbling.

The seats are in three-sided nooks. The nooks have two seats in each side and an end table in each corner. They’re like little living rooms. When you sit, your waiter locks you in with a swiveling fake-walnut tray. When food is on it, you can’t get up. Neither can the chicks.

I recently had four Argentinian chicks in my living room (not including the women above). They were tourists, as many Primeburger patrons are. We were sitting there facing each other. They had to at least smile at me. Fortunately for them, I was more interested in 1965.

The Primeburger began as part of a chain called Hamburg Heaven. The store opened in ’42 and became The Primeburger in ’65. The current owners bought it in ’76 and decided that one renovation was enough. That has helped them survive, not that it’s hurt to be across from St. Patrick’s.

The walnut Formica walls are original. The blond Formica counters are original. The black perforated conical midcentury-modern light fixtures are original. The mechanical change-maker is original, the burger broilers are original, and at least one waiter is, too, though they all wear white coats with “The Primeburger” embroidered on them, so they will all look original.

Most of all, the seats are original — and rare, if not unique. People wait to sit in them, because the people who are already in them tend to stay there. “I take pictures all day long,” says the co-manager Michael Di Miceli. “We get people in here on their first day in New York, and they come back the whole week.”

So there might be time for a lasting relationship, though I’m not looking. I chatted a bit with my chicks and sent them packing to Argentina.

Of course, you may not even get chicks. Your may get four men in black suits, which is what replaced my chicks. But then, that could be just what you’re looking for.

Make friends at The Primeburger, at 5 East 51st Street, between Madison and Fifth avenues, in Manhattan.