Chariots of Chow<br />

As the grotesque, green-backed Godzilla that is the 25-Dollar Martini stomps towards the streets of Manhattan ($23.95 at The Algonquin already smashes its fist through that wall with tippage, but only if you ask for Hendricks), I've been looking into ways of raising a fighting fund to take on the beast. Who needs Le Bernardin (apart from me) when you can save change at the chariots of chow that are New York's food-vending carts. Some are forces for good, many have something of the night about them, one sells only cup-cakes and the flavoured few are the recipients of the "Vendy" awards, dished-out at an annual bun-fight in Queens.

Those happy few often attract the flattery of impostors setting-up cart across the street in hopes of being mistaken for the echte-cart so it's important always to join the longest line and then order as loudly as possible what everybody else is having. I lost my vendy virginity in full public view on the corner of 46th and 6th with Moshe. It was messy and I got a lot of his hot sauce down the front of my shirt but on the whole the experience was one I can whole-heartedly recommend to any intending visitors to the city of Gotham. It's not necessary to dress for such a dinner of course although a Sou'wester would be ideal - the remnants of crispy, just-fried felafel, salad, pitta bread and additional sesame-sauce could be easily hosed-off post-prandially.

Take also a shooting-stick for the wait at The Jamaican Dutchy (51st and 7th) for the jerkiest of jerk chicken – the service is without jerks of any kind though and the stick could come in handy if the complete absence of the manic speed of most Cartesians drives you round the bend. At a cart-with-no-name at 61st and Madison – not exactly "these mean streets," I know - they griddle butterflied chicken breasts that need no more adornment than a smear of tzatziki and a pinch of salt to get you through the gates of vendy heaven. Other celestial residents include the Famous Halal Guys (53rd and 6th) and SoHo's Calexico Cart (at Worcester and Prince).

Sabretts' hot dog carts provide the grey-goo of NY's street-eats scene and for $2 you can feed yourself ... colourfully. The sarcophagous of cheapest white "bread" doesn't seem to be made of flour but manages the job of containing the TV-presenter-orange cadaver. This is itself adorned with either "regular" onions –according to a local chum, "traditionally simmered in urine for 20 days" – or the same "in sauce," a liquid of an even brighter hue than the "wiener" and which has a flavour I haven't come across before. Not in food, anyway. Final annointing with a vinegarry yellow streak completes the guilty picture and you're good to get down and dirty in the streets.