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First things first. What this place lacks in an easy-to-pronounce name (roughly translated, it means "King's Feast") it more than makes up for in crazy piles of polish meat and cheap, tasty beer. The last time I was there I ate something called a "Hungarian pancake" — spiced red meat in some kind of fried dough shell — and put spreadable fats on bread, all while gazing into the eyes of former Polish kings, whose portraits decorate the walls. Perfect.
694 Manhattan Avenue