HANCO’S: YOUR VAGINA SMELLS

I had no mixed feelings about Tea Lounge on 7th Ave.: I danced on its grave (emotionally, anyway). The laptop losers hogged every square inch of usable furniture; the place was always a mess; and the service was, well—one time a disgruntled employee basically chucked my bagel at me because another customer had been unpleasant to deal with.

But wouldn’t you be if you walked in expecting a nice, relaxing cup of India’s finest, and instead were squeezed into a spot on a couch (spring shooting up and scratching the taint), trying to sip your chai latte while wedged between a breast feeder and some 40-something dude--likely her husband--browsing sections of Craigslist you didn’t ever want to know existed? Face it: Tea Lounge was a boil on the ass of South Slope.

So I was excited to see the arrival of Vietnamese sandwich joint Hanco’s. But I must say, while the food tasted ok, the front entry (Get it? The vagina?) of the store has always smelled like a strange mix of pork and poo. All. The. Time. Even at night, when the place is closed, I smell pork poo as I pass by.

I have no idea what’s going on by your backside, but Hanco’s, your main entryway soon could be attracting seagulls.

Say what you will about the Henry’s-Hanco’s dispute (sort of like the East Coast-West Coast hip-hop feud, only with baguettes), which supposedly involves turf warfare and recipe theft; I haven’t tried Henry’s yet. But I have walked by, and the front of the store smells just like it should, not like pork poo.

Who do you think wins the battle of the banh mi?

Only one sandwich in, I vote for the one whose vagina smells cleaner.

Be nice to Eric, and buy his book First Big Crush: The Down and Dirty on Making Great Wine Down Under. You know you wanna.

F The V

This advisory appeared like a glowing beacon on the 14th St. platform in Manhattan Friday night: The V train will be running less frequently! Hooray!

Among the select few things commuting Park Slopers can agree on: The V train carries with it a strange waft of piss and KFC, and only barrels into the station when you need an F train most. Get out of work late and need to make it to doggy day care before they board the pooch? A V train arrives. Got shitfaced with coworkers and realized you promised the better half you’d be home—and sober—by 9? Two empty V trains arrive in succession. Then the garbage train.

OK, so this is only for a short time (until Oct. 2), and only during rush hour, but strangely it feels as happy as finding out that FIDO will be spiking the coffee on Saturday morning or that Williamsburg hipsters are all sterile (tight pants will do that).

Fewer V trains is cause for celebration…or at least one more beer after work this week.

Be nice to Eric, and buy his book First Big Crush: The Down and Dirty on Making Great Wine Down Under. You know you wanna.

EVERYONE: MEET ERIC; ERIC: MEET EVERYONE

The latest mofo to join the FIPS whack pack = Eric.

In his v. own words: "Live in Park Slope in close proximity to the second douchiest cafe ever (Red Horse); first was Tea Lounge, RIP. Though the wine bar that's supposed to open on 6th Ave between 11th and 12th could bring some order to the universe. Have dog. Hate Union Hall (most of the time). Shop at C-Town. Might have thrown up in Lucky 13 once but I don't remember -- was years ago. Wish they'd get a decent, functioning pinball machine at Johnny Macks, which might get me off the barstool at 12th St. now and again."

Also, this dude is waaaay into wine. But not like in an onbnoxious, snooty sort of a way. He's like a Chuck Bass wine dude---except Chuck Bass is actually kind of snooty. But whatever. He digs wine and knows a lot about it--so if you invite him over for dinner, you might want to stock up on something other than $2 buck chuck.

Also, he wrote a whole book about wine: First Big Crush: The Down and Dirty on Making Great Wine Down Under.

You should go buy this book immediately, b/c gawd knows he won't be living the good life from his FIPS "salary."

Anyway.

Stay tuned for some good shit from Eric in 3...2...1