Kim Davis was good and thorough during his recent tour of East Village biscuit destinations, but something occurred to us: he overlooked 7-Eleven’s $1 biscuit! We asked our trusted chowhound to swallow his pride and give it a nibble. Here’s how it stacked up against the others.

Lauren Carol Smith

Ninety years ago, the New York columnist O.O. McIntyre was complaining that the Bowery wasn’t what it used to be. He detected “the faint rustle of silk.” What he couldn’t have anticipated was the faint rustle of hungry bargain-hunters unwrapping hot, steamy dollar biscuits, sold at the front counter of a spanking new 7-Eleven.

A review? Well, the biscuit tasted biscuity, thanks no doubt to the “natural butter flavor” listed along with dozens of other ingredients on the wrapper. It was more soggy than dry, its texture contrasting sharply with the springiness of the pale pork patty. “Spices,” the wrapper duly noted, and in fact I found pepper flakes in the sausage, responsible for the warm after-burn in the throat. Read more…

Clint McMahon

Good morning, East Village.

EV Grieve reports that roast-beef joint Bowery Beef is likely leaving the Bowery Poetry Club, where owner Bob Holman has taken over booking.

Flaming Pablum shares a clip of Cro-Mags vocalist John “Bloodclot” Joseph leading his tour of the East Village. Mr. Joseph promises, “It’s the only place you can hear about murders, drugs, and vegan food all on the same tour.”

According to East Village Eats, Casimir’s new owner Mario Carta has started a brunch deal that gets you bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys for $19.95.

An episode of “Let Them Talk” just posted to YouTube features playwright Juan Valenzuela recalling the glory days of the Nuyorican poetry movement. Along with Pedro Pietri, Mr. Valenzuela led the Latin Insomniacs Motorcycle Club.

Alain Levitt isn’t the only East Villager praising Café Mogador’s Moroccan eggs today. Playwright Adam Rapp, who lives on East 10th Street and is a big fan of the Juice Press that recently came to his block, tells Grub Street everything he’s eaten over the past six days, and the eggs are his “favorite breakfast.” Mr. Rapp’s latest, “Animals and Plants,” just opened at the Gershwin Hotel.

Shawn HokeA Hairless Khala dog stands outside the Westville East — one of the locations where Sarah Shanfield has violently tripped while indulging her brunch habit.

It came on quickly.

I didn’t know I was addicted; I thought I just had a lot of friends. There was that birthday “Kegs & Eggs” celebration for my roommate’s coworker. There was that friend from home that only had a few hours until her return plane ride and desperately wanted to go dine at 11 a.m. at the Boathouse Cafe, “like Carrie Bradshaw!”

And then there was that day I woke up and there happened to be five people sleeping on the floor of my apartment, and the only way to get rid of them was to promise them really good pancakes at the cute little place around the corner.

It’s a sad story, but soon after I moved here, I became addicted to brunch.

I ate so many brunches that I began to choke when I had a piece of fruit that wasn’t drizzled in lemongrass-infused balsamic honey. Friends would joke that my blood was actually just Bloody Mary mix, but after violently tripping on the outdoor tables at Westville East I realized it wasn’t Bloody Mary mix, it was just straight celery juice running through my veins.
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