I know a good greasy spoon when I see one, and I didn't see one here. But if your idea of low-rent lunch counter Elysium is eating an overflowing plateload of oddly-sauced poutine and a drearily-assembled steamie on a dirty countertop without a napkin dispenser in sight while ultraconservative American religious programming blares from the overhead television, you're gonna love this place. Restroom looked like CBGB's must have in the seventies. My lasting impression is that they've stopped giving a damn. Bon apétit.