Gorilla Biscuits at CBGB’s in 1988—one of the best hardcore punk pics, taken across the street from Bowery Beef at what is now a sexy rocker men’s clothing shop. 

Cool old GB flyer:

It’s fucking hot outside. Native American summer. Anyone else thinking about the beach? Unfortunately, few of us will ever achieve the beach-style perfection of my hero above. This was taken on Plum Island, a sandbar that protects the Mass roast beef heartland, the summer after the Celtics won their 17th championship (suck it, Kobe). Every person at the beach had something green on.

Behind Plum Island are epic salt marshes that are home to the famed Ipswich mud clam. Someday we hope to sell mud clams, both fried and steamed.

Speaking of big dudes and Ipswich clams, here’s the late, great R.W. Apple on the subject: 

New England fried clams — fried soft clams, that is — were supposedly invented on July 3, 1916, by a restaurateur named Lawrence Woodman, known as Chubby. Woodman’s, in Essex, Mass., north of Boston, still serves the genuine article. In the city, Mr. White, of whom more in a moment, is considered the fried-clam king. But New Englanders often call soft clams ”Ipswich clams,” because the best ones come from the mud flats near that town, so my wife, Betsey, and I went right to the source.

A 30-minute drive northeast of Boston, the Clam Box is a gray wooden shack shaped like the cardboard container in which fried clams are traditionally served. The sign on the way into town tells you Ipswich was founded in 1634, and many of the clapboard houses look as if they were built soon afterward. In a setting like this, no one would dare to violate tradition, and Marina Aggelakis doesn’t. Known as Chickie, she has run the Clam Box for the last 20 years, lately with her son, Dimitri.

Betsey, who spent some of her childhood summers on Martha’s Vineyard, knew we had the right place the minute we got out of the car. She breathed in the soft, briny smell emanating from the Friolators inside and exclaimed, ”My youth!”

Sometimes the Clam Box, like all of its competitors, is forced by local shortages to serve clams from Maine. But we were in luck. Ours were authentic natives, dipped in evaporated milk, dredged in finely ground corn meal, fried twice in a mixture of ”animal fat” (lard?) and vegetable oil, and thoroughly drained. They emerged exactly crunchy enough, and so greaseless that after we seasoned them with some extra salt and pepper and wolfed them down, there was no oil and no smell left on our fingers.

We could have eaten a ton.

Our neighbors up the street, the Village Voice, gave Bowery Beef its first review. Critic Robert Sietsema called the sandwich “excellent.“ And he compared our staff to the movie Slackers. This is our equivalent to a 4-star review, a Zagat 29-29-29. Norman Mailer, The White Negro, started the Voice in the 50s. This crappy company New Times, based in—where else—Arizona (worst state these days) bought them out last decade. A lot of their best writers have quit or been forced out. But thankfully they still have Sietsema and Rebecca Flint Marx covering food, and Zach Baron on culture. White Negros, all.

Jeff Neumann took this pic and wrote for Gawker about Cam’s show at our preview party.  

Seattle has long-been an idea town. Take this concrete storefront that sells nothing. Brilliant.

Right after Patrick Sweetra finished calibrating the oven, Cam’ron performed. Picture by Kevin Cullin, 2:30am last Friday.

Kelly’s invented the sandwich back in 1951, starting on the beach in Revere with a small stand. Today, they have six locations. As of 2007 they grossed $40 million a year (assume that figure is higher now, given recent expansion).

This shitty map shows the North Shore, where every town has at least one beef shop.

Bill and Bob’s make a great sandwich and have been around almost as long as Kelly’s.

Salem has five or so shops, including Sammy’s. (Wiccan voice.)

Nick’s in Beverly is one of the best too. Every shop makes the sandwich in a similar way: sliced rare-ish beef, BBQ sauce and options for bun, cheese etc. 

Awesome interior—Supreme Roast Beef in Gloucester, MA. 

Supreme’s exterior.

After a sandwich you can jump off a pier…be sure to wait thirty minutes before swimming!

On the Bowery, the day of the bubble clouds, summer 2009. 

We are located at 308 Bowery, between Houston and Bleeker, and will be serving roast beef sandwiches (soon, possibly today or tomorrow), coffee, drinks and more.