[The only thing better than posting a good entry you’ve just written, is posting a good entry you didn’t actually have to write yourself. To that end, I’ll be occasionally publishing ‘guest columns’ from friends and family looking to take over my ill-deserved soapbox. To start things off, the inimitable Colin Spoelman on so-bad-they’re-good eats:]

When I first moved to New York, my first question was, where can I find good fried chicken tenders smothered in nacho cheese? The truth is, it’s very hard to find this delectable treat. Even harder to find is a place that serves both chicken and cheese and dollar pints of beer. Now I know many of you are wondering… where, in this bitterly overpriced, food-snobbed, culinary landscape could such a place exist? The answer is, at 83rd and Amsterdam: Homer’s Malt Shop.

Homer’s not only serves Chicken and Cheese, but milkshakes, malts, fried twinkies, corn dogs and other wonderful hard-to-find items. If they served Biscuits and White Sausage Gravy, it might be perfect. (This is also nearly impossible to find in Manhattan, and folks, that white, runny dung at Cowgirl Hall of Fame is not it.) It’s a great place to sit, enjoy some deep fried chicken, and then get snooked on Rheingold.

The only downside is that it is usually littered with small children. But, this being the upperwestside, that means hot mothers in designer jeans (anything with “Humanity” “Mankind,” or “Benevolent” in the brandname) and that beautiful, “life is so overwhelming” pout on their face. Or the same face on a hot little au pair from Belarus wearing Old Navy jeans. The children can be stepped around, and it is well worth it for the afternoon drunk. In fact, I find children are far more personable when you approach them with a soaring beer-buzz. The place is not open late, so you if you’re going to get blasted, you better start early in the afternoon.

Perhaps you are thinking to yourself that sounds nasty, I don’t want to eat Nacho Cheese on Chicken. You are wrong, snob. But by way of explanation, I will detail how I came to love this culinary wonder. Growing up in darkest Appalachia, the federal government didn’t provide my high school with a cafeteria. So at lunchtime, we were “turned loose” in downtown Harlan. Which might sound awesome, except that the only places to eat were the drugstore (where the only thing I could afford was a $1.10 grilled cheese–not too filling for a growing boy on a $2 budget) or any one of a number of gas stations. My favorite place was the Kwik Mart, a BP station on the Highway 421 bypass. In order to get a satisfying lunch for two dollars, my friend Nitro and I would order chicken “planks” for $1.65 and then smother them in nacho cheese from the chili-dog cheese well. After two years of eating this everyday, I developed an addiction–an addiction that had left me suffering from crippling withdrawal symptoms, such as compromised mental function, lactose intolerance, and hairloss. But those times are behind me, and they could be behind you, too.

Please go to Homers, displace the children, ogle the nannies, and get drunk. You won’t regret it.