Stumble Inn

11 December 2009 by Rachel Anderson Category: reviews
Tagged: , , ,   One Comment

Last Thursday New York’s only true football team, the Buffalo Bills took on the Jets north of the border. To celebrate, some Molsons and Buffalo wings, right? Well, sort of. More like buckets of Michelob Ultra and Buffalo Chicken Nachos. So we have ventured to the Upper East Side yet again for mid-week ‘cho action. We’ve eaten at Southern Hospitality, MXco and now Stumble Inn. They are all within spitting distance of each other but hey we’re working on it.

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Anyone who knows me knows that I have a weakness for a good night out at a bro bar. You know, corn-hole tossing, beer pong playing, chest bumping, Jager drinking, wannabe Frat boys. Bros. Am I attracted to bros? Hell, no. Do I like to make fun of them to their faces because they are so vain and oblivious they don’t know what’s going on? Umm…yea. Last Thursday was one of those nights. As scantily clad waitresses offered us free shots of grape vodka and booths of 20-somethings were drinking car bombs, the Nacho Collective burrowed in for an evening full of horrible nachos, bro-mockery, and Bills disappointment.

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First off, buckets of beer for $12. Sounds wonderful but when you think about it, bad, bad idea. Gross even. By the end of two buckets we weren’t really drunk just full of liquid. Next, the nacho disaster that crushed all hopes and dreams of this Western New Yorker: Buffalo Chicken Nachos. Sounds orgasmically delicious, right? I love blue cheese and I love buffalo wings and I thoroughly enjoy warm celery. So when you pile deep fried chicken strips with hot sauce on top nacho chips, that’s a total fail in my book. That’s just lazy. Hot sauce does not make something “buffalo.” Also, even if you’re going for nacho legitimacy (which at this point why bother case and point Irish Nachos) the salsa had no right to be there. Hot sauce and salsa, puke. Take a look at the chips too. I was confused. There are only a few blue and red chips and a huge amount of the yellow. Racist chip issues aside, did they run out of the colored ones? Did that have to break open a new bag of straight yellow corn?

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In the end, we couldn’t finish this mess. We did stick around for the entire game, which was heartbreaking on many levels. Dressed in my usual Sunday football best, my team’s shirt could have made an easy target for bro comments. Luckily, we ducked out and ran back to Brooklyn.

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