Do not use the word inexpensive. It conveys entirely the wrong sentiment. Inexpensive is a word marketing gurus spout when selling low-end versions of high-end products. It's a tool the wealthy use to determine socio-economic pecking order, to know when to sneer or raise an insouciant eyebrow, to peg poseurs striving for more than they can afford.
Inexpensive implies reduced quality.
Cheap, on the other hand, is a bargain. Getting something for less than it's worth. The hallmark of value. And a prime criterion for students in search of dinner.
All three of these restaurants, scattered conveniently across the Bay area near local campuses, proudly serve flavorful, filling and — most importantly — cheap food. Nothing inexpensive about them.
Damn, if Ricky P's Po' Boys ($5.99-8.99) doesn't just look the part. The tiny storefront on N. Fourth Street in St. Pete has barely enough parking to accommodate a lunch rush, a counter that's so close to the front door you'll likely be lining up outside, and just enough tables to tease you into thinking you'll be able to eat your sandwich in comfort. It feels exquisitely cheap.
For a po' boy joint, Ricky P's has a fairly expansive selection of non-po' sandwiches and hot dishes, including better than average gumbo based on a seriously expressive roux, beans and rice spiced by a prodigious amount of cayenne-infused andouille sausage, and the best jambalaya I've had in the Bay area. Maybe that's not saying much, considering the lack of Big Easy eateries around town, but this moist, tomatoey rice would likely compete on equal footing with non-cheap options.
Ricky P's sloppy roast beef is loaded with salty gravy that'll soak the bun by the time you get your take-out home, like a Chicago beef dip that's soaked from the inside out. Get it "ferdi"-style — with added ham and melted cheese — because, well, why not? The muffuletta is slathered in a damn fine spicy olive salad, the Cuban is typical and the cochon de lait — pulled pork topped by "cajun" slaw — is a backyard barbecue treat with almost enough juice to compete with the drippy beef sandwich.
Ricky P's eponymous traditional po' boys, although tasty, are actually the least exciting items on the menu. Stacked with lettuce and tomato and slathered in dressing, the fried shrimp or oysters are often cooked a little earlier to be ready for the lunch rush. When the seafood is fresh, hot and crunchy, the sandwiches are excellent. After a short rest in a steam tray, however, the sandwiches are merely good. Still cheap, though.
We originally wrote about Tun-Du-Ree ($3.99-7.99) several years ago, back when the little Indian take-out joint was still housed in a trailer in an empty lot near Interbay. Owner Bhava "Pat" Saravana spent a year looking for a permament spot, eventually finding one to his liking on Kennedy, between SoHo and Downtown. Gone was quaint and rustic in favor of Tun-Du-Ree's new look: vibrant, well-designed and positively chain-like. The website even has a tab for "locations." Plural.
The menu expanded as well, but on the whole the changes were more physical than culinary. Tun-Du-Ree's food is still simple, tasty and cheap.
The restaurant's heartier entrees — like vindaloo or korma — are stripped-down versions of what you'll find at your neighborhood sit-down Indian spot, flavorful enough, but without the depth. Fast food.
You're better off ordering the kinds of dishes that fast food joints do best, like Tun-Du-Ree's deep-fried samosas, the dumplings covered in a crackling-crisp shell and stuffed with deeply spiced potatoes, or spinach and cheese. Parantha — a flatbread stuffed with lentils and griddled — is flaky and rich, with an immense amount of spicy heat that works wonders with bright mint sauces.
Tun-Du-Ree's real bargains are the "snack" wraps loaded with seasoned and stewed chick peas, or the restaurant's trademark roast chicken, stacked with fresh veggies and slathered in more of that mint sauce. Those are the kinds of sandwiches that'll keep you from driving through the McD drive-through next door.
The Jerk Hut ($5.99-12.99) was always a hidden gem in Tampa's downtown business district, a dark den of flavorful foods stocked with rickety furniture and colorful characters. Then, they moved their northern location — out by USF — to a big new spot. Suddenly, that Jerk Hut has a mojito bar. Sunday brunch. Regular live music in a festive party-atmosphere.
Thankfully, the food is the same cafeteria-style Jamaican stews and curries that still make the downtown location a non-secretive secret hang-out.
At both spots, jerk is a worthy choice, the Hut's take on the classic spice rub uncompromisingly potent in both spice and herbaceous punch, conveyed by chicken that manages to be juicy and tender no matter how long it appears to have sat in a steam tray.
Venture away from the chicken and you'll find luscious oxtail stewed slowly until the bones' gelatin infuses the tender meat and veggies; curried goat coated in fragrant spices that temper the pungent meat; and stewed veggies that make you understand how Rastafarians can endure being vegetarian.
Although the $15 cover charge almost breaks the "cheap" barrier, the Sunday brunch at the Fowler location is still an incredible deal if you plan on hanging out and eating all that you can eat.
Return to the 2009 College Guides.
This article appears in Oct 22-28, 2009.