You'd think the market was already totally glutted with frozen treats. Let's see, we've got zillions of fro-yo parlors, peddling supposedly light and healthy frozen yogurt; old-fashioned ice cream places; vegan "ice cream" destinations; Tofutti and its imitators, whatever the hell it's actually made of; places that sell newfangled popsicle-type thingees; frozen-custard concessions; Mister Softee trucks and their Big Gay Imitators; authentic Italian gelaterias up the wazoo; and New Orleans icee stores -- though the sole purveyor of that substance disappeared mysteriously just as "winter" set in last year. Is there room for another frozen product?

Last evening my review of Kutsher's Tribeca appeared, and it was pretty damn positive. I loved the pastrami -- both flat and deckle -- and ate the flanken with gusto. I even loved the gefilte fish, which is normally not my cup of tea. Little was I to know my opinion would unleash one of the best pieces of hate mail it has ever been my privilege to receive. I reproduce it here with the name of the sender expunged, in case he wrote it in haste and might later regret it.

Though M. Wells, the Long Island City diner, is now a memory, some of its traditions live on. One is the making of rustic Quebec seasonal pies come holiday time. These were at one time one of the more spectacular entrées on the M. Wells menu. Part of the fun was the unpredictable combination of meat they contained. Another was the perfect, sculptured pastry that enfolded them.

Freelance journalist and former Cosmo online columnist Lauren Otis has put together an extensive catalog for complex.com called "The Complete History of Restaurants Featured on Curb Your Enthusiam," and boy is it a doozy! In a project that must have taken nearly 80 hours, she watched every episode, and kept careful track of how many included scenes in restaurants. She then identified the restaurants, giving name, address, website, episode it appeared in, and a brief synopsis of the action.

We like to think of ourselves as the most sophisticated diners who ever lived, but, really, we've been outclassed previously in several areas of gustatory endeavor. One of them is silverware. While we're content to shovel the food down with a knife, fork, and spoon, or sometimes with nothing more than a plastic fork, previous generations took their flatware seriously.

The currywurst is deliciously junky, composed of a good-quality pork and veal sausage smothered in the mysterious curry sauce, which tastes to me like equal parts ketchup, barbecue sauce and Japanese curry. Other sausages are equally good. I especially liked the skinny, darkly spiced merguez.

Click the clickity above to read the full review.

Wechsler's Currywurst & Bratwurst
120 First Avenue, no phone