Irving Street Cafe I have a fondness for diners, especially ones situated in working/middle class neighborhoods with a self-contained quality.  These diners aren’t self-consciously retro or ironic, they just ARE.  I’ve previously made mention of a few diners here among the cyber-folds of Broke-Ass Stuart’s Goddamn Website (Art’s Cafe and

Don’t order the specials Howard’s Café is a diner in the Inner Sunset.  Remarkable? Not particularly, and that isn’t to its detriment. American diners represent comfortable familiarity with a twist of that quality us State-Siders would like to think we invented: individuality.  They’re all very much alike, but with little

                  Ye Olde Diner sign in the Inner Sunset Everything about Art’s Cafe is like the legs of a competitive swimmer: streamlined, muscular, each sinew working in harmony towards one goal, and shaved of every superfluity that might get in the way

Every week we feature a different person from the community shedding a little light on their life of brokeitude. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something about the human spirit — probably not.

Bread has long been a Broke-Ass’s friend. Yeast, flour, a lil sugar and oil and water, and you’ve got a loaf to last you around seven meals, depending on your appetite, perseverance, and depth of broke-assitude. Tempting, I know. Luckily for those of us who love a leavened loaf but

30 dollars doesn’t go too far around these parts. Assuming your routine amounts to four bucks in Muni fares, eight in a decked-out burrito, and 10 (we’re playing it low here) in alcohol, that’s like a day and a half in San Francisco. Important things like dental health, physical fitness

At an age when quantity definitely tends to trump quality in most pursuits (see: alcohol, ramen, squalid affairs with grungy musicians), the more you fill your belly with, the better, generally speaking. Who knows, as a broke-ass, when exactly you may eat again. With this in mind, I’ve started eating