I knew about Gringo prices, but this was on a different scale. "Thirty-one dollars," the waitress said. Her long earrings swung as she punched the cash register. "What?" It's not as if I expected to eat cheap just because I was seven stops out on the L. But I expected to eat reasonably. Thirty-one dollars is a feast for two at Chinese in Manhattan. How could it
equal eight fried shrimp and dog-food	(not a review of this book)

"Pina colada, seven dollars," she said. Of course I had forgotten about the drinks. But the pina colada had been rancid. And small.

"El Presidente, three dollars." My brother nodded next to me. He knew what was cheap. We had come in forty-five minutes before and asked for menus. This was our first mistake. It's best, coming into a real Dominican restaurant, with plastic covers on the tablecloths and perpetual Christmas lights, to know what you want.

"Shrimp, thirteen dollars"--I nodded; I had been stupid for ordering that. Breaded shrimp--white-boy food. I hemmed and hawed over it, too; I asked her what shrimp dish she thought was good, changed my mind a few times. Meanwhile my brother was asking if "Fried goast" meant "fried goat."

"Pepper steak, eight dollars."

"Wait. No. That said six on the menu," my brother said.

She looked at us. When we came in, she had been sitting with her boyfriend at a rowdy table--the only occupied table in the place--drinking beer from wine glasses and singing along with Tejano pop songs including a Spanish version of that Fugee-fied "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You." She smiled at us with a little bit of pity.

"Oh, yes, but this is the old menu," she said, patting it, atop the stack next to her. "This menu is seven years old. The prices are different now."

When we got outside, I looked at the awning. Indoors it had been Camate Restaurant, 200 Knickerbocker Ave., betw. Jefferson St. and Troutman St., 218/366-6538, open 7am to 2am.

Outside it said "El Jarro"--the pitcher.

"We just got fed a jarro of bullshit," I told my brother.

"I have like fifty cents--you think I can get a coffee in here?" he asked, pointing to the nearby bodega.

As it turned out, he had thirty-five cents, and he couldn't.