This space isn’t much bigger than your first York Avenue railroad apartment, and the uninterested service rivals that of the woman who weighs your laundry — by the time your order of roasted Angus is hand-carved, baptized by tongs in a beefy jus, and tucked into a baguette, you’ll have read every name on every Coke can in the soda case. But it’s that atmosphere that already makes year-old Au Jus feel like a timeless staple of the low-rent Upper East Side, where $7.95 lunch specials still exist. And besides, that’s one hell of a sandwich — so you’ll be back.
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