I feel a little cheated, but don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. One of the things I have always felt supremely confident was entirely ours and enough so that no one else would even mess with it (think pork rinds and chitterlings) was beef jerky. I mean, I thought it was just understood that it belonged to us. Well, we have been bested.

I discovered the New Beef King three or four years ago, and I love it so much I have kept it to myself like a silly little schoolgirl. It is situated exactly on the edges of Chinatown and Little Italy (89 Bayard Street) in New York City, and it offers nothing but jerky and, dammit, it's so outstanding I can't stand it.

The choices are limited to beef and pork in different degrees of heat and wetness...yes, I wrote, "wetness." The texture is perfect: dried to the perfect point where it is chewy, but not like leather. My recommendation is Wet-Spicy Pork. It is bundled in plastic sandwich bags and tied with a twist, perfect for wandering around and snacking. Go there. Get it. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you.