Weeks ago, we were in midtown Manhattan doing one of our watch strolls when I decided I wanted to take a break, just grab a quick bite or something, before we continued our midday walk. So we decided to duck into a local deli and grab, well, whatever. Enticed by a sign that said "buffet $7 pound," we walked over and surmised we might have been a bit late.
Oh, well! So we walked over and decided to take a seat; it was busy but thankful there were a few nice seats left for us:
For some odd reason, my wife suddenly decided she wasn't hungry at all. So we grabbed a couple of sodas and sat and slurped away. Mine had sort of a European note: Flat, not too much flavor, and a stale bouquet that, well...
For some other odd reason, my wife grabbed her coat and said right out loud, "Let's get the fuck outta here." I've always considered myself lucky to live in NYC, especially for its fine dining. Of course, this particular deli was perfectly named. See you there in case you guys ever visit!
