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To call this place a
cafe is a bit of a stretch. It is in fact just a higher end sandwich
joint with the usual smattering of continental cuisine and made-to-order
salads. Though, now that I think about it, what the hell is a cafe?
Dictionary.com defines it as... well, who gives a fuck what some dumb
website says; I say it's not a cafe and I'm the king 'round this place.
And, in this case, the king demanded a chicken sandwich on a nice
roll with roasted red pepper and onion. The thing wasn't brought to
me on a silver platter or served by a jester in some Lady Gaga nonsensical
getup, but it was damn tasty. Granted, this wasn't pheasant under
glass, foie gras tourine or that fancy Jell-O with the fruit floating
in it that WASPy people from Connecticut eat. It's the same damn grub
I tend to order from each and every lunch place on this survey, but
like a couple dollars more expensive. So, Daddy Warbucks, roll your
Bentley up to the glass doors of this fine eating establishment, send
Jeeves in with a tenner and tell him to be a good boy and score you
some fine Midtown grub. [MF]
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