A wonderful piece by Mallory Ortberg at The Toast. Read the whole thing.
Little Park, 85 W. Broadway: The server would not accommodate my request to eat my meal while lashed to the pine tree outside. He lacks wildness in his soul, this server. I sat instead in a chair, which is only the memory of a tree. For dinner I drank nectar and crumbled a little bit of corn mush into the mug of fresh goat’s milk I carry with me. I was my own master, and no man tried to stop me when I left. Four stars.
Root & Bone, 200 E. 3rd St: I grow weary of this life of hotels and chatter and shoe-horns and turn-keys. It was my hope that in its very name, Root & Bone could return me to the solider things in life. “I wish only for the simplest roots,” I told my waitress, “and the merest sliver of bone. I have brought my own marrow knife – a man’s hands. They will suffice.” I received what I asked for. Five stars. I wish to be buried in the heart of a star.
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