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]
320 Park Ave.