Despite the fact all humans are Homo sapiens, I often find myself surprised that I share even an iota of chromosomal similarity to those around me. That guy in the suit with slicked back hair? The dude in the open-neck Gucci getup? That Amazonian chick dripping in cosmetics and hundred-dollar-an-ounce stink? I just want a beer and a good plate of fries. What are they looking for? And do they actually expect to find it here amongst the other human tragedies? To my utter surprise I did find that beer and some sort of okay appetizer or other, and even got to enjoy it in a nice outdoor space overlooking what I can only assume is Bryant Park. I got particular joy in looking back to see some giant publishing hag wearing shoes that cost more than my college education drooling over our table. That’s right; sweat it out, biatch! Needless to say, this isn’t normally my kind of place, but the atmosphere in my little friend-bubble was actually quite pleasant. It was a little uncomfortable watching some dude’s face turn pink and then red and then purple as he stood in the heat, refusing to loosen his tie, but that’s what you get when you sell what little soul you have to count money for a living. [MF]
25 W 40th St.
212/840-6500
bryantparkgrillnyc.com
