I don’t know much about women’s shoes. Ok, I’ll go out on a limb and say I know nothing about women’s shoes. As soon as that Carrie Bradshaw asshole on Sex in the City starting blathering about Manolo Fuckface, I somehow managed to blot her out and hate that show even more than I did the minute before. That said, it seems to me (seems) that the women I see in Dishes have an entirely superior overall breed of footwear than I see in my other lunch-y places around Midtown East. I don’t know if it’s because the dramatic, high-gloss white walls and pale green accents set off a pair of pumps in such a way that a dusty tile floor at the Pret down the street doesn’t, or because the clientele here is just higher class and more masochistic when it comes to foot pain. Or it could be the giant pricey salad bar and $12 sandwiches. I honestly stayed away from this location for quite a while, as it always looked packed, and the dudes in there all tucked in their shirts and clearly didn’t buy their shoes on Zappos. I was classed out. But after wandering the neighborhood for several minutes one day and finding nothing that would satisfy that 2:30 pit in my stomach, I found the place relatively deserted. So I wandered over to the counter and ordered some crazy-ass grilled sandwich. The people watching was nice for the first five minutes, less pleasant for the next five, and downright aggravating for the next couple. I looked over at the dude making my sandwich and being one of one people standing there, I gave him my best “what the fuck?!” look. Clearly they had burned out and were slacking after the lunch onslaught–or else their pressini machine was on the fritz. Whatever the case, I was crazed enough to stab the dude with that avocado-covered knife. And, finally, after some small talk about how much it sucks working in a sandwich place, he handed over my smoked turkey and avocado on a bagel the size of a spare tire. I got it back to the office after maxing out my Visa and tore into it like a raptor in a nursery. Sweet Jesus those folks at Dishes can make a sandwich. Salty outside, just the right amount of smoky and gooey inside and all sorts of filling equals a 9.50 (plus tax) sorta well spent. Though, next time I know I should wear my patent leather Pumas and give those biatches the what for. [MF]
399 Park Ave. (at 54th St.)
212/421-5511
dishestogo.com
