New York City is a menu addict's nirvana. On every block, tiny eatery storefronts entice, silently beckoning with their folded paper food lists dangling suggestively from handy lucite bins. One need not speak to a waiter or fear a maitre d's hard sell; picking up a delivery menu for future reference is par for the course in this restaurant-ridden metropolis. Once collected, the newcomer is integrated into a tactile ritual of retrieving the pile from the kitchen and sorting through endless choices while the stomach patiently stands by.My personal inability to stoically pass by an outdoor menu display is surely tied to my equally ardent loves for home delivery and interesting food. Who wouldn't be wooed by the ability to have a cobb salad, chicken tikki masala, or bagel-egg-and-cheese brought directly to their door? Especially when that door is predicated by sixty-four steep marble steps?
New York only furthers what initially started as merely a casual interest in menu-reviewing: while traveling around the world I often heard Bryan sigh as I stopped at each potential lunch or dinner spot to peruse the dishes. I like to see the way chefs describe their dishes; I like to compare prices; I even like the visual selections of paper and font.
I'm certainly not the first to ponder their menu collection habit. Like-minded folks have devised filing systems like this and this; even large Internet companies have noted the trend and commented. I've also learned that menuism runs in the family and that my dad, a frequenter of this fair city, also troubles his spouse with spasmodic stops along the streets to peer at written offerings in a window or to pick up yet another to-go tome.
Me, I'm thinking of laminating my growing collection and wallpapering the kitchen with the results. Or learning origami. Or eating really, really well for the next 365 days.
Stand by to place your order.
stars, they're just like allyson @ 10:03 AM
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