Tonight is my first foray into NYC’s Restaurant Week 2007, a magical time when many of the City’s higher-end eating establishments throw open their doors to the unwashed masses by offering “reasonably priced” $35 prix fix dinner menus. Like most everything else in New York that initially seems like a good bargain, participants in the yearly event usually ends up feeling conned. Diners expecting to be served the same haute cuisine as their better heeled brethren who eat in such places the remaining 51 weeks of the year are in for a disappointment, as numerous testimonials to mediocre food and surly service abound.
Nevertheless there are some notable bright spots in the City’s firmament during this dark week, one of which is the upscale Indian joint Devi. Legions of happy Restaurant Week veterans rave about the quality of the food and superiority of the service. I’ll let you know how it goes. I have a deep aversion to eating anywhere where dinner costs more than what I could make an hour as a contract attorney. I’ve always felt that one of the things I like about New York, one of the things that make the rest of this urban cesspool worth living in is the fact that two people can eat delicious meals from every ethnic cuisine in the world for less than the cost of an alternate side of the street parking ticket. I find no need to suffer through the theatrical sighs of snotty waiters and the hype and incessant marketing of celebrity chefs when one of the best lunches you can find in New York can be purchased from a lady selling chicken tamales out of a cooler on Atlantic Avenue. However, I’ll stow my rabble-rousing because tonight is Mrs. Patriot’s birthday and she likes to put on the fancy every now and then. And I do like Indian food, even Indian food that costs more than the annual salary of most Indians...
Nevertheless there are some notable bright spots in the City’s firmament during this dark week, one of which is the upscale Indian joint Devi. Legions of happy Restaurant Week veterans rave about the quality of the food and superiority of the service. I’ll let you know how it goes. I have a deep aversion to eating anywhere where dinner costs more than what I could make an hour as a contract attorney. I’ve always felt that one of the things I like about New York, one of the things that make the rest of this urban cesspool worth living in is the fact that two people can eat delicious meals from every ethnic cuisine in the world for less than the cost of an alternate side of the street parking ticket. I find no need to suffer through the theatrical sighs of snotty waiters and the hype and incessant marketing of celebrity chefs when one of the best lunches you can find in New York can be purchased from a lady selling chicken tamales out of a cooler on Atlantic Avenue. However, I’ll stow my rabble-rousing because tonight is Mrs. Patriot’s birthday and she likes to put on the fancy every now and then. And I do like Indian food, even Indian food that costs more than the annual salary of most Indians...
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