The low point of a recent trip to NYC, even lower than the bout of vomiting, was a visit to Tavern on the Green. None of us had been before, and after a few hours of chasing Ben around animal models and dioramas, we thought it would be nice to sit down and eat. What a mistake.
The garish decor didn’t bother me as much as the tour buses. The menu was exhorbitant. The food was not great, especially the limp pickled lettuce they tried to push off as salad. The seats were not comfy, and the place had a host of parasitic mini-businesses (photos, giftshops, etc.)
I remember sitting, tired, at a wedged dining table, surrounded by glass windows and bauble-encrusted Christmas trees, and tourists. I realized how we must have looked to the waitstaff – another clueless tourist clump, complete with overtired toddler, to be fleeced and discharged.
Now Ben never talks about the trees. He remembers Rohit, Smruti, George, and the big BLOO WHALE, which are among the best the city will ever have to offer.