The next time you dine out in Manhattan or Brooklyn, beware. A New Yorker writer may be surreptitiously jotting down your mannerisms and bloviations in preparation for passing judgment on you in the front pages of his rag. That's because the magazine's relatively brief food reviews often devote as much space to eavesdropping on whoever happens to be in a restaurant the same night as the critic, as to the food itself. Here are a few examples from some recent Tables for Two reviews.
Review of Morandi
It's the kind of place where you may overhear a slick almost recognizable fellow saying to a young beauty, "I want to go apple picking with you." So what if it's April?
Review of Ditch Plains
In the clientele, at least, there seems to be some correspondence to the South Fork: most, with sweaters thrown over shoulders and popped polo collars, look like they might have a summer share in the Hamptons.
Review of Trestle on Tenth
This being West Chelsea, the bar is crowded with a gaggle of gallery assistants; across the way, a young woman complains about having received a B-plus in Existentialism.
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