usually, i go along with most of what e.asimov gives
out, so i traipsed to this macdougal street bistro for
saturday dinner. it is pretty, and the waiters are
friendly, but only one wine by the glass, a
questionable montepulciano? and lamb with such tendon
that the knife sprung back in horror? passion fruit
puree with tiny puff pastry circles kept my temper in
check, but i still had to go next door to dante for a
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