We met at the cafe
On the corner down the street
I knew it was her favorite
Her favorite place to eat.
A crowd had quickly gathered
Formed a line around the block
I never understood it
The food smelled like old sweat socks.
The hipsters from Manhattan
Drove their Beamers and Range Rovers
Parked them on the street
Where it was safe, a few blocks over.
Entrees were quite pricey
The menu short and sweet
No chance to get a burger
Or a decent piece of meat.
Limited dining tables
The place was rather small
I sat near an open window
With my back against the wall.
The conversations noted
Bout the Hamptons and their beaches
The parties and their cocktails
All their marvelous, summer peaches.
The rich and the entitled
Quite young, yet powerful
They ordered from the menu
I thought the food was horrible.
Written up in GOURMET
All the foodie magazines
The special for today
A plate of Peppered Greek Sardines.
A fried bologna sandwich
With a plate of tangerines
A Pig Tail soup with vegetables
And a bowl of salad greens.
I opted for the sandwich
She had frog’s legs , broiled not fried
I couldn’t watch her eat them
It made me almost want to cry.
The bill was 90 dollars
Was it worth an hour’s drive?
I didn’t comprehend it
Thought the price was way too high!
They put on their sun glasses
Sweaters draped cross their shoulders
Wore their slacks above their ankles
And their Prada leather loafers.
I was wearing an old t-shirt
My sneakers and my jeans
Should’a gone for Mexican
Had some rice with refried beans.
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Image: Google Images.
lovenlosses 