The Suburbs Invade Manhattan

Every time I walk by the Olive Garden that has gone into the new building on 6th Ave in Chelsea, I've struggled with the two animals living inside of me: the snob and the violent hater of snobs (which leads to a healthy dose of self-loathing from both sides). It makes me so sad to see the same old chain stores in Chelsea that you find in depressing strip malls in the rest of the country.

The article in this week's Dining In section of The New York Times brought up all those feelings again. Going into the Outback in Queens Center gives me a sense of nostalgia and makes me feel like I'm going home again, back to Colorado where my family is. But I just went home, literally, a couple of weeks ago: I hopped on a plane and ended up in Denver. I don't think I want one of the ugliest parts of where I'm from transplanted here. I've grown to love the portions of New York I frequent for what they are now. I never understood those who long for the days Times Square was unsafe, but now I'm beginning to get a tiny inkling.

Comments like Tim Zagat's in the article, though, make me really want him to be wrong, wrong, wrong, simply to put that snotty foodie attitude in its place. In some ways, though, I share that snotty foodie attitude. I am all ambivalence. It seems to be my natural state these days.

I think we should be subversive: Hold up the Olive Garden as the hip new place to score a table, order expansively, eat none of it, then stop by the falafel stand on the way home.