Waiting for Funny Nurse on this slightly chilly Friday morning outside Clark’s in Brooklyn Heights, I was appalled and yet amazed at the frequency of children walking by stuffing their faces with plain, untoasted, whole bagels.  As I’m normally not in the mood to eat at places swarming with straight people and their spawn, I was ready with my repertoire of snide looks and uncomfortable glances.  Yet I have to admit to being a bit impressed by these parents’ ingenuity: Shove carbs down your kids throat, and they can’t talk.  Two birds.  Had I stumbled onto something new, something distinctly New York?  Or is this solution already obvious to everyone?

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Luckily, I didn’t have to contemplate the mind-blowing revelation long, as FN showed up only a few minutes later – fresh out of bed.  We were quickly seated at one of the Henry St-adjacent two person tables.  Not long after we begun our usual conversation about bodily functions, my meal arrived: grapefruit, potato hash, broccoli and cheddar egg white omelet, toast, a coffee, and a shot of orange juice.  And I do mean a shot.  It seemed to be a mix of fresh squeezed and Tang.  45 minutes later we’d completed what I hoped to be the first in a long series of breakfasts.


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