Fuck Monday Blues with French Dining

As most people who work a monotonous nine to five job where the rewards are as nonexistent as the enjoyment, Mondays are the hardest days to get through.  Coming in to an office after a relaxing weekend, or partying, club hopping from five star joint to five star joint, whatever your cup of tea may be, is not fun.  The day drags, for what seems like forever, sometimes dropping to paces a snail would find slow.

If you have ever found yourself on a Monday, watching the clock at 4:59 pm waiting for that big hand to slide over to twelve and bring the day to a momentous and triumphant end, then you might enjoy this little remedy to what most call the “Monday blues”:  The Flea Market Cafe on Avenue A in the East Village.

Now, I am not ashamed to say I have recently jumped on the social network wave and have added Groupon to my “repertoire of connection”.   I used to be cynical and think I was unique and badass for limiting my use of the FacebookTwitterFoursquareEtc craze, but I have seen the error of my ways.   On the site, searching for something to do, maybe not even with intention of buying but anything to take my mind off the wonderful work, I found this little gem of a restaurant around 3:30 PM.  The offer was eight dollars for twenty dollars worth of food.   A quick bit of Googling found me the extreme affordability of the restaurant.  I made my purchase.

As the clock ticked away , and my fingers flitted at the keyboard, I had dreams of French women smoking extended cigarettes, sipping a coffee talking about the newest literature.  It’d surely be a place I’d open my Hemingway.  Or more practice my French.  “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

Finally with the last keystroke timed perfectly, the black hands on the Staples office clock showed five and I picked up and left, almost forgetting to shut down my computer and remove all traces of my existence from the desk.  Twenty-two minutes by subway and fifty by walking, it was obviously more efficient to take the underground tube.  But being a French restaurant a certain “je ne sais quoi” overwhelmed me and I decided to walk. I took Broadway from the Financial District up to Houston and hit a hard left on Avenue A.  A couple cigarettes, and forty-five minutes later I was seated and waiting my delicious post-Monday dinner.

Sadly there were no French girls waiting to be wooed by my brief understanding of one of the romance languages, no cigarettes being smoked, I forgot it was New York and indoor smoking was restricted to private homes.  But that doesn’t take away from the restaurant.  I was sat quickly, Groupon was well received and warmly honored, and my meal was what I imagine Sophia Loren tasted like in her twenties, absolutely delicious.

So if you ever find yourself hiding by your desk on a Monday, waiting for the day to end take an evening walk to Flea Market Cafe at 131 Avenue A where there is no reservation required but I’m sure, welcomed.  Forget your sorrows of having to work office hours to pay student loans, or not getting what you expected from your college degree in a bucket of mussels in marinara sauce with french fries, a glass of wine, stuffed snails, and all the free bread you can shovel in, all for under $30 bucks (Groupon excluded).


~ by guyhamburger on June 5, 2012.

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