We don’t even know how you found all those fife-playing Revolutionary War reenactors.
Anyway, you must be famished.
Here, have a pot pie.
And check out County, a low-slung barn of random deliciousness, now open in Flatiron.
You’re coming here to eat. Not for a date. Not to watch the game. Just to eat. Some of what you’ll eat is American (ale-braised short ribs, smoked-chicken pot pie). Some’s not (Swedish meatballs). Some... kind of, maybe (braised-pork-belly brûlée).
You could also be coming here to pick up some ridiculously overthought grocery-type provisions, too. See, those chicken coops to your left, just as you walked in: they’re full of artisanal jams, wines and olive oils for you to take home.
But let’s say you’re hungry now. The day is done. You’ve been meaning to get out with a few coworkers. This is the place. Actually, one of those large, six-person tables just beyond the bar—that’s the place, specifically. Sit there. Over-order. Repeat.
Or let’s say the day hasn’t even started yet. Pretty soon, you’ll be coming here for morning coffee- or tea-cocktails and croissant-monsieurs.
It’s about time your coffee grew a pair.