![]() ![]() The menu charmed me, and as a result, my night, and my life, bent off on a different track. Clement Street was just a few blocks away. At the bottom, there was a phone number and the promise of quick delivery. In either case, the menu was compact: available was the Spicy Soup or a Spicy Sandwich or a Combo (double spicy), all of which, the menu explained, were vegetarian.Īt the top, the restaurant’s name was written in humongous, exuberant letters: CLEMENT STREET SOUP AND SOURDOUGH. The words were written in a dark, confident script-actually, two scripts: each dish was described once using the alphabet I recognized and again using one I didn’t, vaguely Cyrillic-seeming with a profusion of dots and curling connectors. My nightly ration of Slurry waited within.īut the menu intrigued me. I was just home from work and my face felt brittle from stress-this wasn’t unusual-and I would not normally have been interested in anything unfamiliar. ![]() IT WOULD HAVE BEEN nutritive gel for dinner, same as always, if I had not discovered stuck to my apartment’s front door a paper menu advertising the newly expanded delivery service of a neighborhood restaurant. ![]()
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