Rach, it turns out, is your lover, your daddy, that irritating media omnivore in the alley. That is to say, a donut pusher. The gallery of projected donut dishes is pretty good, but the attention to detail is awesome. The powdered donut w/ mixed greens is good, but the styling of the shot is so much better. The napkins torn from the hem of one of Goldie Hawn's Laugh-In costumes? Good, but not quite as good as the flatware, which appears to be stolen from one of those dungeons Finnair maintains for its VIP customers.
In other news, the food police are on the move in NYC again. Angels and Kings opened this past weekend. The East Village location, the involvement of that guy from Fall Out Boy, the pro-bathroom sex policy, the Kalashnikov nickname thing, the discussion board, the Goonies resets, the insistence that it is a non-pretentious spot where rock stars can just, you know, hang, have forced the Manhattan Department of Consumer Protection to demand that AK-47 be shuttered and reopened under the name Summer's Eve.*
*If the "lesbian night" does not immediately manifest itself as the biggest sausage fest this side of Milwaukee, I will personally eat Billie Jean King's tennis racquet.
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