By Amy Franklin It's one of those rare but perfect summer nights when, for at least a few hours, it actually does feel like the livin' is easy. It's hot but not oppressive. And I need something to wet my whistle. It isn't a speakeasy, but from the first time I followed my friend Chuck through the ... More >>
Two years. Two years, one month and 23 days, to be specific. That's how long it's been since my favorite neighborhood restaurant closed. Oh, sure; others have stepped in to capably fill the void. But nothing will ever quite measure up to the restaurant that's dearly departed.