by Mike Sula
Crank alert: This Wednesday is the night people who don't go out to dinner go out to dinner. Starry-eyed lovers will fill every fine dining room in the land, straining the resources of chefs and waitstaff to deliver the individual excellence they're getting paid for. (Why do you think restaurants offer all those prix fixe menus? Because they're standardized and easy.) Can there be a more deflating way for sweethearts convinced of the divine singularity of their union than to share it with a roomful of people convinced of the divine singularity of theirs?
Depending on how you answer that question you can see where to go--or where to avoid--in this week's restaurant listings.
Me, I think a real act of confidence would be to linger solo over that $125 "aphrodisiac tapas" menu at Ambria, maybe perusing a copy of Love for Sale: A World History of Prostitution.