There was a time when my profession required me to don ill-fitting business-casual attire and commute 45 minutes on a packed train, then be locked in a windowless conference room creating "deliverables" for hours on end, where I was often doomed to the dreaded working lunch, blindly taking down a brown-bagged sandwich or a soggy dish from whatever nearby restaurant was delivering. In those days, a real lunch hour — as opposed to a business lunch, an hours-long eating orgy on someone else's tab that I rarely got to enjoy — represented the chance to trudge a couple of blocks in hideously uncomfortable shoes, sit down in a restaurant chosen for its value and ability to deliver a satisfactory dish in fifteen minutes, and briefly pretend the... More >>>