Yesterday, after briefly stopping at a restaurant that made me sprint to the nearest wash sink to slather my hands in soap, I didn't have much of an appetite, but that all changed when I took a seat at a well-known deli and ordered a corned beef sandwich stacked with coleslaw and melted Swiss. I only ate half, which worried my server, who was sweeter than the slew of desserts the table next to me had in front of them. "Next time, honey," she said, "save yourself two bucks and just get a half sandwich." Instead, I threw down more money for a bagel and a container of smoked salmon cream cheese for breakfast.
Can you guess where I'm eating?
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