We escaped from our chilly afternoon shopping into L'Orange Bleue. Warmly lit and stacked with emotion filled paintings of faces, the venue would do. Though we set ourselves aside in the corner, the drafts from the door proved too brutal. We transitioned to the benched seating.
I sipped cava, he dipped into bourbon and coke. Our server donned a fedora, the room filled with gorgeously spiced clams, calamari and bread. A lovely little spot. The catch? The bathrooms. The floors were knee deep in toilet paper, the toilet paper in the stalls was dispensed from a broom and the paper towels? Swapped for toilet paper on an otherwise empty table. Classy.images: my iPhone
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