I was in Cambridge yesterday, scouting banks to rob, and I got hungry. I decided to go to Crema Cafe. I’ve been there before. Is it not the best? It is. (Also: do you not love the amazing Bostonian fashion that is going on in this photo? Or the huge snow piles reflected in the window? Talk about February perfection.)
But when I got inside Crema there was a UGE line (go figure), and it looked like no where to sit, on either level. Plus, everyone who is eating or latte-ing in Crema always appears to me to be a professor of some type, and/or an eighteen-year-old genius, and it’s very disheartening at times—all that tweed, and the scarves; and open books on top of open books on top of sketch-pads. (So much high-lighting; so much talk about current events; so many lap-tops.) But I was craving tomato soup and a grilled cheese, and I figured I’d sit on the floor if I had to. But then I didn’t move in line, and I stared over-heating in my seven layers. Then I remembered I have no money. So I got back on the lovely T, went home, and ate a tuna sandwich.
I shall attempt to go again soon.
Happy Boston Thursday.