By day, we talk a good game, all in the know about the latest in haute cuisine. But when the lights go down and the jet-set are out for an evening of fine china and whine lists, some of us slink off in search for something a little more, er... reasonable. Sometimes we just want to go to a place where we are not compelled to count the wait staff's piercings -- a place Uncle Carl and Aunt Mae would've taken us as a kid, to slide the tray on the friendly rails picking up nice hunks of baked fish and sweet slaw and golly-day the most normal tasting macaroni & cheese you ever did eat, and one of those yummy cornsticks shaped like a real gosh-darned ear of the stuff -- where you won't run into everyone and your ex-lover, so you can just wash it down with a coupla cartons of chocolate moo. God bless the Marimont.
