I once had a bowling date at an alley called Frames in Manhattan. I arrived first, and stood outside waiting for my date. While standing there, anxiously awaiting his arrival, I considered how much of a cafone I’d look like if he showed up to me eating a slice of pizza with the bouncer.
I thought about a little too much while longingly staring at the pizzeria across the street. He showed up ten minutes later, thank God, and made the decision for me.
“So I got the low-down about the food at this place,” I said, as we walked down the lobby of the building toward the elevator. “Apparently there’s a restaurant inside of the bowling alley. But you can also order food directly to your alley. The catch is that you can only order finger food – which I vote we do – because it’s supposed to be amazing.”
“Is it?” he asked, amused with my little bit of detective work.