It is of course a truism that tatooed, leather-clad, tough-as-nails
bikers
always know the best restaurants. The sight of an oil-leaking
late-Seventies Harley-Davidson parked
out front of a brasserie is
as sure an indication of quality as a Michelin star, a worn leather
jacket
hanging from a peg in the entryway is as dependable a
recommendation as a glowing review
in the New York Times,
and the sound of a bottle-breaking biker brawl in the barroom
of
a newly-opened boite is music to the ears of the gourmand
in ways that that the babble of a dozen
ecstatic restaurant critics
simply cannot match.
