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(image ganked from here)
Deli Marche was our deli across the street. I say 'was' here because it closed down last week.
One of the times I'm most amused about the skewed New York perspective is when my relatives come to town — whenever we're going to a museum or the theater and I pull them past the deli because it's not Ethiopian or dumplings or artisian ice cream, at which point someone has to say, 'That deli is amazing! It has fresh fruit! It has several pasta selections! It has sushi! Why don't you go there all the time?'
Deli Marche had all those things, and it always had chewy ginger candy and wheat thins, two obviously necessary items for hard-working publishing employees.
What fate awaits us now?
We'll just have to go to the deli two doors down. . . .