The Reason They're Called MENus

Last week, City Councilman Simcha Felder proposed legislation to ban menus, fliers and circulars from being distributed to homes and buildings with signs that say they don't want them. Many of our readers loved the idea, but doubted it would be enforceable.

Reporter Jeff Vandam examines the dietary pyramid of New York's single men in The New York Times yesterday, and shows that said pyramid is constructed with a giant stack of delivery menus. The peripatetic author, who is about to occupy his eighth apartment in five years, is clearly not hauling a lot of cooking equipment from borough to borough. But the proposed ban on unsolicited menus has Vandam's friends fear for his ability to forage for food on his own, and perhaps are afraid that he will just be dropping by for dinner at their places too often. An intimate look at the dining habits of New York City's unattached:

Take, for example, “24” night. Once a week, my friend Barney and I position ourselves in front of his abnormally large plasma television shortly before 9 p.m., the time when Jack Bauer appears on screen and resumes his quest to vanquish all foes of the United States. Before we can watch the show, the menus, which Barney keeps in a secret compartment in his battleship-shaped coffee table, make their appearance.

Such options as jointly whipping up some penne arrabbiata or a quiche are not discussed. Instead, the debate over which restaurant to call is long and characterized by intense conversational jousting, typically ending in this fashion:

BARNEY: Chinese?

ME: Fine.

(What's for supper?, by Listen Missy at flickr)