Every time I step into the Grand Central Oyster Bar I feel like I’m in an old movie. The vaulted tile ceilings and décor speak of a time when rail travel was still grand,when gents wore fedoras cocked just so, and when oysters were decidedly more plentiful and cheaper. I’m not a commuter, but I like to think of it as a haven from the teeming crowds on the terminal’s upper level. A haven where I always order the same thing: a dozen mixed oysters, preferably East Coast ones, the brinier the better. (more…)
