One side effect of being newly-unattached that isn’t agreeing with me: I haven’t eaten a steak in god knows how long. I was under the impression that there wasn’t a decent steakhouse in New York City where I could a) legally obtain a table without man company, and b) order something large and rare and not send up the red flag that I’m like, a refugee from a bulimia clinic. But with this anti-Valentines service post, Cutlets proves me wrong. Although he does suggest that delicate ladies would be better off at communal tables, which I think is bad advice, but then, when I go out to dinner alone,  I actually want to be alone.