I am the Foodie Buddha and I am a sheep amongst wolves. Stealthily perched behind my menu, which serves as a shield from the plastic-esque décor, my eyes see nothing but menu and the fairer sex. With Mama Buddha and my cousin with a famous backside in tow, and a handful of female neighbors onsite, I’m seated in NM Café, the
basement *cough* lower level Lenox Square Neiman Marcus eatery. If you haven’t heard of NM Café I’ll tell you that it’s Needless Markup’s culinary offering to the silver-haired blue bloods hailing from the nearby Buckhead neighborhoods.
As I sip on the underwhelming yet competent demitasse of consommé (complimentary to all who enter and sit), I can’t help but feel completely out of place. Although … I am the impetus behind this excursion, so maybe I just have a twisted sense of entertainment. What followed was one of the strangest yet oddly predictable meals of recent memory.