I Eat Because It Is Absurd

Apparently, there's a Manhattan restaurant called Tertulia, reviewed here by the Times. Sounds lovely. The name is supposedly a Spanish word for a literary or intellectual gathering -- like salon, maybe.

But we know better, don't we?

Fr. A. wishes he were in the Big Apple, just so he could mosey into Tertulia, order some tapas, and then casually ask the waiter what Athens has to do with Jerusalem. Or whether the morcilla is made with actual seed-of-the-church. And then, when that romantic couple at the back table begins to indulge in some PDA, he might mutter to a friend, "See how they love one another!"