When I have time for a lunch or coffee break in the middle of my work day and no errands to complete, I often find myself gravitating towards Grand Central, especially in cold weather. I inevitably end up stalking up and down the market aisle, doing the food equivalent of window shopping; looking and looking and staring excessively and maybe drooling a little bit but hardly ever buying, because these foods are too perfect to be consumed, and everything in Grand Central Market is perfect. The breads and baked goods, the shiny fruit, the fresh pasta in delicate coils, the glistening fish on ice. If food were art, this would be The Met. 

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