<!--smart_paging_filter-->I am, for better or for worse, a creature of habit—and nowhere in my life is it more pronounced than in my restaurant-going behavior. When I'm not eating for work (frequent dining out being an occupational hazard for a food editor), I tend to rotate among a handful of favorite spots. Most Saturday mornings I wind up at <a href="http://www.jackswifefreda.com/"><span class="s1">Jack's Wife Freda</span></a>, a great little restaurant with wood-framed windows looking out over Lafayette Street in Soho, my favorite neighborhood in New York for brunch-time people watching. And most of the time, I order the exact same thing: a coffee, a mint lemonade, and a flawlessly lemony, olive-y <a href="http://instagram.com/p/c2bmpRsDfr/"><span class="s1">kale Greek salad</span></a>. It had never really occurred to me to stray from the tried-and-true, until one day when my husband Jim and I showed up a few hours later than our usual routine arrival time—closer to dinner than lunch, really—and I was handed, for the first time, a menu with a list of cocktails on it.
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