As I walked through the rain-soaked gates of Bleu Garten, it was impossible not to feel like I was back in my middle school lunch room.
Searching for an open table as popped-collar bros clutching local brews gave me the once over while women who’d never give me the time of day eye-rolled as I sauntered past, there I was, the oldest and fattest dude in a sea of perfect So6ix readers. I must’ve turned around and almost left three or four times, the constant crashing of oversized Jenga pieces rattling my nerves like a skittish dog.