You know that dream, right? Or, Why I will never be asked to write a restaurant review for The New Yorker

From the Sept. 11 write-up of a place called The Little Owl:

The crowd is equally motley: Times readers in natural fibers, an interior-decorator type wearing white slacks printed with sprigs of coral. As in a scene from a weird dream, you might spy a friend from college sitting at the bar with Mandy Moore.

The review is two-thirds over before the food is mentioned. As as far as the dream ... well, I didn't go to college with Zach Braff, so it seems unlikely.

(And you know I often dream of celebs.)