A friend of mine recommended that we check out Levain Bakery. It wasn't too far away from our trek to the museum, so I dragged my parents through the Upper West Side, trying desperately to find it. Tucked away in a stairwell, a veritable hole-in-the-wall, we walked down the steps and entered the bakery equivalent of the TARDIS. (It was much bigger on the inside.) The whole place smelled of coffee and chocolate and hopes and dreams. Levain Bakery only sells four kinds of cookies. It's a deceptively simple business model. Granted, those cookies will run you four bucks a pop. When my dad started to grumble about the price, I told him to give the cookies a chance. So he did, and we followed suit, and all of our apprehensions melted away at the same rate as the warm cookies melted into our mouths. "This must be what heaven tastes like," I thought to myself.
I don't think my life will be the same ever again.