"The other day at Don Wagyu, a dramatically luxe-looking new sandwich shop in the financial district, I thought of the scene in 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' in which the young and very poor protagonist, Francie, takes pleasure in pouring coffee down the sink: 'She was richer because she had something to waste.' Sitting on a red leather-covered stool at the six-seat counter, I had just been presented with a small wooden box, tied up with a ribbon and stamped with the establishment’s logo, the head of a louche-looking steer with a cigarette dangling from its mouth. Inside were four precision-cut quadrants of a perfectly square steak sandwich, for which I would pay a hundred and eighty dollars, before tip and tax." - Hannah Goldfield
Photograph by Dolly Faibyshev for The New Yorker
