It is, outwardly, not original nor superlatively striking in
any way. It is a clean, bare place with paper napkins and such waits
between courses as are unquestionably conducive to the encouragement
of philosophic, idealistic, anarchistic and aesthetic debates. But the
food is excellent, when you get it, and the atmosphere both friendly
and--let us admit frankly--inspiring. The people are interesting; they
discuss interesting things. You are comfortable, and you are
exhilarated. You see, quickly enough, why the Village could not
possibly get along without its inn; why "Polly's" is so essential a
part of its life that half the time it overlooks it. Outsiders always
know about "Polly's." But the Villager?
"'Polly's'? But _of course_ 'Polly's.'"
There it is. _Of course_ "Polly's." "Polly's" is Greenwich Village in
little; it is, in a fashion, cosmic and symbolic.
Under the Liberal Club, where "Polly's" used to be located, the "Dutch
Oven," with its capacious fireplace and wholesome meals, now holds
sway. The prices are reasonable, the food substantial and the
atmosphere comfortable, so it is a real haven of good cheer to
improvident Villagers.
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