The Alcove itself is a gorgeous eatery (now paired with Big Bar), boasting some truly awesome food (the desserts are insane) and a beautiful ambiance. It is known for the lovely brick patio out front, but my favorite place to sit is inside, at the Note Table.
The Note Table is really a table with a chess board on the top of it, and it is in the back room of the place. On each side of the table, there are three drawers. In those drawers are notes. Tons and tons of notes. From strangers. Some signed, most not, some poignant, other silly. Much of it is personal. Confessional. Happy. Sad. Lustful. Angry. Observational. I love it.
I love to pour through the notes and get a story from them. A glimpse into people's worlds, however brief. I have written notes for the table before, but not in years.
The last time I left a note, I was in a place of personal turmoil. My old notes are no longer there, but I did begin to think of what I would write today. I love the secrets that others leave in these drawers, the expressions of hope, of outrage, of thought, of heartbreak, of grief, of love. And I love what came to mind, for me. I love the idea of people leaving a part of themselves, no matter how small, on a slip of paper, in a tiny drawer, in a table that most people wouldn't look twice at. I love the idea that someone might not know what to say until given the chance to say it here. Sometimes, an opening is what is needed for the right words to come. Permission, given by the other anonymous writers, to be truthful, generates some pretty awesome responses. As you can see:
This is what I love.
