“Whatever kind of diner food you’re into is going to be delicious—and also enormous.”
Scarlett Johansson is priming me on what to order at the Ritz Diner, a 60-year-old institution in her Upper East Side neighborhood. She’s just walked in wearing bulky circumaural headphones, a plush turquoise turtleneck, and an old Yankees cap, and we’re sitting in a small booth by a window with the blinds closed. Today may technically still be in the midst of a dreary New York winter, but this buoyant mid-March afternoon—the temperature inching toward 60 degrees, the sun brightly shining—is signaling the beginning of spring. Before ordering a turkey sandwich on rye, Johansson suggests a change in the season will do us all some good: “It’s such a weird time.”
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