Did you know that Harvest has outdoor fire pits? Me neither. Until last night, that is.
I'm a Tap House girl; always have been, but I'm not sure how long I will be. Don't get me wrong, Tap is a lot of fun and I very much like the fact that it's socially acceptable for me to get wine even if it's past 1 on a Saturday (cough, Smoke's). But I pledged to aim for firsts last week and I'm keeping my word.
The fire pits are Harvest are small, but they also don't make your face feel like it's going to burn off quite the way that Tap's pits do. The patio is protected from the street by a row of trees so you can't SABS, but it's also cool if you hang there in your gym clothes as I am wont to do. And the wine—oh don't get me started on the wine—the wine is c–h–e–a–p and the list is so large, you feel like you're getting something classy even if you order the shittiest thing on the menu.
Three–plus years into this adventure we call college, I don't totally hate having a quiet night here and there. And god knows I need a glass of wine more than ever. Harvest is a perfect fit.
The one thing that going to Harvest leaves me wondering is why doesn't anyone else come here? It seems to me like "people" (jury is out on who these "people" are) decided early on that Harvest was lame and then, in turn, it became kinda lame. But it's not lame and it's right in front of our faces. Harvest suffers the same fate as that shoe store on 40th Street and Penne—we've got our subconscious blinders on every time we walk past it. This scares me. What other great little gems do I ignore because someone one time told me I shouldn't care about them?
Sorry, Harvest, for judging you by your tree–lined cover. Now that I've lounged by your very appropriately–sized fire ottomans, I've also learned how nice and warm it can be to open my eyes to what's right in front of me. See you at the bar.
