I love everything about eating meat—the heft of it in my
mouth, sinking my teeth into it, savoring the fat on my tongue, licking
bones, sucking marrow. But I have a confession: Some mornings I wake up
with a singular, primal hunger that can only be satisfied by, of all
things, vegan breakfast from the Globe. On these mornings, my
first waking thought is of the Globe’s generous servings of yellow corn
grits, spicy garlicky collard greens, grilled tofu, and the cutest,
densest brown biscuit, all smothered in a magical, flavorful gravy.
(This gravy, which I would happily eat from a trough every day, is a
triumph of meatless cooking.)
The other morning I was distressed to find that the majority of the
Globe’s menu has disappeared. The chalkboard now lists maybe a quarter
of its old items, and white butcher paper covers everything on the menu
above the counter besides the beverages. The Globe is always busy and
the wait is always long, but the owner told me that these days the
kitchen is simply unable to efficiently fill all the orders and keep
customers happy. To keep up, they’re no longer grilling and
sautéing food to order. It’s an unfortunate situation, but I
admire the Globe’s smart approach to making things work. The food is as
delicious as ever.
The owner is looking to sell the Globe, in business since 1989, to
someone who will maintain its menu and tradition. I hope he finds the
right buyer, because the thought of the Globe meeting the same fate as
the Gravity Bar and the Green Cat is horrifying. And I don’t even like
vegan food. 
