P.D.A. of Gays at B and H Dairy: If I were their waiter, I would have written “fagelah couple” on their bill

I eat lunch a lot at B and H Dairy, a stealth kosher luncheonette on Second Avenue, a relic leftover from the Yiddish Theater days of the neighborhood, when the East Village was the upper Lower East Side.

The food is classic Yiddish fare, and unlike its fleishig brother up the street, is cheap, which as anyone who reads this blog regularly knows, is of importance to me.

B & H attracts a diverse crowd – and its share of freaks. Today, however, a couple of gays next to me started making out while I was in the middle of my yankee bean soup.

Now what they do is their business. But there is such a thing as respecting the space.

This is not “The Cock� bar. This is an antiquated, yiddishe, milchig restaurant. Keep your fly up and your arms in front of you for twenty minutes. Show some restraint. B & H Dairy has all the flamboyancy of a bowl of vegetarian split pea soup. Do you have no concern about where you are when you do what you?

Try to respect that we are eating.