CORRECTION: Due to an editing error, a previous version of this column misspelled the name of Neal's Deli. The column has been updated to reflect this change. The Daily Tar Heel apologizes for the error.
Sometimes you end up in a room so small it makes you question everything.
Images are brought forward of extreme poverty in the 1930s and whatever your personal interpretation of a “shanty” is and those tiny cocoons that Japanese men supposedly sleep in on business trips. We don’t get a lot of that here in America, a country that is composed of fifty states but really only uses the motto of one of them (“everything’s bigger in Texas” should be revised to “everything’s just bigger here”).
However, no matter how infrequently, there are small places in America. One of them is my 2008 two-seater Smart car. One of them is the second floor Bingham bathrooms. One of them is Neal's Deli in Carrboro.
Small places create a very specific kind of ambiance, which I like to call “romantic claustrophobia.” Cue the feeling of being able to smell everyone’s in the diner’s farts — but still being okay with it because it’s romantic.
What I ordered: