My feet tapping against the leg of the small mahogany table, I check my phone to see if there are any text messages. Nope, nothing. My guest should be on time, I'm just early.

Looking around the café, I'm glad this place was picked. I'm sitting in the middle of The Purple Hare, a rustic and inviting mahogany infused restaurant in the middle of Chelsea. Packed to the brim with drunk and merry locals clad in wintry garb, the woody and earthy ambience mixed with the smell of ...