In this week's New Yorker, Robert Sullivan engages in a favorite Manhattan recreational activity: making fun of the suburbs. The posh suburbs, that is. The Ryes and Scarsdales of the world. (The real suburbswith their Olive Gardens, prefabricated houses, people who feed their kids spaghetti from a can, and ubiquitous Gapsare never funny.) "Hob Nob"a sort of poor man's Greenwichis an hour and half from Grand Central by Metro North, but 15 minutes by car service. The city has a "real history," a small downtown area, the requisite farmer named Bob, and who knows, maybe even a Toyota dealership so the "poor" people can buy cars.
If you're thinking of living in... [New Yorker]