I’ve just returned from a lightning visit to 3 different doctor’s offices in Manhattan, been punctured and probed and somehow ate something that made me a potential menace to people near me on the bus back upstate. Couldn’t even look at the chicken soup at dinner and was doused with ice water by a waitress on her first night on the job. Still, cheerful amateurism is better than the kind of modish, wanna be top-chef menu that made me sick mentally at lunch before it literally nauseated me later in the day. Every “special” of the day included 4 or 5 incoherently combined ingredients. So far I have missed the newest tv pop-chef horror, The Taste.