Rimsky-Korsakoffee House, an iconic 40-year-old cafe inside a Victorian in the Buckman neighborhood, embodies a certain tired interpretation about the oddness of the city it calls home. Three mechanical tables on the ground floor famously rotate, or rise up and down, or shake randomly just for kicks. (The official story, of course, is that the place is haunted.) The bathroom features mannequin parts dangling from the ceiling and sitting in a kayak; more than once, I’ve heard an uninitiated guest’s startled scream upon entering. Diners are encouraged to leave notes and ephemera underneath the glass tabletops, which now hold histories of relationships and discoveries and declarations that “I was
→ Continue reading at Eater