An Ode to The Publican
In Fulton’s heart where markets hum,
There lives a spot where foodies come.
The Publican—both bold and bright,
A place that always gets it right…
(Well—almost always, to be fair,
But kindness floats through every chair.)
The booths, oh bliss! They close you in—
A cozy nook amidst...
Read MoreAn Ode to The Publican
In Fulton’s heart where markets hum,
There lives a spot where foodies come.
The Publican—both bold and bright,
A place that always gets it right…
(Well—almost always, to be fair,
But kindness floats through every chair.)
The booths, oh bliss! They close you in—
A cozy nook amidst the din.
Or gather ‘round long tables wide,
Where strangers sit and smiles abide.
A haven for your whole loud crew,
With seats for twelve and maybe two.
The menu? Witty, warm, and kind—
With plates for every taste and mind.
Pork and pickles, bread and beer,
A rustic feast awaits you here.
We hit a snag—some dishes strayed—
But Kim appeared, calm and unfrayed.
With gracious care and knowing nod,
She fixed our night (we gave a laud!).
Her kindness, like the wine, did pour,
And we’ll return forevermore.
For long before the scene got hot,
The Publican had claimed its spot.
A pioneer with charm and clout—
Still standing strong, still dishing out.
So here’s to seats and meals well-spun,
And Kim—our hero, bar to none.
To Fulton’s soul, its heart, its spark—
The Publican, a glowing mark.
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