I have never believed in love at first sight, or the epicurial equivalent of it (love at first bite?) My brain just doesn’t work that way – it likes to take its sweet time in deciding how it feels about something. Rand and I dated for years before I realized exactly how much I liked…
– I am a sucker for good barbecue. There isn’t a lot of it in Washington, at least not in Seattle. I suppose it’s so cold and grey here that no one wants to stand outside next to a smoker for several hours. Or maybe it’s because there are a lot of folks out there…
If you have had a rough night (or perhaps several of them in a row) and you find yourself in Northern Liberties, in Philadelphia, I suggest you go to Honey’s Sit-N-Eat for breakfast. –
Rand is currently out of town (he left on Sunday morning, and he’ll be back tonight). His absence makes me nervous, because when he is not around, it means that I am alone. Now, that wouldn’t be a problem except for this: I should not be left alone, ever. Being alone means that I am…
– I arrived at Oyster House long after the lunch rush, which is one of the advantages of traveling eastward – by the time you are hungry, everyone else has eaten. It came recommend to me by our friend Nora, with whom we were staying. “It’s really good,” she said. “And don’t worry – they have…
– When I was a kid, my family went out to eat approximately never. My mother will tell you that it was out of frugality, because my family was broke (not in a depressing, Charles-Dickens sort of way, but a charming and somewhat hilarious let’s-throw-a-blanket-over-the-kids-so-we-don’t-have-to-pay-for-them-at-the-Drive-In kind of way). I’m sure our reluctance to eat out…
Rand had read about Buttercloud Bakery online, and decided we needed to go there for breakfast. This might have caused me to squeal a little bit. – I like having breakfasts at bakeries. I like having practically any meal at a bakery. Hell, I’m beginning to think that maybe we should have gotten married at…
– I have a foggy recollection from many, many years ago. It was back when I was working with Rand (yeah … that happened), and we went to get lunch at a convenience store. God, there are so many problems with that last sentence, but the important take-away is this: I once voluntarily ate a convenience store…
I will probably forget the name of the brunch place we went to in Marais. I’ve forgotten it three times already, each and every time you told it to me, until you finally emailed me with the message “Don’t lose me.” – You meant the restaurant name, of course, but somehow I read it as…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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