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. –
– 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…
– Do you remember when Rand and I went to an island resort in the Great Barrier Reef, and it was wonderful and all, but the food was so expensive that I nearly passed out while simultaneously evacuating my bowels? But then my body kicked in and said: WE CANNOT AFFORD TO LEAVE ANY NUTRIENTS…
– 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…
– The other day, I was talking to a lovely young man named Eli. We had a thoroughly engrossing conversation, which is only slightly alarming in hindsight, because I am fairly certain that Eli was born in, like, 1989, and by then I’d been on the planet for almost a decade. People born in 1989…
Many months ago, I wrote a post about the wonders of Bavarian food. I didn’t spend a lot of time fixating on dessert, which shows you just how darn good the sausages and breaded meat and dumplings of Southern Germany are (parenthetically, all of those dishes sound like euphemisms). A few folks told me that…
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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