– My husband is a beer snob. It’s something I find quite endearing. The guy rarely touches wine, and ignores most liquors (with the exception of scotch because it’s scotch. It’s basically like drinking a campfire, i.e., amazing), but he’s somewhat of a fanatic for beer.
– The other day, I was lamenting to myself (and by extension, to my long-suffering husband) about the death of wonderment in my adult years. How there were now so many known variables in our lives, so many answered questions. There were very few decisions to make. Very little was new. “I just remember high…
– We first arrived at Bushman’s Kloof in the late afternoon. It had been an absurdly hot day, and the sun was now inching back towards the horizon. It was the sort of weather that makes you swear that you will never eat anything again that isn’t presented to you in popsicle form. Still, when…
– I’m having a brief moment of wakefulness right now. I haven’t had too many of those as of late. I’ve gone through the last few days in the fog of jetlag, waking up at 4 in the morning and crashing (heavily) around 7 or 8pm. My body and my brain are making it painfully…
(Note: I just got back from South Africa yesterday. My brain has absolutely ZERO idea what time it is. I contemplated blogging last night, but I was deliriously tired, and acting slightly more crazy than normal. At one point, I may have fallen over my husband in the kitchen because I wanted to bite his…
Before we dined there, we had trouble discerning what Blue’s Egg was. The menu was eclectic and high-brow, but the setting (in a small strip mall) suggested a casual diner. – In truth, it was both – that blissful mix of homey and familiar, strange and exotic. Plus, there were cookies topped with bacon.
– Do you ever have moments of extreme clarity? I’m not referring to those times when the skies above you are cloud free, or when your skin is looking absent of blemishes, almost to the point of vulnerability. No. I live in Seattle, and I eat lots of cake. My clarity does not manifest itself…
– After my brain surgery, I had trouble accepting that I was unchanged. “Do I seem different?” I would ask Rand, time and again. “No,” he’d reply. “Baby, you are exactly the same.” And I’d stare at my reflection in the mirror, at my steroid-induced moonface, and say, “But I look different.” “It’s not how…
– I’d never heard the term “skinflint” before visiting Dublin. Truth be told, it sounds rather dirty. Like, “Did you hear about Janine? She caught skinflint while riding on the subway.” Or, “I’ve heard he’s done a lot of things in the past that he’s not proud of. Like, you know … skinflint.” Or, “Be…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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