Sharon Van Etten and NPR: http://www.npr.org/2010/11/08/131163999/sharon-van-etten-tiny-desk-concert
You're welcome.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Let's ... make ... a pie--an apple pie!
Tasty Habits, anyone? Weren't you there? Remember that show they did at WMUC above the South Campus Dining Hall--the night they promised "improved stage antics"? And then they delivered by tossing marshmallows into the audience halfway through the set, and because it was a very small room with way too many people it got way too hot and all the marshmallows melted and stuck to the floor/our shoes? How can you not remember that? Well, that's why I baked this apple-cranberry pie.
Actually, it was for my office Thanksgiving party (from which I'm still full, despite leaving the office five hours ago.) Yeah, those folks like their food & drink. I'm just sorry you didn't get to try my apple pie ... whoever you are. Well, you can expect me to not stop making pies or going to concerts anytime soon, so eventually our paths will cross.
Actually, it was for my office Thanksgiving party (from which I'm still full, despite leaving the office five hours ago.) Yeah, those folks like their food & drink. I'm just sorry you didn't get to try my apple pie ... whoever you are. Well, you can expect me to not stop making pies or going to concerts anytime soon, so eventually our paths will cross.
Soccer, Terps Soccer
After listening to the Maryland men's soccer team defeat the Tar Heels of UNC for the ACC tournament crown, I thought I might wax nostalgic about supporting this team throughout my four years in College Park. Well, it looks like my friend Jason had the same idea and beat me to it on his own blog (which you should definitely follow.) I, however, will post something I wrote up around this time last year (and would have posted to a blog if I'd had one)--when I took advantage of the opportunity to watch the Terps on the road in the postseason.
December 2009
So let's discuss my fanatic devotion to the Maryland Men's soccer team. Actually, that can remain just a statement of fact—no need for dissection or analysis. But, let me take you back to the origins of this peculiar affection ...
It was the second week of September 2004, about two weeks after I arrived in College Park. I read in The Diamondback (the school paper) that the university would be hosting two season-open soccer games—the first of which would be played against the number one team in the nation, St. John's. The Terrapins were ranked second in the pre-season poll. So, it took me all of a second to decide that yes, I would like to watch a match-up of the best two soccer teams in the country, for free, just a five minute walk from my dorm. A little more research led me to discover the enticing back story of this game: in the national semi-finals the season before, the Red Storm (formerly Redmen) had eliminated the Terps. So, now this high-profile game was suffused with drama, revenge, and a history of bad blood between the two sides—I had to be there.
And so, I trotted down to the track-ringed stadium that next Friday evening. I was rather early (as I often was in those days), but already a group of students perched behind the goal in an elevated box of red seats. I really didn't feel comfortable being in league with such dedicated fans just yet, so I took a seat in the front row to their left and watched the teams warm-up in the golden Indian summer evening. Soon, the chairs around me filled with spectators—mostly students, who would stand during the game to overcome the horrible line-of-sight and depth-of-field issues a seat along the end line inevitably causes. After player introductions and a tinny recording of the national anthem, the teams sprinted to their positions.
The ball at center for the Terps ... and the referee blows his whistle. The action is almost instantaneous. This game is much faster than the one I played for the last four autumns. One pass. He dribbles. Another pass. Then another into the box, to a boot already stretching out ... Shot. Goal. Right in front of me.
While cheering, I checked the clock—less than thirty seconds had elapsed. As I marveled at the brilliant passing and effortless goal—a sublime series—I already knew I was hooked. I decided to go to every home game until I graduated. And I did.
And tomorrow, I'll travel to Charlottesville, Virginia to watch them play our rival and sometime nemesis, the University of Virginia, for a spot in the semi-finals of the NCAA tournament. We won it all last year, and three years before that--I was there. So the Terrapins are something of a good team, with a good chance of winning. Judge this fandom as stupid or insane, or a waste of time and money, or just plain sad and lame. And occasionally I will agree with each of those ... maybe. But the thing is, I really don't watch TV, so let me have this.
Post Script:
On Friday December 4, we marched into the lion's den, and the team itself was chewed in its very teeth. The atmosphere was perfect at the University of Virginia, our regional rival in proximity, in recruiting, in quality of education and reputation as a premier public university, in the length of our campus mall, and (perpetually) in athletics. UMD lacks an in-state rival (Johns Hopkins providing competition only in men's lacrosse), but to the south of the Potomac we find one ready to respond in kind. So, with a College Cup berth on the line, the UVA fans brought an intense atmosphere, while their team brought an impressive national champion-calibre performance. They took an early lead and we responded well, but could not finish our scoring opportunities and went into the locker room at halftime without equalizing.
And the Maryland Crew, boisterous from the start (tailgating helps with that), moved en masse to the other side of the field to confront the Cavalier fans head on behind their net. A cheering show-down ensued. But on the field, the Terps looked flat in the second half. They gave up another goal. And then failed to connect on a penalty kick—usually a gift wrapped score. Before the final whistle, UVA scored again, to go up 3-0. The pretty much shut us up. All we could do was cheer for our demoralized players as we left the scene of the massacre in the heart of enemy territory. A perfect defeat, and I'm glad I saw it.
There you are. The NCAA tournament begins tomorrow, and the Terps (who play on Sunday) have a smooth path to the College Cup. Again, I'm still not sure why I care having graduated years ago. It has something to do with once playing soccer. But it's also about spending those fall afternoons (and chilly winter nights) mercilessly taunting goalies while watching the best soccer team in the country pull off win after win. And bus rides. And a guy named Sasho. And the fact that UMD produces soccer players that go on to have successful professional careers. Did I mention the camaraderie? The group singing? The traditions? At least Jason and Maggie get it.
Talking with Mr. Winchester
It’s not every day you meet one of your literary heroes. But for me that day was last Wednesday. And it’s even less likely that you actually correspond with said hero, and discuss with him an idea you have for a project inspired by one of his books—and receive an encouraging reply. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The author of such works as Krakatoa, The Map That Changed the World, The Professor and the Madman, Simon Winchester writes of all things I love: history, geology, travel, etc. He pursues fascinating stories—and all the tangents that emanate. Basically, he’s the (authentically) English Bill Bryson. And if I can’t be the next John McPhee, then the next Simon Winchester would surely suffice.
At the Upper East Side Barnes & Noble last week, Mr. Winchester shared with his far-too small audience, just four stories pertaining to his latest book, Atlantic: Great Sea Battles, Heroic Discoveries, Titanic Storms, and a Vast Ocean of a Million Stories. For nonfiction authors, I prefer this approach; the reading/interview format seems only appropriate for fiction writers, with their “creative process” and whatnot. Essentially, his anecdotes covered the range of stories from a vast book about a vaster ocean: from the origins of his idea to write a biography of an ocean, to the odd rituals of the Viking-descended Faroe Islanders; from the isolated island in the South Atlantic that banned Mr. Winchester from visiting, to a shipwreck and heroic rescue on the Skeleton Coast of Africa. Entertaining, and often humorous, Mr. Winchester’s stories provided a glimpse into his travels, his discursive and tangential style, and how a book eventually accumulates.
After a few less-than provocative questions, Simon Winchester took a seat for some book signing. Now, when I saw him at a reading at Washington, D.C.’s Politics and Prose bookstore several years ago, I mentioned to him that while in London I had actually seen the subject of the book, The Map That Changed the World—William Smith’s 1815 geologic map of Great Britain. It was a good talking point then, but … now I had no in.
However, besides the copy of Atlantic I bought that night, I also carried with me a copy of Krakatoa—in which Mr. Winchester chronicles the 1883 eruption, geologic origins, and historical impact of this infamous Indonesian volcano. Within a chapter on an Islamic uprising in Java in the wake of the eruption (and perhaps even initiated by the resulting turmoil), Winchester mentions the story of Eduard Douwes Dekker (no relation; none of my grandmothers were Dutch). As a colonial official in the Dutch East Indies of the 1850s, Dekker witnessed administrative corruption—in both the personalities involved and in the bureaucratic system itself. But the actual abuse and mistreatment of the natives compelled him to confront his bosses and, ultimately, to write a novel. Dekker’s Max Havelaar, with it meta-narrative structure and overt autobiographical nature, portrays what he’d seen in just three months assisting the administration of coffee plantations not far from the island that would explode decades later. His book was controversial of course, especially as it exposed the cruelties of the colonial system to an ignorant (perhaps willfully) Dutch public. Needless to say, Dekker did not become popular in Holland, though he did become one of the nation’s best writers. And eventually, Max Havelaar prompted the Dutch government to reform its colonial polices—initiatives that eventually led to Indonesian independence (which actually took until after World War II), as well as the Fair Trade movement.
Now, Simon Winchester devotes all of three pages to this story (which is a lot considering the density of information packed into his books). But I saw the potential for an entire book based on those three pages—an account of Dekker’s life, experience in Java, and influential novel. And so, I read Max Havelaar, learned more about its author, and even laid out a rough outline. And then somewhere in there I lost the will to put any effort into the project. This is not the first time this has happened. (If I ever mentioned either the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising or anything about RFK to you, these projects, just for the record, are in the same state of incompletion.) But, how often would I have the opportunity to ask the very person who inspired me for his thoughts on the project? So, I did. I mentioned my fascination with Dekker’s story, and he told me that since time and place did not allow for a proper discussion, I should send him an email. I thanked him, and left with signed books and an email to write.
In that email, I thanked for the signatures and laid out my project proposal—mentioning that my research was only preliminary and my intended audience: cool, young adults who are into being inspired to action by historical figures and their tales of creativity and self-sacrifice in order to stand up for what is right. Perhaps that’s a tad specific, but why write for someone else? And I concluded by seeking out any research leads, or even just recommendations on how a modern historian should approach/consider this era and region. And with that, I sent off my note to a rather busy man.
But a man of his word, as it turns out. He told me he responds to nearly every email that comes to him through his website, and I received a reply a just a couple days later:
Terribly exciting, right? The only thing that baffles me is why I haven’t jumped right into this project. I mean, if Simon Winchester is my audience—then why not just go write it? I don't know why, but I haven't. I don't know why. I don't know.
The author of such works as Krakatoa, The Map That Changed the World, The Professor and the Madman, Simon Winchester writes of all things I love: history, geology, travel, etc. He pursues fascinating stories—and all the tangents that emanate. Basically, he’s the (authentically) English Bill Bryson. And if I can’t be the next John McPhee, then the next Simon Winchester would surely suffice.
After a few less-than provocative questions, Simon Winchester took a seat for some book signing. Now, when I saw him at a reading at Washington, D.C.’s Politics and Prose bookstore several years ago, I mentioned to him that while in London I had actually seen the subject of the book, The Map That Changed the World—William Smith’s 1815 geologic map of Great Britain. It was a good talking point then, but … now I had no in.
Now, Simon Winchester devotes all of three pages to this story (which is a lot considering the density of information packed into his books). But I saw the potential for an entire book based on those three pages—an account of Dekker’s life, experience in Java, and influential novel. And so, I read Max Havelaar, learned more about its author, and even laid out a rough outline. And then somewhere in there I lost the will to put any effort into the project. This is not the first time this has happened. (If I ever mentioned either the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising or anything about RFK to you, these projects, just for the record, are in the same state of incompletion.) But, how often would I have the opportunity to ask the very person who inspired me for his thoughts on the project? So, I did. I mentioned my fascination with Dekker’s story, and he told me that since time and place did not allow for a proper discussion, I should send him an email. I thanked him, and left with signed books and an email to write.
In that email, I thanked for the signatures and laid out my project proposal—mentioning that my research was only preliminary and my intended audience: cool, young adults who are into being inspired to action by historical figures and their tales of creativity and self-sacrifice in order to stand up for what is right. Perhaps that’s a tad specific, but why write for someone else? And I concluded by seeking out any research leads, or even just recommendations on how a modern historian should approach/consider this era and region. And with that, I sent off my note to a rather busy man.
But a man of his word, as it turns out. He told me he responds to nearly every email that comes to him through his website, and I received a reply a just a couple days later:
It seems an admirable, fascinating - but perhaps not financially terribly rewarding - idea; and I for one would love to read such a book.
I have a friend in Leiden who is familiar with the subject and might provide some leads; and one has to assume there is a biography in Dutch, so its author, if around, would surely help you too.
But the decision you alone must make is: is it worthwhile? On all levels, that is; not just monetary. You just might find the whole thing so spiritually and intellectually fulfilling as to trump the financial risk.
Do let me know what you decide,
Simon W.
I have a friend in Leiden who is familiar with the subject and might provide some leads; and one has to assume there is a biography in Dutch, so its author, if around, would surely help you too.
But the decision you alone must make is: is it worthwhile? On all levels, that is; not just monetary. You just might find the whole thing so spiritually and intellectually fulfilling as to trump the financial risk.
Do let me know what you decide,
Simon W.
Terribly exciting, right? The only thing that baffles me is why I haven’t jumped right into this project. I mean, if Simon Winchester is my audience—then why not just go write it? I don't know why, but I haven't. I don't know why. I don't know.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Media Monday
Sitting in my office (just a few hours every couple days, as per my part-time schedule) with a widescreen monitor, I wait for a phone call. Not a specific phone call, just any. Inevitably, even on a Monday evening, someone will call inquiring about the arts organization for which I work—whether concerning ticket prices or subscriptions, or the failings of our website or program choices (as if I have any say in any of this). But until that ring, I have the entire Internet before me. And usually I peruse just a few sites regularly while catching up on bits of news, listening to music, instant messaging a friend, or watching a game or video. This time around, I came across some new bands and interesting videos I would like to share with you.
First, the music. Once again, NPR exposed me to a few songs that struck me, well, as enjoyable. Either they were just pure fun—the Smith Westerns—or had a sound and groove that I may like to emulate if I ever get around to making my own music, as is the case with Burnt Ones and Demon’s Claws. Maybe it’s just a matter of the selected songs outshining their others, but I will certainly investigate the bands themselves further.
Speaking of back catalog and further listening, NPR provided in their First Listen Series songs from an album of Bruce Springsteen songs recorded in the late Seventies but never released (until now) due to a hiatus in his career brought by on certain lawsuits. Just as with Bob Dylan, I am familiar with Springsteen’s work, but never really gave it much of a listen. And just as with Dylan’s bootleg album I mentioned a few weeks ago, these unreleased songs are a fantastic introduction to Springsteen and prompt me to listen to more of his music from this era. In these songs I was amazed to hear in the E Street Band the precursor to The Arcade Fire and other ensemble bands, as well as to learn that he wrote “Because the Night” and that only because Patti Smith was in the recording studio next to his that she got the opportunity to record this song—one of her most popular singles.
And now, the vids. Continuing with the music theme, the November 4th episode of the Colbert Report featured an interview with Elvis Costello, and closed with a duet sung by Colbert and Costello. I don’t know why, but I just like this. I do perhaps because it is an uncanny way to end the show, but also for the opportunity to see a sincere Stephen Colbert (singing!) rather than his character.
One of the sites I regularly visit while at the office, is Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Dish. Some days, the articles infuriate or intrigue me. Other days, I’m drawn to his “Mental Health Breaks” or poetic posts. Although a video, this is not meant to secure one’s mental health. Watch. Yeah, I know. Something that just has to be seen—a message that can’t effectively be conveyed any other way.
Perhaps you’re sitting in an office yourself, reading this. I hope that I may have improved upon the dull, numbing milieu weighing on your shoulders, your eyelids … Wake up! Fine, if you're so desperate, maybe Ok GO will keep you entertained:
This Too Shall Pass (Rube Goldberg version):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w
and This Too Shall Pass (marching band version):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
WTF:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12zJw9varYE
and End Love:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2fpgpanZAw
First, the music. Once again, NPR exposed me to a few songs that struck me, well, as enjoyable. Either they were just pure fun—the Smith Westerns—or had a sound and groove that I may like to emulate if I ever get around to making my own music, as is the case with Burnt Ones and Demon’s Claws. Maybe it’s just a matter of the selected songs outshining their others, but I will certainly investigate the bands themselves further.
Speaking of back catalog and further listening, NPR provided in their First Listen Series songs from an album of Bruce Springsteen songs recorded in the late Seventies but never released (until now) due to a hiatus in his career brought by on certain lawsuits. Just as with Bob Dylan, I am familiar with Springsteen’s work, but never really gave it much of a listen. And just as with Dylan’s bootleg album I mentioned a few weeks ago, these unreleased songs are a fantastic introduction to Springsteen and prompt me to listen to more of his music from this era. In these songs I was amazed to hear in the E Street Band the precursor to The Arcade Fire and other ensemble bands, as well as to learn that he wrote “Because the Night” and that only because Patti Smith was in the recording studio next to his that she got the opportunity to record this song—one of her most popular singles.
And now, the vids. Continuing with the music theme, the November 4th episode of the Colbert Report featured an interview with Elvis Costello, and closed with a duet sung by Colbert and Costello. I don’t know why, but I just like this. I do perhaps because it is an uncanny way to end the show, but also for the opportunity to see a sincere Stephen Colbert (singing!) rather than his character.
One of the sites I regularly visit while at the office, is Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Dish. Some days, the articles infuriate or intrigue me. Other days, I’m drawn to his “Mental Health Breaks” or poetic posts. Although a video, this is not meant to secure one’s mental health. Watch. Yeah, I know. Something that just has to be seen—a message that can’t effectively be conveyed any other way.
Perhaps you’re sitting in an office yourself, reading this. I hope that I may have improved upon the dull, numbing milieu weighing on your shoulders, your eyelids … Wake up! Fine, if you're so desperate, maybe Ok GO will keep you entertained:
This Too Shall Pass (Rube Goldberg version):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w
and This Too Shall Pass (marching band version):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
WTF:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12zJw9varYE
and End Love:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2fpgpanZAw
Ah! More baked goods than writing! (the usual)
This weekend, keeping with the seasonal theme to my recent cooking, I baked two decadent dishes much to the delight of my cold, hungry roommates.
First, the pumpkin cake/bars with maple cream cheese icing and topped by bacon:
 |
| Yes, that’s caramelized bacon on a cake. |
I ran across this recipe on a food blog, took one look at their photo, and decided that it had to be made. It makes a great dessert, but an even better breakfast.
Speaking of good breakfasts that can be also be a dessert, yesterday morning I whipped up a batch of apple cider donuts:
 |
| before the flip ... |
 |
| ... and after |
Please forgive the puns and misshapen results (delicious all the same, though.) Actually, a mistake from the pumpkin bars the night before—a maple cream cheese icing that turned into a vat of rich caramel—turned out to be the perfect glaze: a sweet compliment to the fresh-fried dough as well as an excellent adhesive for the minced apple topping.
 |
| Oh, look: they read the New Yorker and the Village Voice with their doughnuts. Well la-di-da ... A bit desperate to prove our Manhattan bourgeois cred, aren't we? |
While the donut holes received a cinnamon-sugar treatment right out of the oil.
Yes, that’s how we do it up in Jersey City. And this wasn’t even for guests! Just stop in for a visit and see what kind of culinary madness you’ll be served (quite possibly on our roof, winter be damned).
Friday, November 5, 2010
A Latin American interlude
It’s been a while since something food-related prompted me to write here. Let’s face it: it’s been over a week since anything inspired me to write. I mean, well, I did cook minestrone again—more tomato-y and spicy. And I cooked up a “weird” butternut squash soup, complete with fresh-baked bread (which my roommate insists I bake daily.) But none of this was really blog-worthy. Until today.
On my lunch break, I strolled a block through the rain to pick up lunch from “Latin American Restaurant.” Yes, that’s actually what it’s called. Though the name is generic, the food is not. And not only is it cheap as well, but you always leave with two-meals worth of food in your take-out bag. I’ve only been there once before, but the way my co-workers rave about the food makes me feel like I’ve been going there for years. It’s our neighborhood secret spot, and mentioning the name alone invokes a craving for filling meal (or two) of Latin soul food done right.
Now, I’ve probably mentioned that pork is my favorite meat (yes, all you vegetarians and vegans out there—I do have a favorite animal I like to consume). And I may have also mentioned that I’m particularly fond of the Latin American treatment of this meat—especially in Mexican cuisine. (Although, Italy comes very close to clinching this place in my heart with its various cured meats. And, of course, there are the multitudinous Asian takes on pork: buns, dumplings, ramen, and banh mi among them.) So, whenever I venture into a Latin eatery, I go straight to the pork, whether burritos, tacos, arepas, or just plain ol’ roast pork with rice and beans. I had had this before from “Latin American,” and even though I knew it would be a satisfying meal, I opted for a delicacy not readily available from the hot bar: mofongo.
Mofongo comes to the US via Puerto Rico, as well as the Dominican Republic, and actually traces its origins to the “fufu” of West Africa--a common dish combining a mashed starch with seasoned meat. And in this case, the mofongo combines two of my favorites: fried plantains and roast pork, cooked into a solid cake. Fantastic, right? It was. The texture of the dense banana/meat is odd initially (for those of us unaccustomed to this combo), but the taste overcomes any such qualms. Actually, to do that benefits from a hearty dose of the mystery sauce. That’s right, “mystery sauce.” To my surprise, a coffee cup accompanied my mofongo to the staff lounge. Opening the lid let escape a delicious aroma. For whatever reason, I always trust in a mystery sauce—it’s usually made with love, as well as the drippings of items cooked earlier in day. In this case, it looked as if it was ladled straight from a vat of roasted pork. Drizzle this on your mofongo—done.
Yes, this rich meal was a nice deviation from the routine, but even the experience at the restaurant was satisfying in a way. Since my order was not pre-made, I waited at the counter for ten minutes in the very midst of the hustle and bustle—with hardly a word of English spoken. Phone orders came in fast and furious, with the matron of the joint belting them out to her team of servers rushing to fill tins, cups, and bags for delivery. For whatever reason, I felt content to be immersed both a foreign language and the business of the restaurant at full lunch-rush tilt. I would have savored all this by eating at the counter, but with all the food that would have arrived on my plate … I felt it best for it to come already in its doggie bag, aka tomorrow's lunch.
On my lunch break, I strolled a block through the rain to pick up lunch from “Latin American Restaurant.” Yes, that’s actually what it’s called. Though the name is generic, the food is not. And not only is it cheap as well, but you always leave with two-meals worth of food in your take-out bag. I’ve only been there once before, but the way my co-workers rave about the food makes me feel like I’ve been going there for years. It’s our neighborhood secret spot, and mentioning the name alone invokes a craving for filling meal (or two) of Latin soul food done right.
Now, I’ve probably mentioned that pork is my favorite meat (yes, all you vegetarians and vegans out there—I do have a favorite animal I like to consume). And I may have also mentioned that I’m particularly fond of the Latin American treatment of this meat—especially in Mexican cuisine. (Although, Italy comes very close to clinching this place in my heart with its various cured meats. And, of course, there are the multitudinous Asian takes on pork: buns, dumplings, ramen, and banh mi among them.) So, whenever I venture into a Latin eatery, I go straight to the pork, whether burritos, tacos, arepas, or just plain ol’ roast pork with rice and beans. I had had this before from “Latin American,” and even though I knew it would be a satisfying meal, I opted for a delicacy not readily available from the hot bar: mofongo.
Mofongo comes to the US via Puerto Rico, as well as the Dominican Republic, and actually traces its origins to the “fufu” of West Africa--a common dish combining a mashed starch with seasoned meat. And in this case, the mofongo combines two of my favorites: fried plantains and roast pork, cooked into a solid cake. Fantastic, right? It was. The texture of the dense banana/meat is odd initially (for those of us unaccustomed to this combo), but the taste overcomes any such qualms. Actually, to do that benefits from a hearty dose of the mystery sauce. That’s right, “mystery sauce.” To my surprise, a coffee cup accompanied my mofongo to the staff lounge. Opening the lid let escape a delicious aroma. For whatever reason, I always trust in a mystery sauce—it’s usually made with love, as well as the drippings of items cooked earlier in day. In this case, it looked as if it was ladled straight from a vat of roasted pork. Drizzle this on your mofongo—done.
Yes, this rich meal was a nice deviation from the routine, but even the experience at the restaurant was satisfying in a way. Since my order was not pre-made, I waited at the counter for ten minutes in the very midst of the hustle and bustle—with hardly a word of English spoken. Phone orders came in fast and furious, with the matron of the joint belting them out to her team of servers rushing to fill tins, cups, and bags for delivery. For whatever reason, I felt content to be immersed both a foreign language and the business of the restaurant at full lunch-rush tilt. I would have savored all this by eating at the counter, but with all the food that would have arrived on my plate … I felt it best for it to come already in its doggie bag, aka tomorrow's lunch.
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