Home Bistro: Excerpt

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Thank God for eating out, it makes eating in such a pleasure.  After a long day’s work, do I dream of a long night’s wait elbow-to-belly in a packed restaurant bar? Eardrums shattered by the din of compulsory conviviality, wallets depleted, and tongue shriveled by the touted house wine? No, fellow worker, dreamer, eater, compadre. I dream of a tiny island of quiet where I call the shots, arrange the pleasures, create the events, and afterward fall into bed instead of a taxi. In this dream kingdom the simplest bowl of pasta, with say a little lemon and cream and maybe some asparagus, reeks of eros and agape because from creation to consummation I am the master of its fate. This fosters the illusion that I’m the master of my own. And I’ll drink to that, with a bottle of sparkling Reisling at a third of the price demanded by my local bistro.”

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