As I was wandering through Lourmarin, a ridiculously charming Provencal town where a bustling Friday-morning market was in full swing--the fresh breeze carrying the smell of cured sausage and fresh baguettes to my nostrils--I began having fantasies. Mostly it involved never being heard from again, disappearing into those lavender-scented hills, without so much as a trace. (A convenient lot...
It came in tin foil, a particularly unfancy receptacle for what was inside. Our waiter, who had just dropped off plates of sea bass carpaccio and a veal meatloaf stuffed into chicken neck (including the head), put the foil on a plate and began unceremoniously unfolding its crinkled, crimped top. It opened in a steamy, meaty rush, and none of us could do much but stare. As Hamid, our hos...
I've moved to Tartu, Estonia with Elin, where she is doing research, and I'm now neck-deep in a deeply confusing language which has no prepositions, word for "he" or "she", no future tense, and three different Os -- o, õ, and ö (ask me to pronounce them in succession: it sounds like I'm trying to lift a piano). And of course, I'm learning to cook in this new place. Good food is frighteni...
The one plan we made before we arrived in Seattle was hang out in Pike's Place Market, a giant, touristy market on the waterfront that specializes in seafood. Though other places were recommended, we only had a day and didn't want to miss it. We also wanted to eat lunch there, and it quickly became obvious where we would eat: a place called Matt’s in the Market, the unanimous recommendat...