Last week an old love of mine got engaged. He is from so far back in my past that there is no trace left of the heartache that followed the relationship – all that remains is the hazy memory that I was sad when it was over. The news of his engagement makes me…
After visiting the Petersen house, and indulging in an absurdly expensive lunch, I headed to the National Mall. It was not, as the name more commonly would suggest, an indoor building filled with retail stores dedicated to all things Americana. Nor did it possess that cornerstone of the suburban retail mall: a group of disaffected teenagers…
I should be perfectly honest here: I didn’t intend to go to visit the home where Lincoln died. I had heard that there was a good hole-in-the-wall breakfast place nearby, and that is where I directed my cab driver to take me.
I’ve heard that when Anthony Bourdain first saw Angkor Wat, he stopped taking vacation photos. He realized that he couldn’t capture this place on film, and reasoned that there was no point. So he put his camera away and just enjoyed it. That’s lovely and rather poetic, but let’s be fair: Bourdain has a…
We rounded a corner in our tuk tuk, the road here better kept than most of the others we’d been on. It was paved, not, dirt, to accommodate for the heavier flow of traffic – cars and tour buses and tuk tuks and scooters. The air smelled of diesel, the sky overcast, the air…
I think it was Nicci who found out about the Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center, and suggested that we go there. I would like to take credit, though. I think that it’s on par with discovering fire, or inventing the wheel, or figuring out that Junior Mints should be stored in the fridge. These are important…
I’m afraid of many things. I blame my mother. She was utterly convinced, from the time I was born, that the entire world was out to get me (it didn’t help that I was named after a relative who had died tragically young). She concluded that the best way to keep me alive would…
On our second day in Phnom Penh, down one necklace, and sufficiently emotionally drained after the one-two punch of the Killing Fields and Choeung Ek, we went to the Royal Palace.
Rand always tells me he envies my palate, which cracks me up because it’s such an unlikely compliment. But it comes up time and again, whenever I identify a spice in a dish that he’s unable to, or I catch a whiff of a bakery blocks before he does. Others who’ve noticed it have…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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