I have a confession. Remember yesterday? I mean, if you don’t, that’s fine (but we should probably address that, because it means that you either need to have your hippocampus checked, or you’ve been having way too much fun without me). Anyway, yesterday I made some rather bold statements about how Covent Garden was just…
I love playing the part of the Ugly American. The way I figure it, if people are going to judge and hate me without knowing me, the least I can do is have a little fun at their expense. The best part is the look on their faces when they realize I’ve been messing with…
During our last trip to Italy, we headed to the Pantheon (in the interest of full disclosure, I did not know the difference between the Parthenon and the Pantheon until rather recently. I also cannot tell the Olsen twins apart. Tell no one of my secret shame). It was at the suggestion of Jessica at…
There are parts of our Rome trip which I would like to share with you, but I can’t. I would like, for example, to share with you the name of the restaurant where Rand’s friend Fleur took us, but I swore to her that I would not. I willfully forgot its name and location. I…
In the wake of a few miserable hotel stays, Rand has hit his limit. He has, apparently, had enough of toilets that don’t flush properly and continental breakfasts that look like the remnants of a cold-war-era kitchen after a particularly harsh winter. “We’re going to start staying in nicer places,” he told me the other…
I feel like Billy Pilgrim: I have come unstuck in time. A friend asked me where exactly I had been recently, because she had followed my antics through Rome, then there was something about Air France, then something about Boston, and she was utterly confused. Why I very much would like to claim that I…
I saw this sketch in a little kiosk that sold old maps, postcards, and prints in the center of Rome: – Lovely, right? I kind of wish I had bought it. But mostly, when I look at it, I can’t help but think of this: – Still, those chariot drivers must have needed something to…
– You know that old joke about heaven and hell? How in heaven, the police are British, the engineers are German, the cooks are Italian, the lovers are French? And how in hell, the roles are jumbled up? The police are German, the cooks are British, and, perhaps most cruelly of all, the bureaucrats are…
We are sitting in a restaurant in Rome. The Peroni Brewery Restaurant, to be exact. Shockingly, it is neither touristy, nor overpriced, nor terrible, but it is overrun with locals and the staff is gruff and rushed. My aunt, uncle, and cousin have come to meet us for a day in Rome, and my aunt…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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