– I have a foggy recollection from many, many years ago. It was back when I was working with Rand (yeah … that happened), and we went to get lunch at a convenience store. God, there are so many problems with that last sentence, but the important take-away is this: I once voluntarily ate a convenience store…
– The other day, I was talking to a lovely young man named Eli. We had a thoroughly engrossing conversation, which is only slightly alarming in hindsight, because I am fairly certain that Eli was born in, like, 1989, and by then I’d been on the planet for almost a decade. People born in 1989…
Many months ago, I wrote a post about the wonders of Bavarian food. I didn’t spend a lot of time fixating on dessert, which shows you just how darn good the sausages and breaded meat and dumplings of Southern Germany are (parenthetically, all of those dishes sound like euphemisms). A few folks told me that…
I will probably forget the name of the brunch place we went to in Marais. I’ve forgotten it three times already, each and every time you told it to me, until you finally emailed me with the message “Don’t lose me.” – You meant the restaurant name, of course, but somehow I read it as…
I’m taking a brief reprieve from my tales of Paris to tell you about a French Bakery … in Vancouver. I’ll get back to the city of light tomorrow. – I am standing on a street corner in a dodgy part of Vancouver, British Columbia, on the verge of a hunger-induced meltdown. I’m blaming Oli.…
– Today we are going to talk about eclairs. Because my blog tackles the tough issues. But first, let me tell you about one of my earliest memories. It is, depending on how you look at it, equal parts tragic and wonderful. When I was a wee little Everywhereist (back during a time when a…
For many years, I didn’t really get macarons. – {For those who have devoted less of their waking hours to the study, acquisition, and consumption of baked goods, I would like to take a brief moment to delineate French “macarons” from “macaroons”. While it is, essentially, the same word (one is the French variant, the…
– I never, ever thought I’d tire of eating French food, but at some point during our short jaunt I realized that I could not eat another duck confit. To be fair, this was less about being sick of duck confit and more about wanting to fit into the trousers I had brought with me.…
The first time Rand and I visited Sydney, we ate at the Opera House restaurant (at the invitation of conference organizers). Our meal was absurdly posh and beautiful. Later, every one of us who partook in the oysters at dinner (myself, and a few other miserable souls) got a wicked case of food poisoning. As…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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