There is something to be said about a truly disastrous meal, a meal forever indelible in your memory because it’s so uniquely bad, it can only be deemed an achievement. The sort of meal where everyone involved was definitely trying to do something; it’s just not entirely clear what. I’m not talking about a meal…
My husband and I are driving through southern Oregon, like we have every summer since we were married. I see a Red Lobster. I scream. I tell him to pull over immediately. He ignores me. After more than a decade together he can distinguish between my “something is urgently wrong” scream and my “I need…
I get to go to a lot of nice dinners. That’s one of the perks of traveling with your husband for his work – I usually get to attend corporate events in fancy places. And then I make fart jokes, because I need to keep it real, you know?
My muscles hurt. This is only slightly unexpected. I have been known, on occasion, to go for a run, even if it might be in pursuit of an ice cream truck. But lately, I’ve been running, doing the occasional push-up, and, perhaps most shockingly of all, I’ve been eating with a more discerning eye. This…
Many, many months ago, before life and travel got in the way, I had started to tell you all about our favorite restaurant in Amalfi: Taverna Buonvicino. I wrote about our first visit there, and how we loved it so much we went back again. But I never finished that story. Part of me wondered…
The past few weeks have felt like a confessional on the blog – a time to tell stories untold, to cast light on the dark corners of my memory. A while back, Mindy asked me if I’d included the story of The Wine (“I feel like it should be capitalized,” said Rand), now legendary in…
St. Albans is incredibly charming, and it’s a very short train ride from London, and there are plenty of other reasons to visit. All of them, however, are being crowded out of my memory because during our visit we ate at a place called The Cock Inn, and I find that to be utterly hilarious.…
“I can’t figure out what this is.” “It’s … slimy.” “I can’t cut anything.” “Cut? I’ve just been using my hands.” “Speaking of hands, Geraldine, keep yours to yourself.” “GOD DAMN IT, JON. Lisa, I swear, I’m not touching him.” ————— I have heard that if you take one sense away, the others rush…
Spoiler: We eat spiders. If you do not want to see photos of this, then you may want to read another post. (May I suggest this one? It’s about the best cupcakes I’ve ever had. It’s totally safe and spider-free.) On our last night in Phnom Penh, we had dinner at Romdeng. Nicci had read wonderful…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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