Reading about Hanoi Pho in the Smithsonian whiles eating a suadero tostada. Rekindling love affair with Valentina Salsa Picante. The bottle flows effortlessly and wakes the eyes. A citrusy cocktail in hand, and now this all just too much (isn't it?). This isn't sexy, "Food should be sensual," she said. I am a sloppy man and that's how this is going to be. I repeated. Tomorrow is food writing class and spring break means it's cancelled. Tostada and burrito tonight, New Yorker rests my grazen eyes. "We eat at night what we mean to eat tomorrow. If it weren't for the night, I'd barely eat at all." -Felix Winter
I sleep with food, or does it sleep with me. Anyhow, it is Sunday which means I am tired and hungry.