The Omnivorous Fish

These are my favorite moments of words strung together:

“from pretty good to underwear-changing good.”
“(calm down, Seattle, I haven’t been there- yet).”
“next to two completely odious 20-something women that were there to see, be seen and eat expensive food they don’t deserve before going home to vomit it up.”
“This was soon followed by mint tagliatelle with porcini. Sounds simple doesn’t it? Well, so does string theory, but it’s not. ”
“one of the new salts that all the cool kids have.”
“I have always been fascinated by the operation of restaurants, and this process is perhaps the most interesting bit of theater.”
“Since, however, details haunt me, I have to note that I scratched down ‘tagliatelle’ in my notebook, and the website confirms that’s what the menu had written on it, and it is a free country, but in reality what I was served is tagliarini. No harm no foul.”
“The whole thing was earth, sex and light-colored sin in my mouth, and I regretted getting the half portion one bite in.”

But, maybe because I’m a pastry chef, this was the very best of all:

“It was like sitting at the bar chatting with a giant strawberry breathing strawberry breath on you, inundating you with his strawberry presence. It was smooth and subtle, yet frosty and poignant.”

I hope one day, something I do, will make you talk like that to me. Even in the dark.