Le Grand Fooding New York 2011
I’ve just turned to page 44 in a book I can’t read, written by a chef whose last name I can’t pronounce. Pictured is a bird I can’t believe he got onto US soil. And while his restaurant is one I can’t...
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“They spell puddin’ with a ‘G’ here, hon.” I throw on a Texas twang neither of us have while I joke with my sister. It’s the first time we’ve had dinner alone in five years, and we’ve driven three and...
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There’s no such thing as trying to eat. One eats or one doesn’t. And half-hearted promises are as loathsome as air kisses and limp handshakes. So when I told a guy named Kobe that I would come to a...
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