Thursday, April 06, 2006

Raisin Fennel Soup

Sometimes my job throws me a bone. And sometimes that bone is wrapped in elegantly prepared pork, served on a bed of red onions and fava beans.

The other day I got to eat at a ridiculous restaurant, a restaurant with a famous chef, and a complimentary coat check, and so many stars to its credit you can identify new constellations. I mean, a really big deal restaurant. With bread attendants. And sixteen forks. And Nicole Kidman eating in the corner. And soup service that involves giving you a plate with the stuff that floats arfully arranged in the middle and a soup dude who pours the broth out of a silver broth holder. Who knew that there were broth vessels in the world? The only things in my house that would qualify as a broth vessel come in three pedestrian varities: aluminum can, spoon, and mouth.

My meal included the kind of ingredients that I've heard of, but wasn't entirely sure they weren't just things invented for children's songs. Purple potatoes? Kumquats? Isn't that the kind of stuff you find down by the baaaaay, where the watermelons grooooow?

I guess a year and a half of Cup o' Soup lunches, photocopying, and recycling all of my office supplies from employees who quit equals one good meal. I'm not saying it wasn't nice. But I'm not rushing to put those on the scales of justice, either. When I'm writing to you from my gratis loft on my complimentary computer in my offical editorial department bathrobe, we'll talk again.


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