I know what you’re doing. All of you.
You’re all at each other’s desks this morning, talking about what you did this weekend. Talkin’ ’bout burgers ‘n’ beer. And how you wish you had today off too, to recuperate from all the fun. And you’re twinklin’ your toes in white shoes. Wiggling those little piggies proudly, just like you waved your little flaggies at yesterday’s parade down Main Street, U.S.A.
As for me, well, I still don’t wear white shoes. Unless, of course, they’re nurse’s shoes, and I’m dressed in a tight white nurse’s uniform complete with little white hat all sorta folded like a fancy napkin atop my head and I’m shaking an icy cold thermometer as you sit in a paper robe, rigid and hyper-alert, on the examining table …
So, uh, yeah. Flags. Shoes. Where was I? Oh, yes. I was just about to say I didn’t do anything holiday-specific. I went about my weekend the way I do many of my weekends: buyin’ stuff and eatin’ stuff. I won’t show you the clothes, because, really, I don’t want you copying my signature style. I will, however, show you the food.
Just to prove that I treated this weekend just like any other, on Saturday I enjoyed the famed macro platter with its broiled tempeh sidekick (recently memorialized) from Village Natural:
On Sunday, I branched out to the familiar Gobo, but went out on a limb and ordered something I’ve never had before:
Unlike Zorro, however, I did not intentionally leave this reminder of my existence. This shred of lettuce actually arranged itself this way. Astonishing, isn’t it, how crafty some garnish can be.
By yesterday, though, I was ready to break out, and took the wildest of all three weekend walks on the West Side. That led to this, at Vegetarian’s Paradise 2:
Iron Steak (made from taro root), broccoli, brown rice
and *special guest star* spring roll!
Now I know what my brother’s doing. He’s rolling his eyes. He’s cursing me and hating me for showing more food fotos, but that’s a risk I’m going to continue to take. You see, I know that many of you come here to get a little taste of what I’ve eaten, and I don’t want to disappoint you. I have the email to prove it scads of notes telling me, “We don’t have food like that where I live! Show me there’s a life outside of Houlihan’s!” And as I said, I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t believe in letting down people I don’t know. Contrast this to my belief that it’s more than OK to let down people I actually do know. Further contrast this willingness to share with the fact that in real life I do not like sharing my food, not even visually. What you don’t see in these photos is the small folding screen I tote to every lunch, which I set up between my place setting and that of any companion fortunate enough to share a table with me.
Now, get back to work. (And stop thinking about me in a nurse’s uniform! Stop it!)