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I think about deliciousness a lot and have pursued it all my life. Yet, in pandemic times, the pure joy of eating something delicious—preferably a delicious surprise, rather than something I have had to orchestrate myself—has been absent.
I wouldn’t dream of asking a restaurant to tweak a dish, serve the sauce on the side, or modify anything at all. If you go out to dinner with me, you pretty much eat what is in front of you and keep your mouth shut. But do I ever mess around with my food by, for example, ordering and crumbling a few slices of bacon over a vegetarian lasagna? You bet.
COVID-19 is a direct attack on the thing that made my life not just exceptional but livable.
Growing up in France, I didn’t know there was such a thing as a snack until, at the age of 22, I was gifted a bag of Fritos brought from America in a friend’s suitcase. After decades in the States, have I finally adjusted to a life of Doritos and potato chips? Mostly yes, but I hate myself for it.
Chinese hot pot restaurants aren’t new to Atlanta, but we’ve never had as many as we do now. And these days, you can experience the hot pot ritual—in which you simmer a variety of ingredients in bubbling broth—in more finely appointed settings, with menus devoted to authentic regional styles.
Bowls have their place when serving food, but please, don't put toast in a bowl ever again. Plus, nut milk from Virginia-Highland's Press & Grind has made me a convert.
Contrary to popular opinion, the meat should not be falling off the bone. On the other hand, I should not have had to forcefully wrench the meat away with my teeth.
If I tell my server that I had a negative experience, I want him or her to apologize or—if there’s still time—offer a replacement. An appropriate response would be, “I am so sorry. Let me get a manager.” Instead, I'm left boiling mad in my seat and then handed a full check for a half-eaten plate of food.
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