Cafe Restaurant Quotes

You cannot keep something down that is bound to rise.

I listen to the things people want out of love these days and they blow my mind. I go to the pub with the boys from the squad and listen while they explain, with minute precision, exactly what shape a woman should be, what bits she should shave how, what acts she should perform on which date and what she should always or never do or say or want; I eavesdrop on women in cafes while they reel off lists of which jobs a man is allowed, which cars, which labels, which flowers and restaurants and gemstones get the stamp of approval, and I want to shout, Are you people out of your tiny minds?

Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours.” K.K.

Last but not least, he hated with all the hatred that was in him the rising generation, the appalling boors who find it necessary to talk and laugh at the top of their voices in restaurants and cafes, who jostle you in the street without a word of apology, and who, without expressing or even indicating regret, drive the wheels of a baby-carriage into your legs.

Raw ingredients trump recipes every time; farmers and ranchers who coax the best from the earth can make any of us appear to be a great cook.

By the standards of a tourist strolling past looking for a quick lunch, the place was a dive. The sign on the window was small and easy to miss, and the antique feel of the place wasn't the prepackaged, old-shit-on-the-wall nostalgia that came with so many chain restaurants. The cafe was just old, and everything about it said old. But Jon liked it that way, if only because it kept the tourists away and spared him from hearing imported ignorance when there was plenty of local ignorance to go around.

As soon as I put my uniform on, the rest of my life solidified around me like a plaster cast. From that moment on, my friends were anyone who could put up with the disgrace; my occupation, any job from which I was not given the sack; my playground, any cafe or restaurant from which I was not barred or any street corner from which the police did not move me on.

It is often difficult, I find, for people today to grasp the notion that one family, working through several restaurants could change the eating habit of an entire country. But such was the achievement of the Delmonicos in the United States of the last century. Before they opened their first small cafe on William Street in 1823, catering to the business and financial communities of Lower Manhattan, American food could generally be described as things boiled or fried whose purpose was to sustain hard work and hold down alcohol - usually bad alcohol. The Delmonicos, though Swiss, had brought the French method to America, and each generation of their family refined an expanded the experience ... The craving for first-rate dining became a kind of national fever in the latter decades of the century - and Delmonico's was responsible.

Duran Duran blared from the car stereo. The woman, two silver bracelets on the hand she dangled out the window, cast a glance in my direction. I could have been a Denny's restaurant sign or a traffic signal, it would have been no different. She was your regular sort of beautiful young woman, I guess. In a TV drama, she'd be the female lead's best friend, the face that appears once in a cafe scene to say, "What's the matter? You haven't been yourself lately.

named her restaurant Magic Cafe. But that had been when she was young and still foolishly believed in all that nonsense. A lone blue heron flew past her. She watched as it flapped its wings in a rhythmic motion, continuing down the beach until she lost it in the distance. The breeze tossed her gray-sprinkled hair this way and that. The gray she never considered coloring back to its original chestnut brown, there was no time for such frivolities. She glanced at her watch. It was time to head back to the cafe. It might not open until eleven, but she had a ton of work to do each morning before she unlocked the doors. Plus, this was her monthly get-together with her friends Susan and Julie, a date that was never broken. Her friends would come by for

The women we become after children, she typed, then stopped to adjust the angle of the paper....We change shape, she continued, we buy low-heeled shoes, we cut off our long hair, We begin to carry in our bags half-eaten rusks, a small tractor, a shred of beloved fabric, a plastic doll. We lose muscle tone, sleep, reason, persoective. Our hearts begin to live outside our bodies. They breathe, they eat, they crawl and-look!-they walk, they begin to speak to us. We learn that we must sometimes walk an inch at a time, to stop and examine every stick, every stone, every squashed tin along the way. We get used to not getting where we were going. We learn to darn, perhaps to cook, to patch knees of dungarees. We get used to living with a love that suffuses us, suffocates us, blinds us, controls us. We live, We contemplate our bodies, our stretched skin, those threads of silver around our brows, our strangely enlarged feet. We learn to look less in the mirror. We put our dry-clean-only clothes to the back of the wardrobe. Eventually we throw them away. We school ourselves to stop saying 'shit' and 'damn' and learn to say 'my goodness' and 'heavens above.' We give up smoking, we color our hair, we search the vistas of parks, swimming-pools, libraries, cafes for others of our kind. We know each other by our pushchairs, our sleepless gazes, the beakers we carry. We learn how to cool a fever, ease a cough, the four indicators of meningitis, that one must sometimes push a swing for two hours. We buy biscuit cutters, washable paints, aprons, plastic bowls. We no longer tolerate delayed buses, fighting in the street, smoking in restaurants, sex after midnight, inconsistency, laziness, being cold. We contemplate younger women as they pass us in the street, with their cigarettes, their makeup, their tight-seamed dresses, their tiny handbags, their smooth washed hair, and we turn away, we put down our heads, we keep on pushing the pram up the hill.

The Finns lead the world in kahvi (coffee) consumption. While the distinctive standard Finnish brew can be found everywhere, smarter cafes and restaurants will have espresso machines.

Next time you leave the house, think about who might be watching you. Do you pass a traffic camera? Do the shops you go to have security cameras? Is there a camera on board your train or bus? What about in your school? The cafes and restaurants where you eat? Street corners? Subways? And who is on the other side of that camera? A private security guard? The police? The government? How can you tell?

Ella's supersonic voice followed her all the way to Bleecker Street and then dissolved amid the noisy profusion of shops, cafes, and restaurants and the crush of people that made the West Village of Manhattan unique in the world. In a single block you could buy fertility statues from Tanzania, rare Amazonian orchids, a pawned brass tuba, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, or the best, most expensive cup of coffee you ever tasted. It was the doughnuts, incidentally, that attracted Gaia.

Most hotels offer a free buffet breakfast. Finns tend to eat their biggest meal of the day at lunchtime, so many cafes and restaurants put on a lounas special (of buffet) from Monday to Friday. Weekend brunssi (brunch) has become a big deal in the cities. Finns have dinner as early as 5pm. It's often just a light meal, but will eat much later if it’s an organised, ‘going out for dinner’ affair.

I was about to beg Rhys to fly me home when I caught the strands of music pouring from a group of performers outside a restaurant. My hands slackened at my sides. A reduced version of the symphony I'd heard in a chill dungeon, when I had been so lost in terror and despair that I'd hallucinated- hallucinated as this music poured into my cell- and kept me from shattering. And once more, the beauty of it hit me, the layering and swaying, the joy and peace. They had never played a piece like it Under the Mountain- never this sort of music. And I'd never heard music in my cell save for that one time. 'You,' I breathed, not taking my eyes from the musicians playing so skilfully that even the diners had set down their forks in the cafe nearby. 'You sent that music into my cell. Why?' Rhysand's voice was hoarse. 'Because you were breaking. And I couldn't find another way to save you.

Tracking how flavors and textures change and then discovering or master-minding the best balance of of flavor is fun. And striking that balance is not a skill reserved for an elect group with extraordinary palates. You need most of all to trust and pay attention to your own palate. Even if it isn't yet your habit to taste as you cook, training yourself to recognize where you need more salt, sweetness, fat, or acidity, or where a dish needs more cooking to concentrate or soften flavors, or improve the texture, is eminently doable.

I listen to the things people want out of love these days and they blow my mind. I go to the pub with the boys from the squad and listen while they explain, with minute precision, exactly what shape a woman should be, what bits she should shave how, what acts she should perform on which date and what she should always or never do or say or want; I eavesdrop of women in cafes while they reel off lists of which jobs a man is allowed, which cars, which labels, which flowers and restaurants and gemstones get the stamp of approval, and I want to shout, Are you people out of your tiny minds? I never once bought Rosie flowers—too hard for her to explain at home—and I never once wondered whether her ankles looked exactly the way they were supposed to. I wanted her, all mine, and I believed she wanted me. Till the day Holly was born, nothing in my life has ever been so simple.

You're serious." "As serious as an accountant at an IRS audit." His face closed off, reminding her of the ruthlessness she had first noticed about him on the front steps. "You have no business opening a restaurant." "Says who?" "Says the guy who watched you try to extricate yourself from a burger suit with a knife." Her mouth fell open. "Burger suits and restaurants are two different kettles of fish." "Kettles of fish? Now there's great business terminology." "Yep, Texas style." "You're in New York, sweetheart." "I am not your sweetheart, thank my lucky stars." "Another of your quaint Texas sayings? What was the last one I heard you use? 'Bless your heart'?" She sliced him a tooth-grinding smile. "While you might not like them, you can bet your backside that a cafe that serves the kind of fare we create in Texas would have people lined up around the corner. Or, as we say in Texas, till the cows come home.

Suggested Reading Atkinson, Kate. Behind the Scenes at the Museum; Binchy, Maeve. Tara Road, The Copper Beech, and Evening Class; Bloom, Amy. Come to Me; Edwards, Kim. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter; Ferris, Joshua. The Unnamed; Flynn, Gillian. Gone Girl; Foer, Jonathan Safran. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close; Franzen, Jonathan. The Corrections; Ganesan, Indira. Inheritance; Hanilton, Jane. Disobedience; Jonasson, Jonas. The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared; Joyce, Rachel. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry; Kidd, Sue Monk. The Secret Life of Bees; Mapson, Jo-Ann, The Owl & Moon Cafe; McEwan, Ian. Atonement; Miller, Arthur. All My Sons; Morrison, Toni. Love; O’Neill, Eugene. Long Day’s Journey into Night; Pekkanen, Sarah. The Opposite of Me; Porter, Andrew. In Between Days; Quindlen, Anna. Blessings and One True Thing; Rosenfeld, Lucinda. The Pretty One; Sittenfeld, Curtis. Sisterland; Smith, Ali. There But For The; Tan, Amy. The Joy Luck Club; Tyler, Anne. Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant; White, Karen. The Time Between; Williams, Tennessee. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway; Yates, Richard. The Easter Parade.

It was a gorgeous evening, with a breeze shimmering through the trees, people strolling hand in hand through the quaint streets and the plaza. The shops, bistros and restaurants were abuzz with patrons. She showed him where the farmer's market took place every Saturday, and pointed out her favorite spots- the town library, a tasting room co-op run by the area vintners, the Brew Ha-Ha and the Rose, a vintage community theater. On a night like this, she took a special pride in Archangel, with its cheerful spirit and colorful sights. She refused to let the Calvin sighting drag her down. He had ruined many things for her, but he was not going to ruin the way she felt about her hometown. After some deliberation, she chose Andaluz, her favorite spot for Spanish-style wines and tapas. The bar spilled out onto the sidewalk, brightened by twinkling lights strung under the big canvas umbrellas. The tables were small, encouraging quiet intimacy and insuring that their knees would bump as they scooted their chairs close. She ordered a carafe of local Mataro, a deep, strong red from some of the oldest vines in the county, and a plancha of tapas- deviled dates, warm, marinated olives, a spicy seared tuna with smoked paprika. Across the way in the plaza garden, the musician strummed a few chords on his guitar. The food was delicious, the wine even better, as elemental and earthy as the wild hills where the grapes grew. They finished with sips of chocolate-infused port and cinnamon churros. The guitar player was singing "The Keeper," his gentle voice seeming to float with the breeze.

The Biggest Property Rental In Amsterdam Amsterdam has been ranked as the 13th best town to live in the globe according to Mercer contacting annual Good quality of Living Review, a place it's occupied given that 2006. Which means that the city involving Amsterdam is among the most livable spots you can be centered. Amsterdam apartments are equally quite highly sought after and it can regularly be advisable to enable a housing agency use their internet connections with the amsterdam parkinghousing network to help you look for a suitable apartment for rent Amsterdam. Amsterdam features rated larger in the past, yet continuing plan of disruptive and wide spread construction projects - like the problematic North-South town you live line- has intended a small scores decline. Amsterdam after rated inside the top 10 Carolien Gehrels (Tradition) told Dutch news company ANP that the metropolis is happy together with the thirteenth place. "Of course you want is actually the first place position, however shows that Amsterdam is a fairly place to live. Well-known places to rent in Amsterdam Your Jordaan. An old employees quarter popularised amang other things with the sentimental tunes of a quantity of local vocalists. These music painted an attractive image of the location. Local cafes continue to attribute live vocalists like Arthur Jordaan and Tante Leeni. The Jordaan is a network of alleyways and narrow canals. The section was proven in the Seventeenth century, while Amsterdam desperately needed to expand. The region was created along the design of the routes and ditches which already existed. The Jordaan is known for the weekly biological Nordermaarkt on Saturdays. Amsterdam is famous for that open air market segments. In Oud-zuid there is a ranging Jordan Cuypmarkt open year long. This part of town is a very popular spot for expats to find Expat Amsterdam flats due in part to vicinity of the Vondelpark. Among the largest community areas A hundred and twenty acres) inside Amsterdam, Netherlands. It can be located in the stadsdeel Amsterdam Oud-Zuid, western side from the Leidseplein as well as the Museumplein. The playground was exposed in 1865 as well as originally named the "Nieuwe Park", but later re-named to "Vondelpark", after the 17th one hundred year author Joost lorrie den Vondel. Every year, the recreation area has around 10 million guests. In the park can be a film art gallery, an open air flow theatre, any playground, and different cafe's and restaurants.

city – from the beach to the Olympic hillside. For tourists who don’t want to grapple with public transport, there is the Barcelona Bus Turistic made up of three bus lines – blue, red and green routes that explore different parts of the city. You can get on and off at any point. Normally, I stay away from these double‐decker tourist explorers, but for a city as large as Barcelona, the system makes getting from beach to cathedrals to hillside parks very easy. There are also walking tours for those with very comfortable shoes. Barcelona offers so much to visitors that I couldn’t possibly tell you what to visit. But items not to miss are, in my opinion, the architecture of Antoni Gaudi which includes his unique cathedral, La Sagrada Familia which remains unfinished, his apartment building, La Pedrera which has no straight lines on its exterior, and his idealistic Parc Guell, a colourful complex on a high hillside. Within the city of Barcelona you could spend a day or more walking Los Ramblas, a wide pedestrian tree‐lined promenade that is a wonderful place to watch people, taste great food, wine and enjoy life. Nearby is the Placa de Catalunya, the main square with fountains, street artists and restaurants. The Gothic Quarter is walking distance with its network of squares that stretch back to Medieval and Roman times. This city offers so much – a medieval city, art museums, flamenco dancing, cable car to the top of Montjuïc, need I go on? Tours to local vineyards are available as are boat trips that will show you the local coastline. And let’s not forget that Barcelona is a city with beautiful beaches – all relaxed, lined with cafes and restaurants. The

the one with the lower rate. A few unique things to see in Stockholm include the Nobelmuseet, the Nobel Museum, which tells of the creation of the Nobel Prize and the creativity of its laureates, and the Spiritmuseet, where you can learn about the nation’s complicated relationship with alcohol. Sweden is associated with design (and not just Ikea) and many shops sell Swedish‐only design. Oudoor activities in summer include hiking trails through the islands and archipelago. Winter activities stretch to cross‐country skiing, ice skating and snow hiking. Nightlife is expensive, cover charges to bars can be high and, bizarrely, the minimum age for drinking varies in an arbitrary fashion as it is up to each establishment to make its own decision – it can be anything from 17 to 27. So take identification with you. There are two airports serving Stockholm. Arlanda is 40 kms north of the city and serves main airlines. Skavsta, 100 kms to the south, serves the budget airlines. Both airports have coaches to take visitors directly to the city centre. Downside: Many independently owned restaurants and cafes close for holidays between July and August which can limit the range of places to eat. To read: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. This trilogy of a financial journalist and the tattooed genius with a motive to fight the dark right‐wing forces of Swedish society romped through the bestseller lists.

Munich is the capital of Bavaria. It was founded in the 11th century after a bridge was built across the River Isar, next to a Benedictine monastery, an important crossing place that soon saw the growth of a fortress. Munich’s city centre sits now within these old fortifications. It offers rich shopping and plenty of good cafes, bakeries and restaurants. In addition, these old city walls encircle the Residenz, the former palace of Bavarian kings, which was once moated and has been expanded hugely over the last 700 years. Also in the city centre is the Glockenspiel, a wonderfully theatrical clock that enacts stories from the 16th century at set times during the day.

I started in our neighborhood, buying a pastrami burrito at Oki Dog and a deluxe gardenburger at Astro Burger and matzoh-ball soup at Greenblatt's and some greasy egg rolls at the Formosa. In part funny, and rigid, and sleepy, and angry. People. Then I made concentric circles outward, reaching first to Canter's and Pink's, then rippling farther, tofu at Yabu and mole at Alegria and sugok at Marouch; the sweet-corn salad at Casbah in Silver Lake and Rae's charbroiled burgers on Pico and the garlicky hummus at Carousel in Glendale. I ate an enormous range of food, and mood. Many favorites showed up- families who had traveled far and whose dishes were steeped with the trials of passageways. An Iranian cafe near Ohio and Westwood had such a rich grief in the lamb shank that I could eat it all without doing any of my tricks- side of the mouth, ingredient tracking, fast-chew and swallow. Being there was like having a good cry, the clearing of the air after weight has been held. I asked the waiter if I could thank the chef, and he led me to the back, where a very ordinary-looking woman with gray hair in a practical layered cut tossed translucent onions in a fry pan and shook my hand. Her face was steady, faintly sweaty from the warmth of the kitchen. Glad you liked it, she said, as she added a pinch of saffron to the pan. Old family recipe, she said. No trembling in her voice, no tears streaking down her face.

While Nicole drove off in search of recipes for fish hash, clam fritters, and salmon quiche, Charlotte settled in the Chowder House with Dorey Jewett, who, well beyond the assortment of chowders she always brought to Bailey's Brunch, would be as important a figure in the book as any. They sat in the kitchen, though Dorey did little actual sitting. Looking her chef-self in T-shirt, shorts, and apron, if she wasn't dicing veggies, she was clarifying butter or supervising a young boy who was shucking clams dug from the flats hours before. Even this early, the kitchen smelled of chowder bubbling in huge steel pots. Much as Anna Cabot had done for the island in general, Dorey gave a history of restaurants on Quinnipeague, from the first fish stand at the pier, to a primitive burger hut on the bluff, to a short-lived diner on Main Street, to the current Grill and Cafe. Naturally, she spoke at greatest length about the evolution of the Chowder House, whose success she credited to her father, though the man had been dead for nearly twenty years. Everyone knew Dorey was the one who had brought the place into the twenty-first century, but her family loyalty was endearing.

By the time I learned what a Pit Bull really was, it was too late; I was already in love. Of course I'd heard the stories, but I had never put these almost mythological urban tales together with the dogs in my neighborhood. I was living in Manhattan, just blocks away from a dog park, and dog watching was a spectator sport among those of us who were still dogless. There were dogs of every shape and size, but my eye kept going to the short, stocky, exuberant dogs that seemed like cartoons. You could tell by the gleam in their eyes they felt very lucky to be here, in the city, walking with the person they kept on the other end of the leash. Their heads were blocky and human. Their short coats made it seem like they were wearing costumes made of felt. It wasn't hard to imagine there might be a little person inside. And they were everywhere that there were people: in cafes, outside bodegas, eating at restaurants.

Although the increasing rates of insomnia around the world may well reflect increased stress and worrying, we think there is another contributor—smartphones and earbuds. Take a look at people walking down the street, driving in their cars, eating alone in restaurants and cafes. Not so long ago, these people wouldn’t be doing anything else. Their minds would wander and they would daydream; their DMN would be active, and, although they were totally unaware of it, they would be tagging recent memories for processing later that night. But as first the Walkman and then the iPhone came to dominate our free time, the DMN has slowly been squeezed out of our daily lives. Maybe all those worries come crashing in at bedtime because it’s the only time we’ve left the brain to perform the critically important task of identifying and tagging memories for later processing. Maybe you can’t have your iPhone and sleep, too.

Aku melihatnya luntang lantung. Mungkin ia merasa bahagia dengan caranya sendiri. Seperti mencintai istri yang telah meninggalkannya ke alam baka. Ia masih menulis kata kata romantis tentang istrinya itu di status WA. Walau sepanjang sepengetahuanku, ia tak pernah mampu dengan sungguh sungguh membuat istrinya bahagia. Atau barangkali saja ia memiliki penafsiran lain atas makna kebahagiaan yang sesungguhnya. Kalau berpuluh puluh kali ia bilang padaku, bahwa ia tak bakalan pernah menyerah. Itu pula sebabnya kenapa ia berpuluh puluh kali juga berganti profesi; menjadi koki di restaurant A dan lalu pindah kerja ke cafe B. Sehari mencoba peruntungan jadi sopir pribadi, di lain waktu menjalankan mobil carteran. Beberapa minggu mangkal sebagai sopir truk dan lalu pindah ke bus antar kota dan bahkan mengoperasionalkan alat alat berat. Ia bisa dengan gampangnya menclok ke sana atau ke sini. Bertukar peran menjadi si anu atau si oni, sesuka suka hati dia saja. Kalau terjegal ia oleh rasa bosan, maka ia bakalan balik ke rumah yang bukan miliknya selain apa kalau bukan hanya untuk sekedar ampiran saja. Lalu mencoba menanam padi atau cabe atau kopi atau apa saja yang mungkin. Konon katanya ia drop out dari jurusan mesin sebuah universitas ternama dan terjungkal hanya gara gara ia tak sejalan dengan apa kata dosennya. Dan begitulah, ia memilih bebas merdeka seperti burung walau kadang harus menggadaikan harga diri, tutup lobang gali lobang demi menegakkan gaya hidupnya yang luntang lantung ala bohemian.

...people can be divided into two groups: those who have worked in a bar, or cafe, or restaurant, or shop, and those who have not. And while it would be both unfair and untrue to say that everyone in the latter category treats those in the former as a second-class citizen, it is probably accurate to say that virtually nobody from the first category will do so.

Wren started dining alone in cafes, diners, bars, and restaurants just to be near other people, the movements and sounds of lives being lived together. On one of these solo excursions, Wren met a man in a yellow shirt who made her feel that the world was a good place, and the world was a good place because she was someone living in it.

When you spend at a bar, cafe or restaurant you are paying for the environment and the meeting place not just the food and drink. You are socializing where there is the possibility of meeting new people and you're making it a special occasion, in fact, you're celebrating the friendships that give you support, companionship and enjoyment.

Kodaikanal holiday makers favorite pick among hotels, resorts, cottages, homestay in kodaikanal and boutique hotel. Just five minutes walking distance to the Kodaikanal lake, Bryant park, nearby forest, hiking trails, view points, Kodaikanal Club, Kodaikanal international school, shopping area bus stand, and restaurants like Dominos, Subway, Cafe coffee day and many more,you can book your rooms at some of the best place at kodaikanal.

It was Friday, and what mattered were the streets [of Paris] thronged with people in amazing configurations. Teenagers together in cafes. Schoolchildren kicking a soccer ball on the street, backpacks to the side. Older couples in long coats, billowing scarves, and blazers. Twentysomethings leaning out of any number of establishments looking beautiful and cool. It recalled New York, but without the low-grade, ever-present fear. The people wore no armor, or none that I recognized. Side streets and alleys were bursting with bars, restaurants, and cafes. Everyone was walking. Those who were not walking were embracing. I was feeling myself beyond any natural right. My Caesar was geometric. My lineup was sharp as a sword. I walked outside and melted into the city, like butter in the stew. p122

And all along, the question I’d been looking to answer had been wrong. It wasn't what they came here for, but who.

Tiana thought about the money stored in coffee cans in her chifforobe. Years of tips she'd collected while waiting tables at Duke's Cafe and working the night shift at Cal's Restaurant. As of now, she had enough for a down payment, but she would need more than that to buy kitchen equipment, tableware, provisions, etc., not to mention start making rent.

I was about to beg Rhys to fly me home when I caught the strands of music pouring from a group of performers outside a restaurant. My hands slackened at my sides. A reduced version of the symphony I'd heard in a chill dungeon, when I had been so lost in terror and despair that I'd hallucinated- hallucinated as this music poured into my cell- and kept me from shattering. And once more, the beauty of it hit me, the layering and swaying, the joy and peace. They had never played a piece like it Under the Mountain- never this sort of music. And I'd never heard music in my cell save for that one time. 'You,' I breathed, not taking my eyes from the musicians playing so skilfully that even the diners had set down their forks in the cafe nearby. 'You sent that music into my cell. Why?' Rhysand's voice was hoarse. 'Because you were breaking. And I couldn't find another way to save you.' The music swelled and built. I'd seen a palace in the sky when I'd hallucinated- a place between sunset and dawn... a house of moonstone pillars. 'I saw the Night Court.' He glanced sidelong at me. 'I didn't send those images to you.' I didn't care. 'Thank you. For everything- for what you did. Then... and now.' 'Even after the Weaver? After this morning with my trap for the Attor?' My nostrils flared. 'You ruin everything.' Rhys grinned, and I didn't notice if people were staring as he slid an arm under my legs, and shot us both into the sky. I could learn to love it. I realised. The flying.

The existence of the Delta tamale itself proves what I have long known, that Southern food is the Great Leveler. Hot tamales are loved by rich and poor, black and white, and they are usually accessible at roadside stands, cafes, and restaurants.

More and more, people have begun to chant the economic mantras of Louis XIV’s France. A successful restaurant has to do more than serve good food at a good price: it has to create an environment. It’s not enough to offer customers a good product: you have to make them feel special by providing a hefty dose of emotion and drama along with the merchandise.

Although the diners in the Zagat Survey had ranked the Union Square Cafe tenth for food, eleventh for service, and out of the money altogether for décor, they had also voted it the third most popular restaurant in the entire city. Evidently there was some other factor at work. The other factor, Meyer and his associates decided, was hospitality, which they then tried to define. In the end, they agreed that it came from their commitment to five core values: caring for each other; caring for guests; caring for the community; caring for suppliers; and caring for investors and profitability—in descending order of importance.

Meyer himself was ready for a change. “Union Square Cafe was a great canvas, but I needed a new place to express my creativity,” he said. “I didn’t think I should alter a successful restaurant just because I was restless. I didn’t have to get all of my ideas into one place.

How centralized should it be, and what exactly should be centralized? And what relationship would employees have to the company? Would the wait staff, say, at Union Square Cafe identify first with the restaurant or with Union Square Hospitality Group? “That’s something we debate internally a lot,” he said. “I’m quite comfortable with people having an allegiance first to their restaurant and secondarily to Union Square Hospitality Group. I’ve never veered from the notion that, to the degree these are great restaurants, we’ll be fine. To the degree they feel like cookie-cutter offshoots of a larger entity, who needs it?” It was an interesting balance to maintain. The restaurants would be recognizably part of Union Square Hospitality Group, and yet completely different from one another. They would have a common culture, but the feeling of each would be distinctive. They were like kids, Meyer said: Each would have its own personality, but you’d never doubt that they were members of the same family. Some of their DNA would be the same, and some different.

Reading old travel books or novels set in faraway places, spinning globes, unfolding maps, playing world music, eating in ethnic restaurants, meeting friends in cafes… all these things are part of never-ending travel practice, not unlike doing scales on a piano, shooting free-throws, or meditating.—PHIL COUSINEAU, THE ART OF PILGRIMAGE

Since Asta could remember, Jurgen was usually found with a sketchbook in hand. He was forever drawing something he'd seen: scenes of daily life in Hamburg, from canals to people at cafes and restaurants or sitting on benches. He drew dogs roaming free, as well as Asta and their adventures. There was a playfulness to his scenes, a way of looking at the world and finding the humour, along with the shared humanity

It’s the little stuff. The goodnight cuddles rather than the spectacular sex. The quick chat over a rushed breakfast rather than the romantic three-course meals in a posh restaurant. The casual contact, the taken-for-granted communication, the fact that if you hear a noise in the night, there’s someone else to send to investigate.

Thamel" A narrative written by Avijeet Das The feelings of Paarijat linger as an epiphany and the smoke and aroma of incense sticks welcome you into a dream land. Myriad Thanka paintings splash colors in your eyes and the melodious chants of the Buddhist monks add tranquility to your heart. Cafes and restaurants mushroom here all the year round as does the grass in the valley around Kathmandu. While drifting in these lanes of Thamel, you feel like Alice in Wonderland, discovering the magic of hand crafted wooden sculptures, pashminas and yak wool shawls. And meeting foreign tourists from all around the world, smiling and greeting you a "Namaste" will serenade you with the fragrance of Nepal, intoxicating one and all!

As early as May 1945, the newly appointed Commandant of Berlin, General Nikolai Berzarin, decreed that cinemas, theatres, cabarets and sports arenas, all closed by law a year earlier, should be reopened wherever possible, even with the 9pm curfew that had been imposed. By June, cabaret shows had resumed in Cafe Leon, at the site of the former KaDeKo club; The Theater des Westens had a ballet programme running in repertory, and movies were again being screened at the Marmorhaus and the Astor Kino. Restaurants had begun emerging from the rubble and pavement cafes flourished once again.

In a place built on sand, hold on to whatever you can.

The area was embracing gentrification, with new cafes, coffee shops, and even a vegan restaurant run by bearded men in checked shirts and leather waistcoats. Presumably fake ones.