Eatery Quotes

Sham Harga had run a successful eatery for many years by always smiling, never extending credit, and realizing that most of his customers wanted meals properly balanced between the four food groups: sugar, starch, grease, and burnt crunchy bits.

Of all the decadences this upper-middle-class eatery has to offer, the coffee is among the cheapest, but my favorite by far. It tastes like liquid civilization.

Why would anyone use the word “eatery?” As in, “oh, it’s over there between the readery and the drinkery but thankfully not downwind of the shittoria.

We are all, of course, wayfaring strangers on this earth. But coming out of the rainbow tunnel, the liminal portal between Marin and San Francisco, myth and reality, I catch sight of a beautiful, sparkling city that might as well be on the moon. I can name the sights, the streets, the eateries, but in my heart it feels as unfamiliar as Cape Town or Cuzco. I've lived here for fourteen years. This is the arena of my adult life, with its large defeats and small victories. Maybe, like all transplants (converts?), I've asked too much of the city. I would never have moved to Pittsburh or Houston or L.A. expecting it to save my soul. Only here in the great temple by the bay. It's a mistake we've been making for decades, and probably a necessary one. The city's flaws, of course, are numerous. Our politics can suffer from humourless stridency, and life here is menacingly expensive. But if you're insulated from these concerns, sufficiently employed and housed, if you are -in other words- like most people, you are in view of the unbridgeable ideal. Here, with our plentiful harvest, our natural beauty, our bars, our bookstores, our cliffs and ocean, out free to be you and me; here, where pure mountain water flows right out of the tap. It's here that the real questions become inescapable. In fact the proximity of the ideal makes us more acutely aware of the real questions. Not the run-of-the-mill insolubles-Why am I here? Who am I?- but the pressing questions of adult life: Really? and Are you sure? And Now what?

In the long draw of last light across the Eatery, as the tables around them are scrubbed with white vinegar and only they are left in their island of four, flicking the bottle cap from one to another in silence, he is grateful, again, for the infinite generosity of boys.

But because delicatessens are oriented around the consumption of red meat, the iconic Jewish eatery did take on a manly vibe, one that was exploited, as we shall see, by vaudeville routines, films, and TV shows about Jewish men using the delicatessen to shore up their precarious sense of masculinity. The food writer Arthur Schwartz has pointed out that, in Yiddish, the word for “overstuffed” is ongeshtupped; the meat is crammed between the bread in a crude, sensual way that recalls the act of copulation.27 The delicatessen, after all, is a space of carnality, of the pleasures of the “flesh”—the word for meat in Yiddish is fleysh.

Madhav literally grew up in all their restaurants. He got used to Aavin milk when he was five months old and filter coffee a year later. When he was five, Padmavathy would pick him up from school at noon and take him to one of their restaurants. He would do his homework as she supervised the eatery. Idly, dosa and vada filled his ears as much as ‘Baa-baa black sheep’. ‘Three portions of rice and one portion of udat dal for idly’ was as much a formula he memorised as (a+b)2.

Which brings me to the final aspect of the problem of Industrial Tourism: the Industrial Tourists themselves. They work hard, these people. They roll up incredible mileages on their odometers, rack up state after state in two-week transcontinental motor marathons, knock off one national park after another, take millions of square yards of photographs, and endure patiently the most prolonged discomforts: the tedious traffic jams, the awful food of park cafeterias and roadside eateries, the nocturnal search for a place to sleep or camp, the dreary routine of One-Stop Service, the endless lines of creeping traffic, the smell of exhaust fumes, the ever-proliferating Rules & Regulations, the fees and the bills and the service charges, the boiling radiator and the flat tire and the vapor lock, the surly retorts of room clerks and traffic cops, the incessant jostling of the anxious crowds, the irritation and restlessness of their children, the worry of their wives, and the long drive home at night in a stream of racing cars against the lights of another stream racing in the opposite direction, passing now and then the obscure tangle, the shattered glass, the patrolman’s lurid blinker light, of one more wreck.

When I finally leave the market, the streets are dark, and I pass a few blocks where not a single electric light appears – only dark open storefronts and coms (fast-food eateries), broom closet-sized restaurants serving fish, meat, and rice for under a dollar, flickering candles barely revealing the silhouettes of seated figures. The tide of cyclists, motorbikes, and scooters has increased to an uninterrupted flow, a river that, given the slightest opportunity, diverts through automobile traffic, stopping it cold, spreads into tributaries that spill out over sidewalks, across lots, through filling stations. They pour through narrow openings in front of cars: young men, their girlfriends hanging on the back; families of four: mom, dad, baby, and grandma, all on a fragile, wobbly, underpowered motorbike; three people, the day’s shopping piled on a rear fender; women carrying bouquets of flapping chickens, gathered by their feet while youngest son drives and baby rests on the handlebars; motorbikes carrying furniture, spare tires, wooden crates, lumber, cinder blocks, boxes of shoes. Nothing is too large to pile onto or strap to a bike. Lone men in ragged clothes stand or sit by the roadsides, selling petrol from small soda bottles, servicing punctures with little patch kits and old bicycle pumps.

But your lolas took offense at being called witches. That is an Amerikano term, they scoff, and that they live in the boroughs of an American city makes no difference to their biases. Mangkukulam was what they styled themselves as, a title still spoken of with fear in their motherland, with its suggestions of strange healing and old-world sorcery. Nobody calls their place along Pepper Street Old Manila, either, save for the women and their frequent customers. It was a carinderia, a simple eatery folded into three food stalls; each manned by a mangkukulam, each offering unusual specialties: Lola Teodora served kare-kare, a healthy medley of eggplant, okra, winged beans, chili peppers, oxtail, and tripe, all simmered in a rich peanut sauce and sprinkled generously with chopped crackling pork rinds. Lola Teodora was made of cumin, and her clients tiptoed into her stall, meek as mice and trembling besides, only to stride out half an hour later bursting at the seams with confidence. But bagoong- the fermented-shrimp sauce served alongside the dish- was the real secret; for every pound of sardines you packed into the glass jars you added over three times that weight in salt and magic. In six months, the collected brine would turn reddish and pungent, the proper scent for courage. unlike the other mangkukulam, Lola Teodora's meal had only one regular serving, no specials. No harm in encouraging a little bravery in everyone, she said, and with her careful preparations it would cause little harm, even if clients ate it all day long. Lola Florabel was made of paprika and sold sisig: garlic, onions, chili peppers, and finely chopped vinegar-marinated pork and chicken liver, all served on a sizzling plate with a fried egg on top and calamansi for garnish. Sisig regular was one of the more popular dishes, though a few had blanched upon learning the meat was made from boiled pigs' cheeks and head.

Community spaces can make a difference, too. The prevalence of “third places” where people congregate has been shown to make an impact, including increasing trust, decreasing loneliness, and creating a greater sense of attachment to where we live.41 After the first and second places of home and work, the third place is an alternate location to spend leisure time.42 Examples of third places are parks, libraries, coffee shops, places of worship, community pools, or local watering holes. Density of third places — notably, eateries — has been shown to improve cognitive functioning.43 Having a third place significantly influences perceived social connectedness, even if one doesn’t use them regularly. Third places can be particularly useful in bringing together people of all ages. More than 90% believe that intergenerational activities, such as those at third places, help reduce loneliness across all ages, drastically cutting down the prevalence and harmful effects of loneliness.44

I want to be strong.” “You are strong.” “Not really.” Judd exhaled softly. “No, I guess not, but you’re stronger than you think. You’re stronger than when we met. Hell, you told me no and we both know that couldn’t have been easy.” Giving him a little grin, I shrugged again. “Wasn’t that hard either.” “Liar.” Grinning wider, I sighed. “I really wanted you.” Judd’s smile faded. “I know. I wanted you too.” “That time has passed.” “No. We still want it. That’s why you look at me like I’m both your salvation and a death sentence. You still want me and I clearly still want you.” “You walked away.” “I wanted you to do well on your own.” “Then let me.” “Now, I want you to do well on your own with me standing nearby. Also with me frequently inside you.” “Don’t be nasty.” “It wouldn’t be. Somehow, it’d be better than anything I’ve known.” Even as my skin flushed at the thought of us alone and naked, I shrugged with disinterest. “That’s the Arby’s thing talking.” “Stop with the Arby’s shit, will you? You’re a beautiful chick and I can’t get you out of my head. Comparing you to a fucking shit eatery isn’t acceptable. It’s like comparing the Sistine Chapel to my auntie’s house. Ain’t even close.

Easing Your Worries I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? —MATTHEW 6:25     I don’t know how things are in your world, but I can tell you that in Southern California we live in an age of anxiety. My neighbors and I have it much easier than our parents, but we certainly are much uneasier than our parents were. We seem to be anxious about temporal things, more so than past generations. They never worried about whether they were eating at the new vogue eatery, vacationing at the best island hotel with the largest pool, wearing the most prestigious label, or keeping their abs in shape. I watched the previous generation closely; they wanted a home for their families, a car that ran efficiently, and a job that provided for their basic needs. It seems our main concerns and drives today are physical and earth possessed. A large number of people actually believe that if they have the best food, clothing, education, house, and trainer, they have arrived. What else could one want for a perfect life? Our culture actually places more importance on the body and what we do with it than ever before in modern history. Thus we have created a mind set that causes us as women to be more concerned with life’s accommodations along life’s journey than with our final destination. Many women are going through their lives with a vast vacuum on the inside. In fact, the woman that you might sometimes envy because of her finely dressed family and newly remodeled kitchen is probably spending most of her day anxious and unsatisfied. Maybe that woman is you? This thing called life is more important than food, and the body is more important than what we wear. All the tangible distractions don’t satisfy the soul; they have become cheap substitutes for our spiritual wholeness and well-being. Let Christ help you overcome the anxieties of life. • Stop chasing the temporal things of life. Seek the kingdom of God as it is revealed in Jesus. Cast all your cares on Him. • Take your eyes off yourself and focus them on God first. Much of our anxieties are rooted in our self-centeredness. • Spend most of your prayer time praying for others.

Barack (with the help of Sam Kass) had chosen a restaurant near Washington Square Park that he knew I'd love for it's emphasis on locally grown foods, a small, tucked away eatery called Blue Hill.

He is small and hearty, like the impresario of a particularly energetic Soho eatery. She pictures something in obscure fusion food: peacock and tilapia dumplings.

any Park Avenue eatery. When we entered, a man motioned for us to follow without having to tell him whom we were meeting. He

Two large, soft traveling bags weighed down his shoulders by their straps. Holo adverts blossomed into life around him. He walked lightly, scanning the people waiting for the shuttle. Food smells came out of the fast eateries across from the gate. The air hummed with the noise of business.

Rockaway Beach has a number of eateries, including the original Pronto Pup corn dog stand.

The Golden City of Rajasthan is also one of the best budget-friendly travel destinations in India. With colossal forts, opulent havelis, museums showcasing ancient manuscripts and artefacts and innumerable eateries selling authentic Rajasthani delicacies, Jaisalmer is an absolute treat for every traveler who wishes to take time out and tour this place.

Anyone arriving at Musk Land for the first time will have the same head-scratching experience. You’re told to park at One Rocket Road in Hawthorne, where SpaceX has its HQ. It seems impossible that anything good could call Hawthorne home. It’s a bleak part of Los Angeles County in which groupings of rundown houses, run-down shops, and run-down eateries surround huge, industrial complexes that appear to have been built during some kind of architectural Boring Rectangle movement.

Because of the passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1964, the WHITES and COLOREDS ONLY signs on water fountains, bathrooms, shops, and eateries had now come down for the most part as a result of federal decrees and the presence of armed U.S. marshals in Southern climes. It had occurred at the cost of the Southern states fleeing the LBJ-led Democratic Party and hitching their allegiances to the Republican Grand Old Party of Lincoln, which was irony beyond irony, thought Jack.

BARTON CENTRE, 912, 9th Floor, Mahatma Gandhi Rd, Bengaluru, Karnataka - 560 001 Phone Number +91 8884400919 Investigate Bali with SurfNxt - Your Fantasy Get-away from Bangalore Is it true that you are prepared to set out on a remarkable excursion bali tour package from bangalore? With SurfNxt's selective Bali visit bundle, we offer a consistent and magnificent travel experience customized only for you. Find Bali's stunning scenes, energetic culture, and perfect sea shores in a well-organized schedule intended to give you the best that this tropical heaven brings to the table. Why Pick SurfNxt for Your Bali Experience? At SurfNxt, we focus on your solace and fulfillment. Our bali tour package from bangalore is created to suit both independent voyagers and families, with adaptable choices to investigate this colorful island. From air terminal exchanges to directed visits, we deal with everything about you can zero in on partaking in your excursion. You can anticipate this: Bundle Features: Agreeable Air Travel: Your get-away starts the second you load onto your departure from Bangalore. Partake in an issue free travel insight with premium carriers presenting in-flight diversion, open to seating, and dinners. Rich Convenience: Remain in Bali's best hotels and estates, found near popular attractions like Ubud, Kuta Ocean side, and Seminyak. Whether you lean toward ocean facing pieces of land or quiet withdraws encompassed by rich plant life, we guarantee you experience a definitive solace and unwinding. Social Inundation: Find Bali's rich legacy with visits to holy sanctuaries like Tanah Part and Uluwatu. Our neighborhood guides will take you through the island's set of experiences, customs, and otherworldliness, permitting you to see the value in its one of a kind culture genuinely. Invigorating Experiences: Whether you're a daredevil or searching for a tranquil retreat, our Bali bundle takes special care of everybody. Enjoy water sports like surfing, swimming, and scuba plunging, or unwind with yoga meetings and spa medicines. Try not to miss the well known Bali Swing, offering shocking perspectives on the wilderness. Fascinating Cooking: Enjoy the kinds of Bali with conventional Indonesian dinners. From delectable road food to high end food encounters, we guide you to the best diners and neighborhood eateries for a real taste of the island. Day Visits and Outings: Investigate Bali's famous spots, including the rice patios of Tegallalang, Mount Batur, and the tranquil sea shores of Nusa Dua. Our directed visits will take you outside of what might be expected, guaranteeing you experience the unlikely treasures of Bali. Shopping and Nightlife: Bali offers a dynamic nightlife and phenomenal shopping encounters. Investigate neighborhood markets, craftsmanship exhibitions, and shops in Ubud and Seminyak. At night, loosen up at one of Bali's sleek ocean side clubs or partake in a night out in Kuta. Customized Administration: At SurfNxt, we trust in customizing your movement experience. Whether you're praising a special first night, arranging a family excursion, or leaving on a performance trip, we tailor our bundles to meet your inclinations. Our movement specialists are generally accessible to help you, guaranteeing a smooth and pleasant excursion beginning to end. Bali Looks for You - Book Now! With SurfNxt's select bali tour package from bangalore, you should simply gather your sacks and prepare for an important escape. Whether you're attracted to Bali's peaceful sea shores, profound culture, or courageous exercises, we have everything covered. Book your fantasy excursion today, and let SurfNxt take you on an excursion that could only be described as epic!

January 2013 Andy’s Message   Hi Young, I’m home after two weeks in Tasmania. My rowing team was the runner-up at the Lindisfarne annual rowing competition. Since you were so forthright with your OBSS experiences, I’ll reciprocate with a tale of my own from the Philippines.☺               The Canadian GLBT rowing club had organised a fun excursion to Palawan Island back in 1977. This remote island was filled with an abundance of wildlife, forested mountains and beautiful pristine beaches.               It is rated by the National Geographic Traveller magazine as the best island destination in East and South-East Asia and ranked the thirteenth-best island in the world. In those days, this locale was vastly uninhabited, except by a handful of residents who were fishermen or local business owners.               We stayed in a series of huts, built above the ocean on stilts. These did not have shower or toilet facilities; lodgers had to wade through knee-deep waters or swim to shore to do their business. This place was a marvellous retreat for self-discovery and rejuvenation. I was glad I didn’t have to room with my travelling buddies and had a hut to myself.               I had a great time frolicking on the clear aquiline waters where virgin corals and unperturbed sea-life thrived without tourist intrusions. When we travelled into Lungsodng Puerto Princesa (City of Puerto Princesa) for food and a shower, the locals gawked at us - six Caucasian men and two women - as if we had descended from another planet. For a few pesos, a family-run eatery agreed to let us use their outdoor shower facility. A waist-high wooden wall, loosely constructed, separated the bather from a forest at the rear of the house. In the midst of my shower, I noticed a local adolescent peeping from behind a tree in the woods. I pretended not to notice as he watched me lathe and played with himself. I was turned on by this lascivious display of sexual gratification. The further I soaped, the more aroused I became. Through the gaps of the wooden planks, the boy caught glimpses of my erection – like a peep show in a sex shop, I titillated the teenager. His eyes were glued to my every move, so much so that he wasn’t aware that his friend had creeped up from behind. When he felt an extra hand on his throbbing hardness, he let out a yelp of astonishment. Before long, the boys were masturbating each other. They stroked one another without mortification, as if they had done this before, while watching my exhibitionistic performance carefully. This concupiscent carnality excited me tremendously. Unfortunately, my imminent release was punctured by a fellow member hollering for me to vacate the space for his turn, since I’d been showering for quite a while. I finished my performance with an anticlimactic final, leaving the boys to their own devices. But this was not the end of our chance encounter. There is more to ‘cum’ in my next correspondence!               Much love and kisses,               Andy

on the island where the drunken and brokenhearted typically washed ashore after a night of debauchery. A red-faced Swede at Le Select claimed to have bought Spider a Heineken that very morning. Someone else said he saw him stalking the beach at Colombier, and there was a report, never confirmed, of an inconsolable creature baying at the moon in the wilds of Toiny. The gendarmes faithfully followed each lead. Then they scoured the island from north to south, stem to stern, all to no avail. A few minutes after sundown, Reginald Ogilvy informed the crew of the Aurora that Spider Barnes had vanished and that a suitable replacement would have to be found in short order. The crew fanned out across the island, from the waterside eateries of Gustavia to the beach shacks of the Grand Cul-de-Sac. And by nine that evening, in the unlikeliest of places, they had found their man. He had arrived on the island at the height of hurricane season and settled into the clapboard cottage at the far end of the beach at Lorient. He had no possessions other than a canvas duffel bag, a stack of well-read books, a shortwave radio, and a rattletrap motor scooter that he’d acquired in Gustavia for a few grimy banknotes and a smile. The books were thick, weighty, and learned; the radio was of a quality

2012 Andy’s Message   Young, I have clear memories of Amsterdam. Last year, I returned to the canal city for a vacation. ‘The District’ in 1968 was very different compared to 2011. This area is now a well-organized vicinity with numerous cafes, eateries and new editions to the vibrant landscape. The ban on brothels was lifted in 2000. The De Wallen activities are now actively regulated and controlled by the Dutch authorities.               Do you remember the prostitutes were predominantly Dutch, German, French and Belgian back then? Now, there are numerous Latinas, Blacks and Asians (mainly from the Philippines, the Golden Triangle and Thailand) working in the vicinity. They’re now liable for taxes.               Many coffee shops had also sprung up. Though food, alcohol, and tobacco are generally consumed outside the cafes, these establishments are licensed to sell cannabis and soft drugs.               You remember those narrow alleyways that Jabril took us down, where the sex workers sat elegantly in windows that resembled living rooms? These are now one-room cabins that prostitutes rent to offer their sexual services from behind a window or glass door; often illuminated by red lights - better known as “kamers.” ‘The District’ is now a tourist attraction…

January 2013 Continuation of Andy’s Message (part one)   Young,               You must be eager to find out what transpired after my exhibitionistic shower episode at that homey eatery.☺               As our group browsed one of Princesa City’s outdoor markets, I was stalked by the two forest boys. They trailed us at a distance, only making appearances when they thought I wasn’t looking. LOL!               Before long, those two had edged up next to me as I was looking at souvenirs for friends. Since I towered over them in height and build, they gawked at me as if at an alien. Their petite stature measured to my waist when they stood next to me.               As it was customary for street vendors to haggle over prices with their clients, I asked the boys if they would bargain on my behalf. They agreed. Although Taer, the older of the two, had a knack for bargaining, his chum Anak was a master of haggling. The both of them would drag me away from the stall in question, if the vendor did not agree to their offer. By harrying away, the stall keeper would often beckon our return, thus sealing the deal we offered.               Even though the duo could only communicate in broken English, it did not deter my rowing pals from soliciting their bargaining services. We treated the boys to a scrumptious dinner at an outdoor eatery they recommended towards the end of our shopping spree. Throughout our excursion, they seized every opportunity to brush against me – a trait I found adorable.☺               I invited them for a nightcap at my lodging after a jovial dinner. Quick to jump at that suggestion, they headed back to my hut with me. Before I knew it, we were frolicking naked in the ocean below my chamber. You guessed it, one thing led to another…               To be continued. LOL!

PRECINCT CRAB CAKES 2 pounds lump crabmeat, drained and picked ¼ cup chopped sweet onion ¼ cup chopped red onion 2 eggs pinch of dry mustard pinch of nutmeg 1 cup breadcrumbs, divided 2 tablespoons mayonnaise salt to taste white pepper to taste cayenne to taste 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 tablespoon butter Crab Cake Sauce (see next column) Gently toss together crabmeat, sweet onions, red onions, eggs, mustard, nutmeg, and 2 tablespoons of the breadcrumbs. Reserve remaining breadcrumbs for dredging. Add mayonnaise, salt, white pepper, and cayenne to crabmeat mixture, being careful not to overseason. Form into 4-ounce balls and refrigerate for 1 hour. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. To cook, lightly dredge crab balls in remaining breadcrumbs, pressing lightly to flatten slightly. Place cakes in a preheated nonstick skillet with olive oil and butter. Cook for 2 minutes on each side at medium-high heat. Place in oven for 2 to 3 minutes. Pour Crab Cake Sauce over cakes and serve immediately. Serves 4.

I was hungry and you gave me food….” —Matthew 25:35 (RSV) I sat through lunch at the usual eatery, hoping the woman would be gone when I walked back to the office. The sight of her was just too upsetting: a disheveled-looking mom at the top of the subway steps, begging with her two young children in tow. “If she’s gone when I go back, I won’t have to do anything,” I told myself. I’d be off the hook. But just the image of her had kept me on the hook. Why weren’t her children in school? Where did they live? “I shouldn’t give her anything because she’s probably an addict,” I rationalized. People who know more about these things than I do tell me beggars will take whatever money you give them and use it for drugs or alcohol. But what about her kids? They weren’t addicts. They were wearing clean T-shirts, jeans, their hair braided with beads. “I’ll pray for them,” I told myself. But to leave it at that seemed like a cop-out. Maybe they’re there because God wants you do something, Rick. Not just for them but also for you. The poor and hungry should not just be ignored. I swallowed the rest of my sandwich and went to the counter to buy some more food. Not for myself this time. I carried my bag and rounded the corner. She was still there. “What’s your name?” I asked the woman. “Dolores,” she said. “Dolores, this is for you.” I gave her the food and promised to pray for her. Back at the office I put her name on a note with the names of the other people I pray for. I’ve never been good about praying for big concepts like hunger or the poor, but now I had these three faces and one name. Harden not my heart, Lord, from the pain in the world. Let me know how I can relieve it. —Rick Hamlin Digging Deeper: Mt 25:31–46; 2 Cor 1:3–4

Of all the decadences this upper-middle-class eatery has to offer, the coffee is among the cheapest, but my favorite by far. It tastes like liquid civilization. “How

He’d wanted to be romantic and impress his new bride by making her favorite dishes during the first week of their claiming period but maybe it would have been a better idea to take her out to an eatery instead.

PICTURES of pets adorn the façades and menus of restaurants in Nam Dinh, a city in a part of northern Vietnam where cats and dogs are commonly consumed. “Delicious,” says Vu Van Thu, a taxi driver, as he downs a plate of sautéed feline in one eatery. Down the road, terrified puppy-eyes stare out from a metal cage beside a dog restaurant’s kitchen. A victim yelps as a butcher raises his knife. The proprietor says his staff gets through scores of kilograms of dog meat per day.

The stainless-steel mold gives the cheese its disc shape, about ten inches thick and two feet in diameter. But the mold serves another increasingly important function, as an anticounterfeiting measure. The molds are specially produced by the Consorzio Parmigiano-Reggiano, an independent and self-regulating industry group funded by fees levied on cheese producers. Carefully tracked and numbered, molds are supplied only to licensed and inspected dairies, and each is lined with Braille-like needles that crate a pinpoint pattern instantly recognizable to foodies, spelling out the name of the cheese over and over again in a pattern forever imprinted on its rind. A similar raised-pin mold made of plastic is slipped between the steel and the cheese to permanently number the rind of every lot so that any wheel can be traced back to a particular dairy and day of origin. Like a tattoo, these numbers and the words Parmigiano-Reggiano become part of the skin. Later in its life, because counterfeiting the King of Cheeses has become a global pastime, this will be augmented with security holograms... One night, friends came to town and invited Alice out to dinner at celebrity chef Mario Batali's vaunted flagship Italian eatery, Babbo. As Alice told me this story, at one point during their meal, the waiter displayed a grater and a large wedge of cheese with great flourish, asking her if she wanted Parmigiano-Reggiano on her pasta. She did not say yes. She did not say no. Instead Alice looked at the cheese and asked, "Are you sure that's Parmigiano-Reggiano?" Her replied with certainty, "Yes." "You're sure?" "Yes." She then asked to see the cheese. The waiter panicked, mumbled some excuse, and fled into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a different and much smaller chunk of cheese, which he handed over for examination. The new speck was old, dry, and long past its useful shelf-life, but it was real Parmigiano-Reggiano, evidenced by the pin-dot pattern. "The first one was Grana Padano," she explained. "I could clearly read the rind. They must have gone searching through all the drawers in the kitchen in a panic until they found this forgotten crumb of Parmigiano-Reggiano." Alice Fixx was the wrong person to try this kind of bait and switch on, but she is the exception, and I wonder how many other expense-account diners swallowed a cheaper substitute. This occurred at one of the most famous and expensive Italian eateries in the country. What do you think happens at other restaurants?

RIVER QUAY In Kansas City, if one were to bring up the topic of River Quay (pronounced “River Key”), that conversation would no doubt evolve into a conversation about River Market. Today, River Market is a hip-and-trendy neighborhood in Kansas City, Missouri. Located just south of the Missouri River. Adorning River Market’s quaint neighborhood feel, you’ll find chic eateries. Coupled to an urban lifestyle. Complete with a streetcar. A stone’s throw to the west of Christopher S. Bond Bridge. That’s today. Today’s River Market. Yesterday’s River Quay. In 1971, Marion Trozzolo - then, a Rockhurst University professor - began renovating historic buildings alongside the “Big Muddy” in a section of Kansas City that we now know to be River Market. It was Professor Trozzolo who came up with the River Quay nickname. Trozzolo’s idea for River Quay? For River Quay to undergo a thorough, artsy-remake. Into a Kansas City-styled French Quarter. A neighborhood comparable to Chicago’s Old Town. To San Francisco’s Ghirardelli Square. Trozzolo envisioned a family-friendly environ for River Quay. Unfortunately, the latter half of the ‘70’s was a rough time for this neighborhood next to the muddy Missouri. The word Quay? It's a word of French origin. The translation for Quay? Loading platform. Or wharf. Did River Quay ever become a Kansas City French Quarter? Did River Quay ever become a Kansas City Old Town? Did River Quay ever become a Kansas City Ghirardelli Square? Hardly. By the late ‘70’s, revitalization efforts in River Quay had stalled. Leaving River Quay saddled with boarded up buildings. Deserted through-streets. A neighborhood, with no vibrancy. Streets, with no traffic. Sidewalks, with no passers-by. By the late ‘70’s, developers were walking away from unfinished River Quay projects. Whereas River Quay had once - not long before - been primed for a grandiose new identity. One which bespoke of a rebirth for this neighborhood. A transition. From blight. To that of an entertainment district. Yet by the late ‘70’s, River Quay was not on its way to becoming Kansas City’s French Quarter. By the late ‘70’s, you’d still find an X-rated theatre in River Quay. With mob ties. Homeless, sleeping next to decrepit River Quay buildings. Empty River Quay buildings which had once been fancied as prime renovation opportunities. Projects, sadly cast aside and forgotten. In River Quay.  In the late 1970’s? Well, at that time, River Quay was as an unfinished idea. Full of unrealized potential. Full of unrealized promise. Disappointing, no doubt. Yet today, on those same grounds, alongside the Missouri River, we have Kansas City’s stunning River Market. A great idea. Then a detour. Yet, a happy ending - and a nice story, with a unique history- in Kansas City.

The G&G, at 1106 Blue Hill Avenue, stood almost exactly midway between the Jewish district’s northern border in Grove Hall and its southern border in Mattapan Square. If asked to free-associate about Jewish Boston, former residents invariably utter “the G&G,” referring to Irving Green and Charlie Goldstein’s eatery.

Visual access to kitchen: There is nothing quite like being able to look into a restaurant’s kitchen and watch your food being prepared. The open burners, or the glow emanating from a wood-fired pizza oven, harken back to ancient times and offer a sense of hearth and home. There is also something both reassuring and entertaining about watching a busy kitchen as you await your food. Personally I find kitchens with no visual access disconcerting. Consider whether some visual access to the kitchen from your dining room might further your concept.

Visitors to Mason’s Yard in St. James’s will search in vain for Isherwood Fine Arts. They will, however, find the extraordinary Old Master gallery owned by my dear friend Patrick Matthiesen. A brilliant art historian blessed with an infallible eye, Patrick never would have allowed a misattributed work by Artemisia Gentileschi to languish in his storerooms for nearly a half century. The painting depicted in The Cellist does not exist. If it did, it would look a great deal like the one produced by Artemisia’s father, Orazio, that hangs in the National Gallery of Art in Washington. Like Julian Isherwood and his new managing partner, Sarah Bancroft, the inhabitants of my version of London’s art world are wholly fictitious, as are their sometimes-questionable antics. Their midsummer drinking session at Wiltons Restaurant would have been entirely permissible, as the landmark London eatery briefly reopened its doors before a rise in coronavirus infection rates compelled Prime Minister Boris Johnson to shut down all non-essential businesses. Wherever possible, I tried to adhere to prevailing conditions and government-mandated restrictions. But when necessary, I granted myself the license to tell my story without the crushing weight of the pandemic. I chose Switzerland as the primary setting for The Cellist because life there proceeded largely as normal until November 2020. That said, a private concert and reception at the Kunsthaus Zürich, even for a cause as worthy as democracy, likely could not have taken place in mid-October. I offer my profound apologies to the renowned Janine Jansen for the unflattering comparison to Anna Rolfe. Ms. Jansen is rightly regarded as one of her generation’s finest violinists, and Anna, of course, exists only in my imagination. She was introduced in the second Gabriel Allon novel, The English Assassin, along with Christopher Keller. Martin Landesmann, my committed if deeply flawed Swiss financier, made his debut in The Rembrandt Affair. The story of Gabriel’s blood-soaked duel with the Russian arms dealer Ivan Kharkov is told in Moscow Rules and its sequel, The Defector. Devotees of F. Scott Fitzgerald undoubtedly spotted the luminous line from The Great Gatsby that appears in chapter 32 of The Cellist. For the record, I am well aware that the headquarters of Israel’s secret intelligence service is no longer located on King Saul Boulevard in Tel Aviv. There is no safe house in the historic moshav of Nahalal—at least not one that I am aware of—and Gabriel and his family do not live on Narkiss Street in West Jerusalem. Occasionally, however, they can be spotted at Focaccia on Rabbi Akiva Street, one of my favorite restaurants in Jerusalem.

Food, not liquor, was YNK’s love. He should have defined PhD as Precious Hours of Dining, for he was always in search of new eateries and new dishes he could call ‘the world’s best’.

Sham Harga had run a successful eatery for many years by always smiling, never extending credit, and realizing that most of his customers wanted meals properly balanced between the four food groups: sugar, starch, grease and burnt crunchy bits.

This little place is a jewel that is quite possibly my #1 eatery in the world. Pre-publication, I said that [O] is in my global top five, but after actually giving the notion some thought, I don’t think there is another restaurant anywhere in the world that I would rather visit.

Prologue SEXY BEAST One LIKE THE LUXURY CO-OPS and five-star French eateries located in Manhattan’s Silk

Israel was ahead of the curve, seemingly able to bring the disease under control while others could not. It was then that I made a cardinal mistake. Responding to public pressure, the government lifted restrictions on public gatherings, restaurants, bars, eateries, large parks, swimming pools, and public transportation too quickly. To make matters worse, I gave a press conference in which I thanked Israel’s citizens for their cooperation and then added, “We want to help the economy and ease your lives, to make it possible for you to get out, return to normalcy. Go get a cup of coffee, a glass of beer, have fun.”3 The public did just that and the infection rate soon began to rise again. “Prime Minister, are we out of it?” I was asked by my staff. “Of course not,” I answered. “As long as there’s even one infected person around, the disease will reappear and again spread exponentially.” “So what should we do?” “You ever play an accordion?” I asked. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll open up and close down the country, depending on the infection rate and our hospitals’ ability to handle the severely ill, until we can get this damn thing under control.” The “accordion policy” was an attempt to strike a balance between keeping the hospitals from crashing and keeping businesses from collapsing. We shelled out billions of shekels to help small businesses, employers, and laid-off workers. This largesse was frowned upon by those who had previously supported my tight fiscal policies. Two prominent officials in the Finance Ministry unabashedly briefed reporters against the government’s economic aid policy. “Prime Minister Netanyahu is working against Finance Minister Netanyahu,” carped my critics. Not quite. Unlike in previous economic crises, the world was awash with cheap credit. The cost of an economic collapse from a general health breakdown would be far greater than the interest payments we would have to make to keep business alive.

The Beginning Sergeant Smelly was a normal man. He lived in a normal village, full of normal people and had a normal address. He lived at 1 Normall Street in the village of Normall Normall. The village was so normal they named it twice. His first name was eighty-three percent normal—Norman. Most people knew him as Normal Norman from Normall Normall; a rotund and jolly man who lived an exceedingly normal life. Well, normal, if appearing in court on exploding fart charges was normal. Normal, if producing fire from your butt was normal. All of his body parts were normal. Apart from one: his butt. His butt was abnormal. It used to be a normal butt, but everything changed in the blink of a fart. Sergeant Smelly's face glistened with sweat and his heartbeats quickened as the judge read out the charge. "Sergeant Smelly, you are here today because you could not control your soldiers, not to mention your bottom. You are hereby charged with the crime of producing exploding fire-farts. How do you plead?" asked Army Judge Mental. The stout sergeant considered the question and his thoughts transported him back to the day it all went smelly. One fateful morning, Sergeant Smelly lay in bed suffering from a horrible cold. Empty boxes lay scattered across the floor, and the bin overflowed with used tissues. He groaned as he pulled the last tissue from the box. A passer-by in the street below jumped as he heard the foghorn sound. He inspected the contents of the tissue (Sergeant Smelly, not the passer-by) and wished he had not. It was time for action. The suffering soldier dragged himself out of bed and got dressed. He wore a waterproof jacket on top of his uniform, as his army blazer was not snot-proof. Not that any of his other clothes were snot-proof. He trudged downstairs and made himself a hot lemon with honey, then switched on his laptop. After an extensive internet search, he found the best remedy to fix the cold was to feed it, so he plodded into town and searched for a place to eat. The first eatery he found had a ridiculous name, but the café was almost full. He watched the customers from the window as they tucked into their food. The plain wooden tables and basic white tablecloths oozed simplicity, but the gorgeous grub eclipsed the plain interior. Silence filled the air as customers tucked into delectable dishes and drifted off to food heaven.  But an odorous pong emanated from the café, and it was not the food. Sergeant Smelly did not smell the malodorous stench due to his blocked nose and cold. The cold was so bad it came alive. Colin the Cold smelled the awful pong and begged his owner to reconsider. He tried in vain to turn his attention to the sandwich shop, but Sergeant Smelly did not hear him. Colin the Cold saw disaster around the corner. Major Disaster walked around the corner and greeted him in a bright and cheery fashion. "Morning, Smelly," said Major Disaster in a bright and cheery fashion. Colin the Cold was correct and sensed nothing good would come of Sergeant Smelly eating at Café McPoo. It had Disaster Area written all over it, but the police apprehended the graffiti artist, and he was hard at work wiping the words ‘Disaster Area’ from the front of the café. Colin the Cold frowned and prepared himself for the worst. And so it began.

The journey to meet Shiva is difficult. You may have to wash dishes in roadside eateries, spend nights at railway stations, disappoint your parents and loved ones who are in grip of Maya. 1 in a million undertakes that journey. Others just become part of fan groups and get intoxicated on songs and substances.

The Devil was waiting for me around the corner; camouflaged in the evening darkness, smiling with a wicked smile while entertaining the thought if he could tempt Jesus Christ with the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, if he could tempt, Eve first and then Adam, to eat the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden what match would this glutton be before his destructive powers. This time instead of assuming the form of a vile serpent, he transformed himself into a demonic breeze that wafted out the delicious aromas from all eateries to my nostrils.

scorcher of a day. The temperature had reached and then exceeded the forecast 98 degrees, and even for Rees Colback, who’d grown up in Florida and served in some of the hottest hellholes imaginable, it had made for an uncomfortable day. It was his first visit to the Big Apple. He’d followed the obligatory tourist trail, paying more than fifty bucks to take in the view from the top of the Empire State Building, then walking to Times Square for more pictures before having a sandwich in Central Park. As the evening wore on, his appetite had grown and he was heading down Fifth Avenue to an eatery his closest friend had recommended. Pricey,

The Gangster Squad, as it is called, was originally formed in 1946 as a response to criminals from back East coming west to shake down local restaurants. The owners of famous L.A. eateries like Mocambo and Brown

BARTON CENTRE, 912, 9th Floor, Mahatma Gandhi Rd, Bengaluru, Karnataka - 560 001 Phone Number +91 8884400919 **Find the Charm of Mauritius: An Ideal Visit Bundle from Bangalore** Mauritius, a little island country settled in the Indian Sea, is a mother lode of regular excellence, rich culture, and unending experience. For voyagers from Bangalore searching for a stunning escape, the Mauritius visit bundle presented by SurfNxt guarantees an encounter not at all like some other. This bundle catches the genuine embodiment of the island, mixing rich facilities with vivid neighborhood encounters that will leave you charmed. **Shocking Facilities Await** One of the features of the Mauritius Tour Package From Bangalore is the chance to remain in a portion of the island's most stunning properties. From ocean front retreats to beguiling store lodgings, every convenience choice is intended to guarantee an agreeable and serene stay. Picture awakening to the sound of waves lapping at the shore, with dazzling sea sees right from your overhang. A large number of these lodgings likewise offer first rate conveniences like pools, spas, and high end food encounters that commend the kinds of Mauritius. **Investigate the Regular Wonders** Mauritius is eminent for its amazing scenes, and this visit bundle permits you to jump profound into the island's regular miracles. You can set out on directed trips to notorious spots like the Seven Shaded Earths of Chamarel, where you'll wonder about the lively, multi-tinted soil developments. The Dark Stream Crevasses Public Park offers amazing climbing trails that wander through rich timberlands and past flowing cascades, ideal for nature devotees and experience searchers the same. You may likewise get the opportunity to investigate the brilliant coral reefs that encompass the island. Swimming and plunging journeys are essential for the agenda, permitting you to find the energetic marine life that possesses these waters. For the individuals who lean toward an all the more comfortable methodology, glass-base boat rides offer a remarkable perspective on the submerged world without getting wet! **Drench Yourself in Neighborhood Culture** No outing to Mauritius would be finished without encountering its rich culture and legacy. The visit bundle is intended to allow you to collaborate with the nearby local area and investigate the island's different history. Walk around the clamoring markets of Port Louis, where you can look for trinkets, flavors, and materials while absorbing the lively air. A visit to the Aapravasi Ghat, an UNESCO World Legacy site, gives a brief look into the island's past and the different societies that have formed it. Culinary experiences are likewise a feature of the visit. Enjoy the nearby cooking, which is a flavorful mix of Creole, Indian, Chinese, and French impacts. Take part in cooking classes or enjoy choice dishes at prestigious eateries that grandstand the island's exceptional flavors. **Custom fitted Encounters Only for You** SurfNxt comprehends that each explorer is extraordinary. Their is exceptionally adjustable, permitting you to pick exercises that suit your inclinations — be it experience sports, unwinding on immaculate sea shores, or social investigation. With proficient aides and a committed help group, you can anticipate that an improving encounter that caters should every one of your necessities. In synopsis, the Mauritius Tour Package From Bangalore with SurfNxt offers a remarkable excursion loaded up with experience, extravagance, and social lavishness. Gather your sacks and prepare for an island get away from that will pass on you with recollections to love for a lifetime!