Oddest dining experience yesterday: DiFara's pizza, in the depths of Brooklyn (I don't even know what that neighborhood is called, but Avenue J is the stop on the Q). This place is one of those hallowed Chowhound "finds," where an aged specialist mystically prepares transcendant, genre-defining examples of a given food, and disciple diners look on in awe and reverence.
Tag: posters
Viva Zapata!
The only trouble with traveling alone in a sunny climate is there's no one to put sunscreen on your back. I seem to have accidentally rendered the Pacific Ocean between my shoulder blades, with Japan and the California coastline marked in red.