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: sweat
Of dogs and pigs
So that dude who asked me if I partied... As the conversation got going, I thought, Nooo, he can't possibly be so sleazy as to hit on me, I mean, that's just too sad and predictable.
Welcome home!
This is what the guayabera-clad staff of luxury hotels seem to have taken to saying to arriving guests, even when it's just me driving up in my lub-lub-lubbing little blue Bug, with big sweat stains under the arms of my sink-washed shirt.