Author: zora

Condimental

How can I come back from Mexico, to what is basically an empty fridge, and still have a hard time tossing something on the top shelf?

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Duck, duck, grease

Last night was Sunday and Peter's birthday--a double call for dinner. Tamara's sharp invitation to dinner at Peter's new apartment (housewarming too: make that a triple call for dinner) reminded us it was his Jesus year, and that the birthday boy should be affectionately referred to as "you fucking fag."

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Winding down

Tonight's my last night--back in the old favorite Playa del Carmen. Not the greatest beach town, but certainly not the worst, and the array of the Italian tourists' bathing suit styles and depths of tans is quite impressive.

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What I Ate

Oh yeah, today at a cheery little cafeteria in Cancun: big oval quesadillas of thick, chewy corn tortillas filled with 1) sauteed squash blossoms and 2) huitlacoche, aka white-trash truffles, that corn fungus that's all black and tastes like bacon.

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