My New Roots
Eating out is a grand seduction. From the moment I step into a restaurant, I am totally open and utterly surrendered to the experience. The first thing I notice when I enter is the smell – I actually like it to hit me with an assertive thwack – like someone proudly shouting a rainbow of aromas to my face that something amazing is happening in the kitchen. I love sitting down at the table, gently touching the cutlery, unfolding the napkin and placing it in my lap, the first exchange with the server, opening the menu. It’s all very weighty, very important, very ritualistic for me. While I was on my cookbook tour, you can imagine that I ate out a lot. The dish arrived, its scent wafting up from the pristine white bowl and pools of amber oil intermingling with green globes of seasonal spring perfection. The lentils were raw. No, not al dente. I rarely, rarely send something back to the kitchen, but because I was so seduced by the idea of this dish and it completely fell flat, I just had to.
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