I’ve never been tempted to sample fugu, the Japanese pufferfish whose internal organs are filled with poison so powerful that even a speck left in your sashimi by a careless chef can drop you dead after a few horrifying hours of pain. Plenty of Japanese gourmands will pay upwards of $200 for a fugu meal, but not me.
Why bring this up? Because the idea of sitting down for a meal at a local restaurant during this pandemic felt way too much like bellying up to a fugu bar. I needed to think it over before sitting down to something that’s sounds like fun but that could kill you.
And yet we did it anyway, settling in on the pretty, shady and very properly distanced patio at Selena’s at Willow Lake Tavern this week. We had a good meal and a good time, too, albeit against a backdrop of nervous unease perhaps similar to the emotions that fugu aficionados must feel. Continue reading We dine well at a proper distance on Selena’s patio→
Some people crave potato chips or chocolate. The other day I started craving Guinness stout. The more I thought about that dark, malty, bitter-chocolate beer with its creamy head so thick that you could float a farthing on it, the more I wanted a pint.
Thoughts upon eating edamame at Ramen House: If you’re supposed to get at these delicious little underripe-soybean snacks by popping the beans out of the inedible pod, what’s the point in seasoning the outside of the pod? Continue reading Everything is good at Ramen House→