Lawrence Schoen does a weekly blog entry every Monday called Eating Authors, where he gets authors to discuss some memorable meal. I also recently reviewed Ferrett Steinmetz's debut novel Flex (DW). So today's entry is a confluence of all that is good and wonderful.
Ferrett Steinmetz on Eating Authors.
(NOTE: Because I am a gourmand, I do not describe myself as chubby. I am, rather, Ferrett confit.)Come for the food, stay for the good cry.
So when I discuss the best meal I’ve ever had, should I talk about eating the gold-encrusted salad I had at the two-Michelin star restaurant Sixteen? Or the life-changing agnolotti I had at Joe Bastianich’s Babbo? Or even the greasiest, cheapest, most delicious egg-and-bacon sandwich you can get at Cleveland’s very own Old Fashion Hot Dogs, where you can stuff three people full of perfectly-grilled “dawgs” for under ten dollars?
No. The first fine meal I had was the greatest fine meal, and cannot be surpassed. Because of my Uncle Tommy.
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