Today finds me at Alterra Bayshore, with environs that still conjure up a continental streetscape (which is good, as finances won't permit me to get much closer to said continent this year than, say, the East Coast). The breeze is perfect, the clouds are pretty and I'm joined by a little community of those who think the evening would be wasted on whatever atrocities are on TV. Actually, like the "whipped cream on that?" guy from Barnes & Noble , who just walked by on his way to Potbelly*, it's work that I escape. Bills, schmills! Work, shirk!
Alterra is out of balsamic vinegar, and I think the House Citrus Salad is better for it. Does that get me thrown out of the foodie treehouse? I think the reason I hate that term is the silliness of distinguishing "food enthusiasts" from the broad mass of humanity, who, you know, just can't stand food or eating. Right? I'd much rather be a food activist. Food is infinitely more political than guns.
*Potbelly's ad slogan is "Our oven has been on since 1977". To which I respond, "Wow, you must not have OCD."
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