Today, Benoît came out of the kitchen with a silly grin on his face, and placed a bowl of grapes in front of me at the dining room table. He sat down, and looked at me expectantly. "Try one," he said, looking strangely excited.
I tried one. It was a grape. He was smiling now. Maybe it was poisoned? "What?" I asked him.
"Seedless," he said. I stared at him. "No, seriously, no seeds!" he insisted. "Try them. Not a single seed. I've never seen this before. I don't know how they did it."
Then we discussed the word treadmill.
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My food blog is on indefinite hold, awaiting the arrival of a full working kitchen and an internet connection not composed of a tin can and fishing line.
I am loving:
music: moi je joue, brigitte bardot (thank you, sofia coppola) ; jeune fille aux cheveux blancs, camille (thank you, evangeline lilly)books: the year of magical thinking, joan didion; white tiger, aravind adiga; the brief wondrous life of oscar wao, junot diaz; lady chatterly's lover (but not as much as sons and lovers), d.h. lawrence;
web: 1000 awesome things; the very shortlist (from Kurt Anderson of Studio 360, kind of a web version of the show);
podcasts: all songs considered; LSE (london school of economics, because if the economic meltdown is killing you at least you can sound smart talking about it)
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