I just returned from sunny California where the state’s in a bit of a budget crisis. I spent most of my time drinking fresherboba and eatingyakitori with more obscure body parts than you can find on the East Coast. But I took a few seconds from consuming here and there to talk politics (although it was mostly about the mayor’s affair with a reporter, his bodyguard manhandling a reporter, or a number of other politicians’ political pratfalls). Among the proposals floating around to close the budget deficit – mostly cutting funding for a cocktail of social services – none seemed as outside-the-boxy as one I heard today after I returned to D.C.
Even after a few bowls of gazpacho and a plate of shrimp, I still had room for more. The white chocolate ganache almost put me over the edge, but I talked myself out of slowing down. “This is the Free Food-A-Thon finals,” the voice inside my head kept saying. “This is what separates the interns from the eaters. The one-luncheon losers from the hotel-hopping heroes.”
But I didn’t want to settle for hero. As any kid who grew up watching The Sandlotwill tell you, “Heroes get remembered. But legends never die.”
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