It’s only 6 PM, and I’m feeling the delicate buzz. Two glasses of wine to the breeze. Never three sheets to the wind. To the point that feels warm and sunny.
An evening out alone with small plates and drinks at Spork. Ordering something new. What is huitlacoche? For some, a blight. A blight that a chef transmogrifies into a delicacy. Next time perhaps. Instead, lamb meatballs with mint and cucumber. A salad with watermelon and grape tomatoes and cubes of feta and lettuce sprinkled with pistachios somersaulting onto the plate. Ceviche. Never can pass on shrimp!
It feels so natural to walk in and say, “Just one.” Me. Not waiting for anyone.
A view to the street. Beside the open window. A table on the sidewalk.