I have a friend. A good friend, a dear friend, that I have known since grade 8. We bonded over a hatred of exercise. We were in the same P.E. class, and took turn writing notes to excuse us from taking P.E. by signing each other's mother's name. We were also in the same physics class, and shared a mutual friend...The P-Man.
We are opposites in most every way. She likes the country, I prefer the city. She cares nothing for fashion, I have been known to spend a whole pay cheque on a dress. She listens to Dr John and old bands like Canned Heat, I listen to Aretha Franklin and Justin Timberlake. She likes camping, I like the Four Seasons. The one thing we have in common is food. We have travelled together, and eaten in many restaurants along the way. She won't eat crap, and neither will I. We are also both good cooks. We have cooked and eaten with each other for many years now.
I remember having dinner at a house she was renting, way back in the day. The table was set up in the living room, and consisted of four stacks of books for legs, and a 2 by 4 ft piece of wood, emblazoned with a stylized black and white image of Frank Zappa. We sat on the floor, atop a very gold shag carpet. I also remember the meal consisting of at least 3 courses...and it was damn good. Even though we live in different towns, we still manage to get together for a meal every once in awhile. The last time was a great New Years Eve Feast at Vol au Vent...and I even managed to cook enough food for a proper breakfast the next morning.
I noticed last week that she has become a follower of this blog. I respect her opinion, as I do her cooking.
Welcome, old friend...
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