Food

K hi again. So real quick, I feel the need to make you jealous over what I ate for dinner last night. Because it was good. Angels singing the Hallelujah chorus good. Five-alarm fireman calender good. We skipped out on the concert we had originally been planning to go to (sold out, probably? Or are we just incredibly lazy? You decide.) and went out to dinner with Ter's mom. And Auntie Pat, of course. I really like that woman. It was a tiny little French restaurant tucked away behind the main streets where you'd never think to go. It was too noisy but the ambience was nice and they wait staff was all, surprise! French. Real, open candles, too. I'm surprised we didn't set anything on fire, honestly. Anyways. We get there and we order and then proceed to wait about an hour for the food. Its okay, though, because they have in the meantime plied us with the most delectable crusty bread that you could imagine. Then the food comes. I've ordered the veal and feel a twinge upon my concious for that, but once I taste it, holy Jesus God. I'm biting into it and I think "boy I'm sorry you were killed as a baby in inhumane conditions but DAMN how tasty." Then my brain stops functioning as I enter an ecstasy of taste which basically kills all conversation at the table. When I emerge from the fog we're all sitting around with in a happy stupor. I didn't remember what day it was or what time, there was only the mmmmmmmm. I wonder if that's how opium addicts feel?

Something to research for later. Chao, bellas.

H