Ruth Reichl is notorious for her florid turns of phrase, particularly when it comes to things like food, and the weather, and the state of her porch, and various permutations of morning dew. (She even has a well-known imitator!) But we fear that the New York Times has just discovered someone far more baroque about food, more ornate about weather, more poetic about restaurants — and, wouldn’t you know, it’s an actual poet.
The French Laundry:
“We sat down. We had our own little room. This waiter came in, and we were served 10 courses, or something, of the most extraordinary food. It was like, ‘This course is comprised of April breeze on pond water,’ and ‘This next course will be summer night, half-moon, ocean water.’ And every single bite was exquisite. By the end, I was drunk on food. I was drunk on love. We were in love with the waiter. We were practically licking him. I was in love with the world because of food. I have never known anything like it in my life.”
Profound, really — and especially for someone who will only eat thinly sliced apples and almond butter. All day. Seriously. Ruth, you’ve been warned. This hardcore diet might be giving Ms. Howe a leg up.
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