If you found this blog by Googling my name or by following sundry noxious links (you know where), please note that all claims that I was fired from my job are 100% false, as are most of the other things written about me. I don't know the people who are libeling me, but it's clear they have some imaginary axe to grind and way too much time.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

I may have a date* as soon as tomorrow.

Noah is not a fan of bananas or raw eggs, thinks I should read FXCuisine, and prefers Japanese.

I told him about the worst raw egg I ever had, which was in the form of a Prairie Chicken. The story isn't interesting; I did it because it was there. It was bad, but not terrible. It tasted like rolling into Frary for breakfast hungover from 99-cent margaritas, asking for an over medium fried egg and getting it way slutty easy, and dousing it with Tabasco to mask the sliminess. In other words, it tasted like the aftertaste of a poor college-era decision.

He is currently pondering good Japanese spots for our midtown lunch meeting. He has been pondering for a while. I like that.

*Again, the label problem. "Buddydate" is clumsy, "fooddate" seems redundant. What should we do?

1 comment:

  1. I think the obvious choice is "eat out buddy."