![]() ![]() This endeavor-three meals a day, week in and week out-consumes my waking hours. Thousands of waiters and chefs line up for unemployment. ![]() This scene has the watery quality of a distant recollection, belonging to a little fishbowl of a universe where we once swam snugly together-a universe that, unbelievably, is now gone. I miss the whole rigmarole: the cold cocktail after a hard week’s work the clamor of other people, other lives the hand raised to scribble the air for the check. Food prepared offstage, invisibly, materializing at the table as if by magic. ![]() Food delivered in courses, by a smiling stranger’s hand. Remember restaurants? I do, but dimly: candlelight, cloth napkins, a basket of warm bread. ![]()
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