The following are notes from Sortachef’s recent trip to the UK.
July 21st, Bloomsbury, Central London
While walking to Covent Garden after depositing our bags at the hotel, I spy a well-dressed man at a […]
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The following are notes from Sortachef’s recent trip to the UK. July 21st, Bloomsbury, Central London While walking to Covent Garden after depositing our bags at the hotel, I spy a well-dressed man at a […] My daughter the Cake Princess looked quizzically at the dough laid out on a wooden peel in the kitchen. “Do you make pizza every day?” she asked, striking a pose. “Just this week,” I assured her. “Yeah, right,” she said, and flopped off to check her facebook page. Our waiter was clearly worried. He guided us to a table with a view out onto the Campo, jabbed menus into our hands and headed back to confer with the indoor waiter. Standing nervously at the arched doorway, he leveled a severe look on a group of Italian tourists drinking from paper cups at one […] ‘I don’t want to go bowling!’ My son stamped his foot. ‘When you’re in France,’ I said in my best, all-knowing fatherly voice, ‘you do what French people do.’ I ruffled his hair and he pulled away. ‘But bowling?’ he howled. ‘Who goes to France to go bowling?’ Well, I guess he had a point. […] |
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