You were perfect. A yeast roll, medium-rare beef sliced thin, mozzarella draped across you, biting red onions ringed and tucked into the whole mess. Arugula – arugula! – the peppery foil to mozzarella’s soft hug. First, I ate the hot French fries that accompanied you. You know I love French fries; they would not stay hot long. Between bites I chatted with my best friend, visiting from afar, she enjoying her chicken salad on croissant.
French fries handsomely demolished, I ate some of you, but – too soon – I was full. And so I asked the server for a box. I nestled you gently in Styrofoam, your environmentally irresponsible and eventual casket. We paid for our lunch, Continue reading