Menu w/o prices
i leave Amanda’s place in Gloucester and blitz down the east coast after Thxgvg and crash at Feonix and Steves. The lazy, busy, sexy, funny, precocious manner which slice a Saturday up is a micro-epic not to be missed.
i am appreciative of Steve’s doomed efforts to teach me about cuisine and culture. They took me into this super authentic Salvadorian restaurant near the Georgia St metro in Death City. It had tilled walls that the waiter was proud of, because when he was 9, he tilled some of the walls that he pointed out to us. It is a family restaurant, the owners live across the street. Now the waiter is 19. He agrees that the total lack of posters or art on three of the 4 walls has perhaps a minimalist effect and that maybe (after ten years only one small poster of money) he will spice it up. Steve is ranting about how you get the best cuisine out in the suburbs, tho he is pleased with this restaurant. And like the Italian who is speaking louder and faster to me in hopes i will spontaneously understand the language – Steve hopes that by describing discerning taste to me, it will somehow take hold.
I am more likely to learn Italian this way.