Prose, which is almost certainly the best place I have ever eaten, where I have had the majority of the unforgettable meals of my life (there were 2 in Santa Fe, and a handful of others), is apparently having difficulty making the rent.  (today was wonderful tender octopus with potatoes and walnut sauce, vegetarian pasta with assorted radishes, a sauce that tasted vaguely like peanut sauce, but without peanuts, and not as sweet, and these translucent japanese yam noodles, along with mysterious savory things that may or may not have been mushrooms, and this light, fluffy mocha-chocolate roulade).  I really don't understand people.   The majority of people who go out for dinner seem to want servants, not food.   I mean, I understand McDonalds, I really do.  What I don't understand is the white-tablecloth mediocrities, with their conspicious-consumption ingredients made into dull, incoherent, forgettable sustinence.   The food at Prose fills me with joy and happiness.  I feel aglow and at peace. The notion of it closing, on the other hand, fills me with a profound unease. _
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09:06:47 PM, Friday 22 August 2008

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A new household euphemism:  "thinking about linux" for dozing off.  Erika was asleep, yet, on being woken, claimed she was just thinking about Linux.  We just bought one of the little Eee's, and she has been trying to domesticate it.  _
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