Growing up, there was a place where my Dad played pool that boasted a large, murky glass jug filled with iridescent white orbs; you might call them pickled eggs. Something about their appearance on a bar top, poorly lit by the fluorescent lighting, made the act of eating them akin to sticking ones hand in […]
from Stir and Strain » : and a sweet and sour ginger cockail http://ift.tt/1OEUpGQ
No comments:
Post a Comment