Cooking With My Feet

When you bring me my steak tonight,” The man complains, “I will be sending it back because you and the cooks here won’t get the order right.” I take a moment to form a diplomatic answer and squelch an instinctive retort about the wisdom of eating here in the first place. After a silent count … Continue reading Cooking With My Feet

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A Broken Pot of Mayonaysa

“Come to Sisal.” I insisted. “You’ll see real Mexico there and it will be way cooler,” I promised. I have never been to Sisal, and the students that had gone the previous year had not filled me in on the place. But I assumed that if Woolman Hill was going, it had to be fantastic.