Because this place needs another regular feature, I’m here, every Friday afternoon, to tell you that what you drink sucks. Being married to an Italian can be fantastic. The food is amazing. The scenery, when in Italy rather than on Mott St. or in the North End, can be breathtaking. The language, the art … seriously, it’s a good deal, even without considering the individual Italian with whom I chose to spend the time before she decides to divorce me. The drinking, however. If you’re not careful, you can find yourself beyond sauced before the bruschetta shows...
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Meet me at the combination doughnut shop and Chinese joint
Over at the Atlantic, Katie Robbins explores the mystery of the Californian combination doughnut shops and Chinese restaurants: Like any good investigator, I searched for patterns, and a few quickly emerged. The establishments tended to be in working-class neighborhoods. As I’d noted at that first sighting in LA, most of the restaurants kept the Chinese food and the donuts in separate counters, and while I occasionally spotted someone with both a chocolate-glazed orb and a plate of Kung Pao on his table, patrons tended to stick to sweet or savory. According to the folks behind the counters,...
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