As this is posted, yours truly will be about to board the world’s greatest conveyance: the train. When you ride in a car, especially if you’re driving — and I always am, since I’m a control freak* — you’re worried about the car in the lane next to you, or the one oncoming, or the deer/pedestrian/deer-pedestrian about to veer into your path. In a plane, you never have the feeling of traveling, but rather of being transported from one location to another, without ever having had any interaction with the miles between. I hate that. I love...
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Things I Drink, And So Should You: The Negroni
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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