Sitting at La Guardia, way too early, waiting for a flight to St. Louis. Txikito threw a party for Gourmet last night, and it felt so... final. The last time we'll all be gathered in one room. We all drank way too much, devoured all those delicious little tidbits - crisp mushroom croquettes, pa amb tomaquet, the tomatoes tasting very much like the last fruit of Fall, and wonderfully black chiperones. This morning I discovered that my fingers were still black from the squid ink.
When the party ended, nobody wanted to go home. So we drifted, one huge amorphous group, across the street and into Grand Sichuan where we just kept eating and drinking. The chiles with black beans teased and tingled, and I realized that I'll never eat them without thinking about all those lunches in the conference room at the magazine, the table covered with little white boxes. It was always too much food, and we always ate it all.
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