Word: eats
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...knew who had dinged her car. He did not, but they talked. She later confessed to him that she had simply wanted to meet him--just as he had first been interested in her after seeing her in the pool weeks earlier. She went by herself to eat at a steak restaurant by a river, and the sight of couples chatting intimately made her focus her attentions on Rusty. Back at their apartment complex, she scribbled a note on a torn piece of notebook paper and placed it beneath a wiper of his white Toyota Corolla. It said...
...ranch in West Texas, says more than 100,000 horses are slaughtered in the U.S. every year for consumption as a "delicacy" by diners in Europe, mostly France and Belgium, as well as Japan - an idea that repulses and outrages him. "I can't imagine slaughtering a horse [to eat]," says Pickens, "It's absolutely un-American." The horses are slaughtered at one of three plants, two in Texas and one in Illinois, all owned by a Belgian entrepreneur. "We don't eat horsemeat here, so it does seem peculiar that someone from Belgium owns the kill plant...
...Outback and that graybeard T.G.I. Friday?s (founded 1965) - business-traveler dining was different. I like to imagine that a gentleman in a Cary Grant suit stepped from his plane (itself stewarded by a pillbox-hatted attendant who had served gin martinis) and drove to a local place to eat crunchy fried chicken and flaky blueberry pie. I like to imagine the gentleman then retreated to a downtown hotel where he ordered whiskey in a heavy-bottomed glass cold from a surfeit of ice cubes...
...succeeds - it brings even a food snob like me back - because it's reliable. All good cooks, from the chefs at the most expensive Manhattan palaces to the grease-slingers at a highway McDonald's, know that we want restaurant food to taste the same every time we eat it. Can local places deliver that standardization? Not always. Not usually...
...hung over the beaches rising from the bodies of the dead, there in the half-light of too many dusks and dawns laced together with the crisscrossed patterns of bullets, I had gotten a taste of death and found it palatable to the extent that I could never again eat the fruits of a normal civilization.... Maybe it did happen to me over there.... Maybe I was twisted and rotten inside. Maybe I would be washed down the sewer with the rest of the rottenness sometime...