Word: salads
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...meat. He says it's fine. I grab it, put it in the oven but forget to turn on the heat, so when I take it back out, it's just as raw. Fine again, he says. I put it back one more time. He takes more pasta and salad. Rattled, I drop the salt. "Throw it over your left shoulder," he says. "That's just bad mojo. You know it, and I know it." He may not believe in religion, but luck, Clooney has learned from his family, cannot be messed with...
...dining halls so that rich and poor can eat together as a community. But at the same time, the all-you-can-eat meal plan contributes to a culture cavalier about its leftovers. We are insulated against the realization that throwing a slab of meat or an uneaten salad onto the conveyor belt is qualitatively no different from idling your car instead of parking it, or running an air conditioner and heater at the same time...
...unions convinced the Democratic party to let workers vote in the hotels, since Saturday at noon is the equivalent of first thing in the morning at your office. Bellagio workers were given a box lunch with a ham and salami sandwich, a bag of Kettle Chips, potato salad and carrot cake. When I headed into the hallway, I ran into Hillary Clinton, who was staying in the hotel, and asked her if she thought this was the nicest caucus ever. She laughed a laugh that told me that she either totally agreed or had no idea how to laugh like...
...with me everywhere I go. I take apart restaurant menus everywhere I go. I kind of tick off a lot of chefs in restaurants because I'll say, "You can keep all of the sauce, keep all of that garbage - just give me that piece of fish. Forget the salad dressing, I don't need all of that extra stuff. Just give it to me straight up, and I'll eat it." And it works. Right this minute, I happen to be standing in my kitchen, and I'm making myself some ground sirloin steak. I ground...
...even without the ring, he can still think good thoughts, even while operating on just a couple hours of sleep, with graying stubble and bloodshot eyes. "I mean, what time is it?" he asks, as he lifts saltines from the salad bar here at the Pizza Ranch and fills his mouth. "It's 9 o'clock on New Year's Day, and we have 250 people here...