It’s only Tuesday.

And I’m already thinking about what I want to eat on Saturday. Because if I play my cards right, I will be digging in to a fresh lobster roll, fashioned out of the ocean’s best and a nice crunchy baguette. On the side I’ll be taking up with a golden pile of frites — but not just any old fried potatoes. These spuds will spend their last minutes frying in a glimmering pool of duck fat.

Excuse me while I call in for preemptive lipo and coronary bypass surgery.

I can only imagine that such a repast will indeed taste like a baby jesus in velvet pants. The waiter at Spring who invited us to come back over the weekend to try the lunch special hinted as much, folding his hands in prayer and gazing toward the heavens when he said “Eet ees sooo good!

And that kind of spiritual endorsement simply can’t be ignored. That’s why  come hell or high water, I will be there Saturday to partake in some lobster/duck fat worship of the highest order. Until then, I’ll just have to nurse my salad and daydream about real lunch.


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