Food, glorious food


All week I've been getting ready for tonight's flight to Strasbourg and the ASTA shindig that awaits. Between putting my house in order here at Crossroads and working with the Travel Weekly bunch to organize our overseas publishing operation, there's been precious little time to think about the trip itself.

To get myself into the proper nomadic mindset, I began leafing through the stack of magazines I subscribe to by the wagonload but rarely read. Travel magazines? Uh-uh. To really sink my teeth into a trip I go straight to the hard stuff: food magazines.

When I think of traveling, especially in Europe, my higher self may tip its hat to museums and monuments, but my inner glutton always pulls me back to the table. My fondest memory of the Fountain of Trevi is the enormous slab of pizza I consumed there. Paris, for me, is one perfect chicken leg served with exquisite frites off the Boulevard Saint Germain. London is an exception. London is about beer.

And Strasbourg? I'm thinking of foie gras and confit, goat cheese, sauerbraten, fat berries and thick cream. I'm imagining French genius, German abundance and Swiss efficiency. And by next week I'll be dreaming of a hot dog with mustard from a Times Square umbrella cart. Some people are just never satisfied.


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