One of the little rituals John and I have is that every Sunday is Pasta Night. This started back when we were living in Shanghai; Sunday was my longest and most grueling teaching day, and he would have a comforting, carb-y pasta dinner ready when I got home. I actually hadn’t eaten Italian-style pasta (except for TJ’s renowned-in-Huzhou baked ziti) in a few years, but since I got together with a self-described pastitute, I broke that streak with the agreement that we eat whole wheat pasta.
Pasta Night is now one of our most beloved ‘things.’ And so, though we like Classico sauce, it broke a little bit of my heart to see such wanton violence in the Publix parking lot:
Makes me wonder what other kinds of things are spilled and/or broken in grocery store parking lots. Is that how humans discovered that eggs could be cooked on the ground during the summer? Could the parking lot become the next teppinyaki Benihana fad?
Forget clay pots and pizza stones and look towards the future: asphalt.Florida, pasta, street food