My Favorite Comfort Food
A Bazzilion years ago, as an innocent college co-ed, when I first moved to The Big City, I didn’t know a soul. No one. I started studying at a coffee shop not far from my house and eventually befriended a bunch of the other students who studied there.
One of them, I’m not sure who, introduced me to the Vietnamese place down the street. I loved it immediately and ate there several times a week. It was cheap. As cheap as the local sandwich place, the neighborhood burrito shop, or the Chinese place down the street, but something about it felt a little more upscale then any of them. I took my girlfriend there. And my boyfriend. And one time, for some stupid reason, both of them at the same time.
I’m pretty sure I studied for every test I’ve ever taken there, eyes glued to a book, while shoveling rice noodles and imperial rolls into my hungry hole. Every thing was amazingly fresh and tasted so… bright and crisp. Eating there always made me feel so good because the food was so simple and healthy. Like it counteracted all the horrible things I was doing to my body. Read more...