I had lunch at The Crepe Place with a friend who has been doing a great deal of her own cooking lately. She has been busy reinventing the “comfort food” of her childhood into dishes that are, well, healthier. We started with a pot of chai at one of the small tables against the wall in the back room, and she told me about her latest meal reincarnations. Hamburger Helper evolved into turkey sausage with brown rice and peas.
On the recent occasion of my first-ever evening in London: I walked down a street named for the patron saint of travelers. Walked past Lebanese, Chinese, Mexican, and Turkish restaurants, past sushi and tapas and burgers, before eating French and Italian food served by a Spanish woman named Melina. I thought I’d gotten around a bit for a girl raised in the heartland. Alaska and Hawaii, Canada and Mexico, France and Italy. I thought I understood “diversity.” But London! London is in a class of its own. London showed me what “multicultural” really looks like.
If I didn’t go to St. Louis to visit my family – especially my super-cute niece and nephews – I would probably consider going just for the food. Read why . . .