request. She reshelved the Pine, slipped the
papers into her bag, packed up her laptop, and rang the bell.
After a few minutes, Charlotte entered the room. "Yes, Miss
Livingston?"
"I just
remembered that I have an appointment this afternoon. I won't be
able to work today after all. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
9.Awaiting the Rapture
Opening up the Herald on Thursday
afternoon, Laura read a number of articles about ongoing
investigations of phone hacking, police bribery, and other
chicanery at the Murdoch-owned daily, the Sun . It was fortunate,
she thought, that James' paper, the Herald , was not part of
Rupert Murdoch's media empire. Turning the page, she noticed an
article in the food section under the byline James Whelan.
Wouldn't It Be Lubberly?
Rick Menzies has traded in
his fish forks for steak knives. The London restaurateur, long
known for the gastronomic temple to fruits de mer known as P ê cheur,
invested two years and £ 300,000
in
his newest venture, an Argentine style restaurant. Devoted
carnivores will be elated to learn that Menzies does not
disappoint. From the perfect steaks and ribs to the
succulent morcilla (blood sausage) and
grilled whole mollejas (sweetbreads), the
execution at Casa C ó rdoba
is as flawless as it was at P ê cheur,
despite the vast differences in the medium. On two recent
visits, my companions and I sampled...
She put down the
paper, disinclined to read more of James' ode to the delights of
Argentine beef. So he moonlighted as a restaurant critic. She
was unsurprised, given his apparently intimate knowledge of the
food scene in London. She skyped June. Laura was five hours
ahead in London, and June was sitting at her breakfast table
eating Cocoa Puffs and soy milk.
"Two women on the
Parnell campus were raped in the past week," she said. "Are you
being safe like we talked about, coming home before dark, and
locking your door every night?"
"Yes," answered
Laura. June was adamant on the topic of self-defense for women.
"Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly able to take care of
myself."
June snorted.
"No, you're not. How many times has your parking permit been
stolen because you forgot to lock your car? How many times have
you tripped on the uneven sidewalk outside Chester Hall? You're
about as observant as Mr. Magoo. Would you even know if someone
was following you?"
"I'm very
observant," Laura said, stung by the Magoo comment. "I just
focus on one thing at a time."
"Who was it that
called me from New York to ask for directions because she was
lost?" On the occasion in question, Laura had preferred to
consult June, a native of Queens, instead of approaching a
stranger on the sidewalk. "How could you get lost in Manhattan?
It's on a grid, for chrissakes."
Laura wanted to
argue that the West Village didn't follow the grid, but she
decided instead to change the subject. "Listen to this." She
read June a snippet from the restaurant review. "Maybe this
shows that we simply aren't compatible. How can James consume
all that meat without a thought to where it comes from?" she
said.
June made a face
and slurped up a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs. Crunching noises were
clearly audible as she chewed. "Kid, you're not exactly a
shining example in that department, ya know," she said. "Where
do you think the cheese and eggs you eat come from?" June's
tiny, wiry body was fueled by a completely vegan diet. She even
refused to eat honey, preferring maple or agave syrup.
Laura sighed.
"You're right. I've tried to give them up. Several times.
Somehow I never manage it for long. But James is completely
unreconstructed. I'm sure he's never even made an effort." She
added with exasperation, "And people think I'm too focused on
pleasure!"
"Speaking of
pleasure, how are things going in the Department of
papers into her bag, packed up her laptop, and rang the bell.
After a few minutes, Charlotte entered the room. "Yes, Miss
Livingston?"
"I just
remembered that I have an appointment this afternoon. I won't be
able to work today after all. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
9.Awaiting the Rapture
Opening up the Herald on Thursday
afternoon, Laura read a number of articles about ongoing
investigations of phone hacking, police bribery, and other
chicanery at the Murdoch-owned daily, the Sun . It was fortunate,
she thought, that James' paper, the Herald , was not part of
Rupert Murdoch's media empire. Turning the page, she noticed an
article in the food section under the byline James Whelan.
Wouldn't It Be Lubberly?
Rick Menzies has traded in
his fish forks for steak knives. The London restaurateur, long
known for the gastronomic temple to fruits de mer known as P ê cheur,
invested two years and £ 300,000
in
his newest venture, an Argentine style restaurant. Devoted
carnivores will be elated to learn that Menzies does not
disappoint. From the perfect steaks and ribs to the
succulent morcilla (blood sausage) and
grilled whole mollejas (sweetbreads), the
execution at Casa C ó rdoba
is as flawless as it was at P ê cheur,
despite the vast differences in the medium. On two recent
visits, my companions and I sampled...
She put down the
paper, disinclined to read more of James' ode to the delights of
Argentine beef. So he moonlighted as a restaurant critic. She
was unsurprised, given his apparently intimate knowledge of the
food scene in London. She skyped June. Laura was five hours
ahead in London, and June was sitting at her breakfast table
eating Cocoa Puffs and soy milk.
"Two women on the
Parnell campus were raped in the past week," she said. "Are you
being safe like we talked about, coming home before dark, and
locking your door every night?"
"Yes," answered
Laura. June was adamant on the topic of self-defense for women.
"Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly able to take care of
myself."
June snorted.
"No, you're not. How many times has your parking permit been
stolen because you forgot to lock your car? How many times have
you tripped on the uneven sidewalk outside Chester Hall? You're
about as observant as Mr. Magoo. Would you even know if someone
was following you?"
"I'm very
observant," Laura said, stung by the Magoo comment. "I just
focus on one thing at a time."
"Who was it that
called me from New York to ask for directions because she was
lost?" On the occasion in question, Laura had preferred to
consult June, a native of Queens, instead of approaching a
stranger on the sidewalk. "How could you get lost in Manhattan?
It's on a grid, for chrissakes."
Laura wanted to
argue that the West Village didn't follow the grid, but she
decided instead to change the subject. "Listen to this." She
read June a snippet from the restaurant review. "Maybe this
shows that we simply aren't compatible. How can James consume
all that meat without a thought to where it comes from?" she
said.
June made a face
and slurped up a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs. Crunching noises were
clearly audible as she chewed. "Kid, you're not exactly a
shining example in that department, ya know," she said. "Where
do you think the cheese and eggs you eat come from?" June's
tiny, wiry body was fueled by a completely vegan diet. She even
refused to eat honey, preferring maple or agave syrup.
Laura sighed.
"You're right. I've tried to give them up. Several times.
Somehow I never manage it for long. But James is completely
unreconstructed. I'm sure he's never even made an effort." She
added with exasperation, "And people think I'm too focused on
pleasure!"
"Speaking of
pleasure, how are things going in the Department of
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