I woke to the sound of hallucinating birds, woozy and dazed from three days of rain, unconvinced that the downpour had ended. Not being French or Italian, my first thought was not, What would braised robin taste like? Or Bluejay Cacciatore. I thought: Live and let live. Let ’em tweet.
So then I went to my very favorite section of the paper: Business. 2012, big debt comes due, Moody’s, the Vichy financial outfit, is saying that the U.S. will join Japan with a double AA rating, down from triple AAA. The dollar will go up, the infrastructure will go down as it will be harder than ever before for the U.S. to borrow money. Can’t pay back the money? Bad investment.
Which brings us back to cheese. Really. You don’t see the connection? Think about it.
High end, low end, local or French, cheese should not be part of anyone’s diet other than Topo Gigio. Speaking of which, I miss him. His sweet, low voice, “Hi, Eddie,” his innocence, his hope and wonder. Mind, all this was before Lady Gaga took to the stage. I like her, too, don’t get me wrong, but she’s no mouse.
Back to cheese, which is high in fat, high in salt, and unless you’re looking to clog your arteries, counter indicated for good health. In my neighborhood, the high-end processed food store, Formaggio, sells cheeses that belong in museums.
Where does that leave us in terms of daily diet?
The largest immigrant group in Boston is Chinese. The second largest is Haitian. And, of course, our city has lots of folks with varying ranges of melanin.
So how about more street vendors selling vegetable dumplings? Pho? Rice & beans? Sweet potato pie?
Beats Robin Three Ways.