Oh, my goodness, but it’s been a busy week in a busy month in a busy year.
My book on chefs went back to the editor yesterday after a final copy edit. At last readers will learn whose toenails are ingrown and whose aren’t. No hints here. Buy the book.
Then today–this very morning–Claude was on the horn to talk about the movie we want to make about hoi polloi in the world of wine and the banks that love them.
To top it off, Travel + Leisure Southeast Asia ran my piece this month on hidden restaurants in Tokyo and on Wednesday bought my fourth article, this one on Sumo restaurants; places where the big boys chow down so that they dazzle in thongs.
Meanwhile, in the immediate environs, nothing but husks on sidewalks and in the trimmed grasses, candy displays in the supermarkets, girls running by the river.
After all, it’s the season of death, a.k.a. harvest, and the scythes are being sharpened. I can hear the curved metal against the stone and see the white sparks as the wheel turns.
