I’m at the kitchen table sipping cold Maui coffee made from beans shipped to me from Porto Rico on Bleecker that had the beans shipped to them from Hawaii. Fog stripped the trees and houses of shape this morning on the first walk with the dog at about 7:15 A.M. I’m nearly done with the third volume of Elena Ferrante’s sharp and devastating Neapolitan trilogy, “Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay.” If you think that title is brilliant, which it is, wait until you read her work. She’s quietly capable of getting into your head, like a cold, and staying and reshaping how you think and write.
Meanwhile, in the world of food, a review of Blue Hill in NYC in today’s NYT, granting it 3/4 stars. I’m sure it’s wonderful, well deserved, but what the author left out was the straight-jacket of a menu. I walked by it a few times recently and on offer was pork, pork, and more pork. You don’t know in advance of a reservation what’s in store. Hardly hospitable.
Speaking of pork, a little piece in today’s Globe on Rosebud, in Davis Square, in Somerville. The room, I recall, is lovely, an old school diner, with booths and a counter, which is our version of a sushi bar. But the menu discussed is pork, pork, and more pork. Does this interest you: BBQ Baconater Meatloaf Fatty” ($15.95)? Or this: Asian BBQ Hog Head ($36.95)? I didn’t think so. And what’s with the 95 cents? Round up, boys, round up.