Five Ways

I had daydreamed that my arrival in New York would go like this: Check into hotel. Walk across street to Bouchon Bakery. Order brioche and hot chocolate. Eat, with gloves on, in snowy Central Park.

Two things happened that changed that plan: First, I was starving—I ordered foccacia with zucchini, tomatoes and lardons instead. Second, it wasn’t snowing outside. It was pouring rain.

I took the meal outside anyway. The rain was coming down in chubby, dirty drops. If one hit you on the nose, your entire face was wet. I stood in it anyway. I found a closed loading dock that had a short overhang, and I stood under it, trying to eat.

And this is how good that foccacia was: Even wet with rain, eating it out of greasy wax paper, it took me away from the rain, away from the dirty street. It was the tomatoes. Bloody, meaty, fleshy, sweet, cooked to hell tomatoes. Yes, there was the zucchini. Yes, there were smoky chunks of chewy lardon. But fuck the bacon. Fuck lardons. Eat the gorgeous, out-of-season tomato. Take it by your two front teeth and tear it off in the rain.