All worries are less with wine.
But for me, dinner at a fine restaurant was the ultimate luxury. It was the very height of civilization. For what was civilization but the intellect's ascendancy out of the doldrums of necessity (shelter, sustenance and survival) into the ether of the finely superfluous (poetry, handbags and haute cuisine)? So removed from daily life was the whole experience that when all was rotten to the core, a fine dinner could revive the spirits. If and when I had twenty dollars left to my name, I was going to invest it right here in an elegant hour that couldn't be hocked.
Restaurants don't cater properly for celiac sufferers, and neither do supermarkets.
I love food, and I'm a chronic over-orderer at restaurants.
I worked in 40 restaurants over a five-year period.
Murals in restaurants are on a par with the food in museums.
The murals in restaurants are on par with the food in museums.
I worked in restaurants, and I worked in the Cambridge Public Library.