"Salad Preferences and Restaurant Wisdom"

It always amuses me that certain dishes—salads especially—taste infinitely better when someone else makes them. Whenever I prepare one at home, I lose interest halfway through; mine always land on the plate a little too dull, a little too dutiful.

​A bartender at Whiskey River once shared her secrets for making salads more exciting, the tricks she uses for her own. Maybe one day I’ll try them. For now, I’ll keep admitting the truth: the salads at Whiskey River have a magic my Charles Pearson–style attempts simply do not.

A Sunday at Whiskey River
Yesterday I found myself back at Whiskey River, where the regulars drifted in like familiar characters entering a scene.

The important ones appeared just as I settled into a Caesar salad with shrimp and an old fashioned—so much for “dry January.”

Clearly I’m not ready for that particular discipline. If I do decide to stop drinking, I may wait for February. It’s a shorter month, after all.

Conversations and Company
Talking with the owners, Cynthia and Patrick, is always a pleasure; I enjoy them both as friends and as a couple.

Ronan was his usual whirlwind of chatter and energy, somehow aware of everything happening in the room at once.

Paul arrived looking almost unrecognizable with his longer, fuller hair—at first glance, he could have passed for a rock star. He greeted me in that deep voice of his, and for the first time I saw him with his family.

​Meanwhile, the Giants were apparently doing their best to lose to the Cowboys to secure the first draft pick—this according to Dave, another friend and fellow writer, who delivers sports commentary with the same dry wit he brings to his prose.

A Quiet Winter Day
Sunday carried an odd energy. It didn’t feel like a Sunday at all—more like a Monday disguised in weekend clothes, perhaps because of the break from Thursday’s holiday.

The day unfolded quietly, a welcome pause for anyone seeking simplicity in the colder months.

Outside, the world had turned into a winter postcard, complete with Canadian Geese who, instead of migrating south, decided to stay put. Watching them made me think about how weather is always a personal experience; each of us feels it differently.

And not every writer needs to channel László Krasznahorkai or chase prizes on Earth. Sometimes it’s enough to sit with the snow, the stillness, and the small stories that drift through a winter day.