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Where
does the time go? When people used to say that, I thought they were
being overly dramatic. Or worse, meant that I was getting older at a
faster clip than I thought. But what I think it means, for all of us, is
that life used to roll along at a more leisurely clip, but nowadays, I
wake up and find another year has passed. M
 Last year,
which admittedly, was only a few weeks ago, I had dinner at Liza.
A modern space in Paris, a few blocks from the stoic bourse (the stock
exchange, but which also refers to the sack holding the “family jewels”
of a bull), Liza is an outpost of a restaurant in Beirut, a city
I’ve been fortunate enough to eat in, which I did like a velociraptor.
Middle
Eastern food is something I can eat morning, noon, and night (and if I
ever became one of those people that sleepwalks and eats in their sleep,
I’d be eating Middle Eastern food in the deepest recesses of the
evening), and if you’ve had a Middle Eastern breakfast,
you know what I mean. It’s usually a copious spread of just-baked
flatbreads, savory spreads, thick, glossy olive oil, cubes of salty
cheese, pickled walnuts, olives, eggs, onions, tomatoes, tons of fresh
herbs, hot sauce to dab on everything, etc., I’m going to stop, because
I’ll run out of bandwidth if I continue to list everything that’s heaped
on tables in front of you. And that’s just for breakfast.
 I also like
the style of eating, which is often called “grazing,” which sounds like a
bunch of four-legged animals wandering through a field, taking bites of
flowers between the weeds and grass. The way I do it makes you understand
why raptors went extinct: I’m dangerous to be around, and if something
gets between me and the food, beware of the consequences.
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