Sonoma Noir

I’m up at 3am. Can’t sleep. Again. My empty stomach gave me kick in the ribs, that apple I had for dinner having done its work and retired. A thick fog has settled over Sonoma like a wet blanket, dulling the noises of the night. Even the garbage trucks, roaring and whining like wounded animals, sound quieter as they collect everyone’s dirty little secrets.

Pastrami Noir

I decided to treat myself to an order of pastrami from Katz’ Deli in New York. Ended up with a 5 pound slab. “Boil it,“ they said, “for three hours until tender.” They didn’t tell me the whole house would smell like pastrami or that the tub of water on the stove would turn black. Figures. Some friends are coming for lunch, so I’ll be the rude waiter. You got a problem with that?

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