Libertarian urbanite reporting for duty
I know, I know, the body isn’t even cold. But you’re a hungry lot, and EL tells me it’s best to keep you fed.
While the beloved original hostess of this restaurant-and-foodie smorgasbord starts savoring retirement, my job, at least temporarily, is to keep the grub coming.
In other words: My name is Laura, and I’ll be your server.
At least one EL fan, apparently familiar with The Talk column that I’ll continue to write weekly, voiced concern on the blog that I am “mean spirited” and “nasty.”
Rest assured, I’m only mean to politicians who wear ill-gotten furs, dress down constituents who call them by first name or promise to hold down my BGE bill and don’t. To everyone else, I’m a peach.
I’d like to clear up another misconception that’s popped up in this space: I am not now and never have been a libertarian suburbanite. I live in the city. Call me a libertarian urbanite and I’ll cop to it.
I’m also someone who loves food, and loves talking and writing about it. I look forward to doing that with all of you.
(Photo by Istockphoto // A diner sizes up a new dish. If he tries it, maybe he'll like it.)