Thanksgiving at the Stinking Rose garlic restaurant turned out to be a top-notch choice, was in fact a delicious feast. Sinfully, Joshua and I are home now snacking, masticating like trolls, wearing our huge elastic-band Piggy Pants. Mine have a Spandex pocket that looks like it’s for a baby, but it’s foil-lined, battery-heated, and filled with buttery stuffing. Josh is eating an entire $45 artisanal apple pie warmed and covered in vanilla bean ice cream, tears of stunned bliss rolling down his face.
