What makes a meal?

Yeah... I just ordered a pizza.

I'm neck deep in the home stretch on book 3 - yes I know I'm mixing metaphors. Quiet you. I'm also dog-tired from a full day of recording for the audio book version of DARKLIGHT yesterday with another full day in the studio tomorrow.

As far as food goes these days, pretty much anything I have time for - and somebody makes for me - is awesome. That somebody, of course, is usually John. But on the occasions when we do eat out, and eat out somewhere other than the place up the street, I do have a few faves. I'll tell you about two of them that, really know how to "make" a meal.

There is a steakhouse in town called Tom Jones. It is absolutely Old School. It's been around forever and the piano bar looks like it could have been a shooting location for Ocean's Eleven. The original one. This place has career waiters and - if you have ever experienced really high quality wait-staff service, you'll know what I mean when I say that they make all the difference in the world. These guys make the meal. They also, not coincidentally, make the salad. Ahhhh... the table-side caesar salad. I can taste the garlic just typing this. They will remember, for instance, even if I haven't been there in months, that I usually like a glass of Pinot Grigio before dinner. And seriously. I don't go there that often. That makes a meal.

Another place I'm ford of is the The Stonegrill on Winchester. These guys don't make your meal. They don't cook for you. Rather, they bring you your food uncooked, on a lava rock platter heated to - I dunno - a billion degrees, and they tell you to cook it. Just the way you like it. It is awesome. The ingredients are simple and straightforward - slab of meat, hot rock - and of exceptional quality. And you control the cooking time. It's delicious. And, of course there's that element of danger! And, in this case, that makes the meal.

And now I'm hungry. Where's my pizza?!??