My co-worker and I were too lazy to cross the street to get our lunches, so we grabbed a bite to eat in the in building. My co-worker got his usual roast beef sandwich (with all of its attendant sandwich parts). I got the roast pork loin sandwich (without the sandwich parts) because roast pork loin was today’s special. I also got a side of rosemary roasted potatoes and a bottle of that crazy-good fizzy lemon water.

The pork looked kind of pink, and although I’m not terribly concerned about trichinosis, the queasy thought of eating undercooked pork did cross my mind. But with its coating of coarse sea salt, fresh ground black pepper, and olive oil, it was so delicious that I pushed aside my worries and chowed down. It was all pretty good.

When I was a kid and on the rare occasion when my parents took us out to eat, they always ordered whatever was the special of the night. I used to think they did that because the special is always the best and freshest dish at a restaurant. Turns out they didn’t want to read the menu and just ordered whatever the waiter said was the special. I’ve totally become my parents. Minus the hoarding. Or the logorrhea. Oh wait.

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