The dream transformed nostoc into spanakopita, such as was available once till four in the morning three blocks away. Before San Francisco after dark turned into a third-rate college town like Modesto or Laskabula, with only greasy pizza and donuts after ten. You used to be able get Vietnamese food, Chinese barbecue, sushi, grilled sausages of many types, Korean meats and snacks with or without a side of some really interesting kimchi-type pickled vegetables, wraps, curry and naan, beefsteak, onion soup, pastrami on rye, burrito, chocolate cake, and many other things until the wee hours.
Then the pandemic hit, along with work at home, and thoroughly pedestrian tastes.
Now what's available at that time is basically slice cheese, donuts, and drugs.
Sometimes a man wants something green and greasy.
A spanakopita that reflects the cook.
A tormented Aegean soul.
Aidiastikon.
Personally, I blame the computer age. This generation lacks a spirit of adventure, and abstains from Bohemian eating. It might interfere with streaming the latest pierced and tattooed influencer or get all over their keyboard. Or texting while zotsed. Sad.
When was the last time you had fried chicken with hot salsa after midnight?
Instead of microwaved thing with ranch dressing.
I miss the sleaze food.
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