|Snacks for our friends. Food shared -- but not shared. Bread, cheese with a clean knife,|
a bowl of cherries, washed. All to be touched only by our friends. We had our own tray of snacks.
|Our friends sat over 6 feet away from us, at a separate|
table with their own tray. We weren't too close, but it
was far more friendly than an e-chat.
|We wrapped the bottles in a napkin to wipe them off after each pour.|
And each of us poured our own wine in order to stay far apart.
Another not-shared snack idea: individual goldfish packs.
|On a walk in the park we saw various examples of social distancing, like this couple.|
|Also 6 feet apart.|
|This group appear to be standing at the corners of a large square for their face to face meet-up.|
|Walking down the sidewalk not too close together?|
Not quite 6 feet apart, though.
Tana French is adept at describing smelly places, for example: "The squad room has come alive. The printer is going, someone’s phone is ringing, the blinds are open to try and drag in the half-arsed sunlight; the place smells of half a dozen different lunches, tea, shower gel, sweat, heat and action." (p. 76)
Unlike in most mysteries that I favor, food in the Dublin police officers' lives is usually unappetizing. The woman detective narrator, for example, eats while doing several other things at home after work: "I should throw some dinner into me and crash out, but I hate wasting time on sleep even worse than I hate wasting it on food. I stick some pasta ready-meal thing in the microwave... . The microwave beeps. I take the pasta thing and my coffee to the sofa and open my laptop. ... The pasta thing has gone cold and slimy. I shove down the last mouthful anyway." (p. 167-169)
I really don't have enough to say about this book to write a real review.
Blog post and photos © 2020 mae sander for mae food dot blog spot dot com.