When the recent cloud of volcanic ash cruelly snatched my vacation away from me, not only was I miffed I wouldn't be heading across the ocean (and let me tell you, there's nothing more depressing than unpacking a non-used swimsuit, sandals, and sunscreen out of a suitcase), but I was sad I would be missing dinner with Yotam Ottolenghi at his restaurant, Ottolenghi. I'd written him a fan letter, and after agreeing to a psychiatric evaluation, and a pass through a metal detector, he...
Published on May 11, 2010 18:05