There are strings. And there are theories. That’s all I know. That’s all I want to know. Now fix me a tuna cacciatore, and make it quick.
It only remains for us to make a booking and turn up for Chef Francesca’s delicious tuna-themed slices.
Well I remember a little pizza joint just around the corner from my alma mater, the august and september-y University of Queensland, in Hawken Drive. It was truly a dive, because you had to dive down below street level, with the aid of a set of stairs as I recall, or perhaps simply a well-timed roll, in order to enter its very Bohemian portal – well, it seemed extremely Bohemian to a little cat from Central Queensland’s sticks still trying to find her city paws. Great pizza though, and drinks. Oh, the drinks. One was far too many, friends, and, as usual, a hundred more were never quite enough. Good times … the little I well remember of them.
I have a lovely, luscious, yellow banana every single day, viewers and readers, and others of that ilk. Mmm, banana – a simile for perfect fruit, yeah …
Yes, the banana can travel anywhere at a moment’s notice, fully suited up, ready for anything from biting and nibbling to slicing and dicing to mashing and smashing.
Never mind the avocado toast, friends, try some fork-squashed Lady Fingers on Sourdough, or even Happydough, with a soupcon of cinnamon sugar and a teeny, tiny squeeze of original lemon juice, just a few citrus-y drops. You will love it, it will love you. That’s all.
I don’t know D’Arcy or Anthony personally, but the fact that they exchanged their spaceship here on Mars with some rogueish southerner from the Medusae Fossae Formation seems to follow a family pattern. Two of my actual friends, Cy and Clark, have already committed to the Red Canoe Cult – you can check them out enjoying a little angling in the Hale crater. They bear a remarkable resemblance to these two soon-to-be fishin’ fools.