He did not come out. It was okay. I understood. Maybe it was better this way. Not through talk; through taste. I did not come to Charlottesville for a meeting of the minds. I had come to Charlottesville because his food was a part of my life. His tastes had become my tastes. Where he went, I followed. I dug into a mound of cleavered chicken with peppers. My mouth went numb. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
想繼續閱讀真愛示範錄請點擊以下鏈接：
http://www.oxfordamerican.org/articles/2010/feb/24/todd-kliman-chases-perfect-chef/
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