My eating patterns are somewhat dichotomous: There's the on-the-job eating (caviar, pheasant under glass, soufflé Rothschild, like that). And there's the rather more homely day-in, day-out sustenance, which is often (more often than I'm entirely happy to admit, given the diplomas from the Cordon Bleu moldering in the closet) just like a lot of other single girls': pasta, an omelet, or turning over a chop or a piece of salmon in a pan, if I'm feeling ambitious; takeout Chinese (or Indian or... More >>>