Well, actually...

Well, shit. Draw--I refuse to refer to you in the past tense yet--I earnestly hope you are okay. If you need a kidney, I can’t help you, but all my thoughts and prayers are yours.

I’m not all the way through breakfast yet (reading yours, not having mine) and this is high comedy horror.

On any trip longer than two nights to a single location, I bring my espresso machine, because drip coffee sucks. For a beach condo rental this summer, I brought a pan, skillet, and knife, and these were Good Choices. On my current trip visiting friends in the Pac NW, I brought a potato ricer. Yeah. I did that.

I have nothing funny to comment because this back and forth used all of the funny. I laughed unto tears multiple times.

I love how this is late every year. Next year, can you post it at the All-Star break? I wanna see you go full troll. Fan troll. You loooove that bridge you’re under the way you love hot chili peppers.

One of the great pleasures of reading your writing is its distinction, in terms of both quality and originality. I sometimes click and scroll and skip the byline, but pretty quickly, I see curtsies of phrase mashed with the cunning profane, and I scroll back up and, yep—Burneko. Glad to see you take your chef’s knife…

Burneko, what’s up with the rampant posting this weekend? You got a new addition to put on the house or something? Or between liturgy and basketblogging, showing your range from DOWN-TOWN?

I just found you, and you are now my favorite food writer—and I read Burneko and Carol Cooks French Laundry at Home. Plus, your frequent postings make Will Leitch seem lazy.

Please add snark, please.

Do you like Freedom? [not a patriotism test; you are welcome to sit or kneel.]