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To F and the leg o' lamb.

F and I moved to Baltimore, his hometown, in 2000 so he could be closer to his family.  Our lives changed for the better when F decided to go to culinary school (Baltimore International College, now defunct, but it had good 2 and 4-year culinary programs).  During class breaks he would call me up from a pay phone outside of school to relay interesting bits of information he learned. I’ll always remember the first week he was enrolled in a sanitation class when he called me up one morning. I’d barely had time to say “Hello?” into the receiver when he barked out, “WE’VE BEEN EATING LETTUCE ALL WRONG. WASH THAT SHIT THREE TIMES. EVEN THE STUFF IN THE BAG THAT SAYS IT’S ALREADY CLEAN. WE’RE ALL GONNA GET SICK AND DIE”.  I dropped the phone and in a panic ran to the refrigerator.  Grabbing the lettuce bag by the corner with just two fingers and holding it away from me as far as possible so that it would have the least amount of contact with my skin, I dumped the contents into the sink and…

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