I sat in the diner car for the whole ride, sipping malted milk, eating pears in syrup, smoking cigarettes, and paging through magazines.
My prettiness, to be sure, is why a handsome man in the diner car of the Empire State Express was staring at me as I sipped my malted milk and ate my pears in syrup.
"Don't worry, hon, we've got plenty of food. Bernadette made a big pile of meat loaf. THere's enough for everyone."
"It's been too long a day. The girl needs to rest and settle in. Bernadette left a meat loaf upstairs. I can make sandwiches."
Olive went to the kitchen and brought out a small meat loaf, served on a plate of dismal lettuce. Just as she had intuited earlier, this was not going to be enough of a meal for everyone in the room. Shortly, however, she reappeared with some cold cuts and bread. She also scared up half a chicken carcass, a plate of pickles, and some containers of cold Chinese food. [...]
"You kids eat," Peg said. "Take all you need."
Gladys and Roland lit into the meat loaf like a couple of farmlands. I helped myself to some of the chop suey.
He'd be drinking from his mug of Sanka and picking at his one sad pancake.
Now we were drinking coffee and eating pancakes while the girls gave me excited last-minute instructions.
There was a stack of cold and half-eaten pancakes in front of e from earlier that morning, and now I tore into those pancakes with a hunger that was close to violence. My hands were shaking. Dear God, I had never been so famished. My hunger had no bottom to it. I drenched the pancakes in even more syrup and shoveled more of them into my mouth.
We ate candied apples and lemon ices.
Olive sat there every morning over her breakfast of kidney and eggs, reading every bit of coverage she could get.
Celia reached for another pork chop.
And they lived large. Billy ordering up filet mignon and champagne (he often carelessly watered away before it was time to eat the steak, but he never neglected to drink the champagne) and inviting everyone in the room to join us.
I would wait around for him after every rehearsal like the most absurd little twit, following him back and forth to his dressing room, running out to buy him a cold tongue sandwich on rye whenever he wanted one.
One rainy afternoon during the final week of rehearsals, Billy ran out to pick up our sandwiches for lunch, came back into the theater soaking wet, his arms full of soggy lunch bags.
Anthony asked Billy, just as Arthur Watson peeled opened one of the sandwiches and said, "What? No bloody mustard?" -and for a moment there, I thought Billy might deck the both of them.
For the final dress rehearsal, he brought in catering from Toots Shor's - caviar, smoked fish, finger sandwiches, the works.
I breakfasted with them over newspapers and coffee, and helped my mother make sandwiches for lunch.
Then it was on to bean-sprout and wheat-germ sandwiches.
Nobody wants to marry an odd girl who eats bean-sprout and wheat-germ sandwiches.
Sometimes, late at night, he would drive me to Long Island to buy fried clams at a place he knew - a twenty-four-hour diner where you could pull right up to the window and order your food from the car. Or we'd go to Sheepshead Bay for littlenecks. We'd eat them while parked on the dock, watching the fishing boats head out to sea.
Elizabeth Gilbert "City of Girls"