Did you know that in some cultures, adding an obscene amount of rice noodles and slimy green beans to a plate you picked up at the end of a buffet can constitute "research?" It's true for "journalists." I'm writing a top-secret piece about buffets in a certain Nation's Capital, and um, I forced two of my pals to come with.
They loved it.
What's not to love when there's self-serve ice cream and endless baked goods awaiting you after you slog through a disappointingly small number of vegetarian options?
Who doesn't expect onion rings to punctuate a Chinese buffet? Not this girl.
So many carbs, amiriiiite ladies?
Keep anticipating photos of me in various mirrors, because seems to be a running theme of self-portraits here. After getting utterly sick because of our own inability to control our portions, we went to the National Mall, where we saw
Song 1, a highly recommended little short art film that happens to be screening right onto the Hirshhorn Museum. You must see it to believe it.
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