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On cornbread and coming home

What can be sweeter than a text message that reads in its entirety: "leftovers at my place 6ish"? Especially if you're feeling glum at the anticlimax of your untidy flat after an absolutely magical wedding in Brandenburg. Six o'clock found us sitting around eating roast pork sandwiches and sipping rosé while the bride and groom opened their presents, and when we left we were ready to be back in the real world. (The maid of honor stuffed some cornbread into a bag as we headed for the door, and I ate the last piece this morning, toasted, buttered, topped with maple syrup.)


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