I love lists. They keep things in order, they’re neat, and they make me more efficient (sense a theme there?). But most of them merely serve to illustrate the state of my mind at any given time.
One of the weirdest dishes I ever tried was a salad of blue potatoes, baby octopi, and a third, normal thing I understandably don’t recall. This was at some bullshit trendy faux-Mexican restaurant somewhere in the ’90s, somewhere in Manhattan, where I always had to go for business trips.