Instead of quiet little booths, the family restaurant called Noriega’s has long, giant tables stretching across the room, and everyone sits together. Worse than sitting with strangers? We can’t even pick what we eat. Instead the old-lady waitresses bring out huge platters of food, and we all help ourselves family-style to the beans, soup, salad, bread, and bleccch—thin slices of cow tongue. Ugh. “This place is certified Basque at its finest,” Howie says happily, swallowing a bite of tongue and scooping up some bean sauce with a chunk of bread. “Not to mention highly rated by James Beard.” Lana and I swap a look that says we just don’t want our lunches licking us back. “Makes me miss the commune days, I’ll admit,” Nono says. “Sharing meals together was one of my favorite parts.” “Sure you weren’t too busy painting to make it to dinner?” Howie teases her. Nono protests with a laugh, explaining that she actually had a very strict studying schedule, so that she could finish her college education in three years.
