I dare you to read the following excerpt from a piece John Updike wrote for the New Yorker about the pleasure of drinking water and not immediately realize how thirsty you are.
"Think of it: pipes running through the earth below the frost line and up unseen from the basement right through the walls to bring you this transparent flow, which you swallowed down in rhythmic gulps—down what my grandfather called, with that twinkle he had, behind his bifocals, “the little red lane.” The copper would bead with condensation while you waited for the water to run cold enough."
If you'll excuse me, I have a date with a water fountain.
Great post found via Serious Eats.
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