I grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, around the corner from a guy named Noah. We went all through school (and hebrew school) together and are lucky enough to still be very close — in fact I probably talk to him more than almost any of my other friends. That’s because we’re both up very early, so in the pre-dawn hours each day we email back and forth, rapid fire, about what we did the night before and what we have on tap for the day ahead. One of the highlights each morning is hearing what he and his wife Marissa whipped up for dinner — they too, enjoy cooking healthy meals at home a few nights a week.

I made mushroom/bean sprout wraps with scallions and mango, using boston lettuce — that’s what looked the most cup-like, able to hold food when I went to the produce stand in Chelsea Market — and poured Noah’s knockout sweet chili drizzle on top. With each wrap — I think I had 3? — I used more of the sauce.

Note from Noah: “I made the sauce again last weekend and crushed up a handful of cashews — added nice crunch and a bit of sweetness.”

Felicia likes to say you’re either on her bus, or not on her bus. So this past Saturday afternoon we were sitting in a rather dimly lit corner of Buvette in the West Village when she wanted to take photos of our (insanely delicious) food in natural light. She asked the waitress if we could switch to the open table beneath the window. When the waitress said no (it was being reserved — though we never saw anyone sit there in the two plus hours we were there) Felicia literally took matters into her hands. As each dish came out, she picked ’em up one by one, and brought it to the well-lit table to photograph in the light streaming through the window. People may have looked at her funny, but she didn’t care.

That’s my new friend Felicia — she’s feisty, funny and loves her food photography. I can’t think of 3 better qualities in someone to share lunch — and a new friendship — with. Oh, and she got the shots — obviously — just check out the image above.

Pour over her blog for the rest of her photos from lunch, then read her book, which will make you love and respect her even more — cause you’ll see where the fire inside of her came from.

That waitress may not have been on her bus, but I sure am.