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Issue 11 Contributors
Meghan Adler
Ann Barry Burrows
Claudia Carlson
Sue Chenette
Esther Cohen
Cortney Davis
Nicole K. Docimo
Martina Fischer-
   Dalecki
Barry Foy
Amy Halloran
Ann Hood
Coleman Hough
Genevieve Jencson
Judith Jones
Zak Kaplan-Moss
Eric LeMay
Paulette Licitra
Meg Houston Maker
Rhona McAdam
Mary McGinnis
Chloe Yelena Miller
Ricardo Pau-Llosa
Ruth Polleys
Laura Riggs
Peter Selgin
D.N. Simmers
Amanda Skelton
Duane Spencer
Eleanor Stanford

ISSUE ELEVEN Winter 2011


Alimentum’s 5th Anniversary issue with writing by all of our editors and designers. Poems from Paulette Licitra, Cortney Davis, Ruth Polleys. Essays from Peter Selgin, Claudia Carlson, Eric LeMay, Duane Spencer. Fiction by Esther Cohen. Interview with Knopf editor Judith Jones. Ann Hood’s The Golden Silver Palate; Poems by Ricardo Pau-Llosa; Amy Halloran’s nurse meets an angry baking-monk, Barry Foy’s Second Thoughts about a bonbon in the trash, illustrations by Nicole K. Docimo...

Plus: why coffee and writing go together, murder by eggplant, a pub waitress is secretly inspired by some frequent guests, scary strawberries, shrimp obsessions, corn muffin addiction, choosing a Chinese wife for the meals, recipe poems with asparagus and cichetti, a cutlet stares down its eater, feeding kisses to strangers at a diner...and much more, 27 writers and poets!


Issue Eleven excerpts...

From The Muffin Man by Peter Selgin

My first muffin is more memorable to me than my first non-innocent kiss (in fact I’ve forgotten my first kiss). It was at Caldor’s department store, the 1960s answer to Kmart. At the front of the store was a long counter where you could get sandwiches, ice cream sundaes, and other snacks. We were on our way out, my mother and brother and I, when I saw it there, glowing under a glass dome: a single lonesome corn muffin. It was late afternoon. The bright counter was deserted; the man behind it, in his conical paper cap, rinsed a stainless milkshake tumbler. I tugged at the sleeve of my mother’s blouse. She shook her head, saying it would spoil my appetite for dinner. Please, I begged. At last my mother relented. Out of the bargain my brother finagled a hot dog.

From Long at Table by Ann Barry Burrows

I brought more bread and a fresh tray of drinks after that. It pays to swing that tray around, letting the sweating glasses sparkle in the light. I was wondering what J.J. stood for, but the friends had turned their attention to the other and the oldest couple. I know I didn’t catch all the places they’d been: Australia, Okinawa, Alaska, Costa Rica, and now Italy. But the table didn’t just fill with pictures. Those photographs were so real looking it was as if a crumbling Etruscan column half buried in Tuscan farmland was a laying right there on the table. I think they said Etruscan, maybe Roman. Mostly they talked about Venice, and for this city there were big pictures of tiny things and not as much water as I expected.

From Bee-keeper Speech by Sue Chenette

In the deep hive body
we leave next winter’s food,
replacing frames examined
for dark, sunken wax that indicates
foul brood. We’re watching
for the queen—the colony’s been sluggish.
If she dies, worker bees will nurse

chosen larvae on royal jelly,
until, emerging, they squeak—
the piping of the virgin queens—
to search each other out,
then battle to the death:
the hive an ancient
model of harsh dynasties.


From In Defense of Food Writing by Eric LeMay

As a reader of food writing and a food writer myself, I get defensive about having to be defensive. Why does food writing have to be about more than food when writing about sports or politics or fashion can really be about sports or politics or fashion? "Go fug yourself!" I want to say. To whom, I don’t know, so I usually end up eating chocolate, which I suppose means I’m really seeking warmth, security, love, memory, tradition, desire, and satiety in a Dagoba bar.