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Issue Two Contributors

Elisa Albo
Michele Battiste
Patsy Anne Bickerstaff
Terri Brandmueller
T.M. De Vos
Ruth E. Dickey
Jehanne Dubrow
Margarita Engle
Jamie Granger
Amy Halloran
Joanne Harris
Ellen Herbert
Ann Hood
Reamy Jansen
Persis M. Karim
Annie Kay
Lynn Levin
Margaret MacInnis
Sandy McIntosh
Sophie Helene Menin
Donald Newlove
Larry F. O’Brien
Michael Onofrey
Susie Paul
Peter Selgin
Barbara Cunliffe Singleton
C. Kevin Smith
Sue Taylor
Kerry Trautman
Will Walker
Anthony Russell White
Gary J. Whitehead
Angus Woodward

ISSUE TWO Summer 2006


An interview with Chocolat author Joanne Harris... Novelist Ann Hood's food-memory piece about her five-year-old daughter... Amy Halloran's story of an insomniac housewife and her midnight lover: a baker who bakes in the nude... Lynn Levin eats guinea pig in Peru (a beloved childhood pet)... Donald Newlove tangles with a giant lobster on 6th Avenue... Sandy McIntosh takes a surreal journey on a Fat Farm.

Plus: a special Coffee Break section where Krakow trumps Starbucks and Birds Teach People How to Make Coffee.


Issue Two excerpts to make your summer tasty...


From The Baker by Amy Halloran

I rap on the door but the baker can't hear me so I let myself in. The long tables furthest from the ovens are covered with cakes, single layer rounds and crowd-sized sheets, circles stacked for birthdays and trimmed with curly icing. The baker is naked except for a tutu. He is screaming opera, and dancing on his toes, decorating the cakes with a big white tube of frosting. He does a twirl between each cake, holding the tube above his head or in front of his stomach, and he doesn't see me until he gets to the end of the table.

"Hello!" he sings, dropping the frosting and holding out his arms.


From Tomato Garden by Kerry Trautman

As I raised the first wedge to my lips,
I saw, in the pink flesh, a tiny worm,
mucously translucent and gold
curled still in his juicy home.

I forgave my tomato and ate the wedge
despite its worm, never tasting him,
so infused was he with juice,
so resigned was he to my tongue.


From What We Bring to the Table by Margaret MacInnis

1980. My father has become a supervisor and works second shift. My mother feeds me and sends me to bed long before he comes home. Even though my father is sober now, I cannot sleep until he walks through the door. Awake in my bed, I listen to my mother open and close kitchen drawers and cupboards. She begins with potatoes. He wants them every night, but she can't stand to peel them. She makes them from a box of dried flakes that she keeps hidden behind the Tupperware. I hear a sizzle as my mother places my father's steak in a frying pan of melted butter. Next she opens and drains a tin of Sweet Life mushrooms, and dumps them into the pan. The aroma wafts into my bedroom and my stomach aches with what might be hunger.


From Alphabet Soup Kitchen by Ruth E. Dickey

Apples are not a good idea in soup kitchens. When I first became Miriam's Kitchen's director, one of my bright ideas was to serve fresh fruit, so I started ordering apples because they are cheap. I figured fresh fruit tastes a lot better than canned. But if you have dental problems, it's really hard to eat apples. Almost everyone who is homeless has dental problems, because the only free dental care available in DC is having your teeth pulled. So everyone hated my apples. Junior told me only an idiot would order apples. The only way that we could get people to eat them was to chop them up and add them to canned fruit salad, which Junior loved.