ISSUE THREE Winter 2007
Mark Kurlansky's new story about a woman's life-changing encounter with a turkey... Dick Allen's Chinese Menu poems... Barbara Bedway's moving account of an Arab-American girl caught between two culinary cultures...Tim Stark's tale of a conflicted farmer during January's deep cold... an interview with Gourmet Editor-in-Chief Ruth Reichl.
Plus: Joanna Torrey bakes sexy Popovers; April Heaney goes behind the scenes of a fast food burger joint (Fast Filth); Louis Philips' food review of D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love, a gingerbread Notre Dame Cathedral, adventures with mushroom hunters, a special section on MEAT, and much more.
Issue Three excerpts, an amuse-bouche...
From Memories of Meat by Pappi Tomas
My favorite thing to do with a slice of bologna was to roll it up into a tube of sorts, stick a toothpick through it, and munch it from one end to the other. Somehow eating a slice of bologna in a very straightforward, single-layer manner was not half as interesting. It even seemed to taste better rolled up. I remember I used to blow through this bologna tube, for no particular reason.
From The Hoagie King of the Strip by Paul Silverman
Foley's left hand curled into a ham-fist, while his right gripped the black nightstick hitched to his hip. What are you trying to pull? If I wanted a roll I would have asked for a roll. I want a Hoagie, not a roll. Now stuff it—with meat—or you can stuff your victualer's license.
Philly watched the old man and Foley lock eyeballs, an encounter he had never seen before. What Foley wanted Foley got—it was the house rule. But never before had a roll of such gigantic proportions been part of the picture, and this time the old man was different. He reached to take the roll back but his fingers froze. They froze so long Philly thought Foley was going to rap them with his nightstick.
From The Hungers of the World by Barbara Bedway
Sallem dayetkoom, God bless your hands, people say this to your grandmother and your aunts, the food preparers, the begetters of dinners of great delight. Sallem dayetkoom. And you want to bless your own mouth and your own eyes and ears and every sensory pore in your entire body that enables you to see and touch and transport this food into your mouth. With your whole body you taste every cinnamon-and-allspice-laden bite of all the lamb stuffing you can decently apportion to yourself from out of the garlicked roast chicken. You understand why fresh, whole romaine lettuce leaves are the only acceptable purveyors of tabbouleh to your overstimulated mouth. When at last it's time to clear the table, you are startled out of your eating trance, head on your arms, eyes on a level with the empty tabbouleh bowl.
Perhaps you will abandon the pleasures of Wonder Bread toast and the safety of noodles for food that can make you faint with pleasure.
From Holding On by Janet R. Kirchheimer
I hold the flashlight while my father picks
all the pole beans he can reach.
They've climbed more than six feet,
and there's no way to cover them.
He tells me to go to the back of the garden
and pick the tomatoes, even the green ones.
There's no way to cover all of them either.
They can ripen in the house.
I'm not ready to give in,
even though the plants
have. They know the growing season is over.
I've never known when to let go.