Playing with my food, and other things...
Quarry not prey
Last updated:
2/4/2007; 4:33:05 AM


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Paul/Male/56-60. Lives in United States/North Carolina/Carrboro, speaks English. Eye color is brown. I am skinny. I am also cynical. My interests are All Music/All Food.
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United States, North Carolina, Carrboro, English, Paul, Male, 56-60, All Music, All Food.

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Tuesday, March 25, 2003

A picture named pileus.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The lone mushroom, dark underbelly view. On the right is a closeup of the gills, also called lamellae. The cap is called pileus by mushroom geeks. How do I know all this? I've joined The Mushroom Club! I'm probably the oldest member.


5:47:24 PM    comment []

A picture named gastronomica.jpg

 

 

 

I'd like to thank whoever encouraged me to subscribe to Gastronomica. Apparently I did that around 03/12/03 because that's the invoice date. Maybe I can check comments made to this blog around that date. At first glance, it has the same luxurious feel as Architectural Digest. There's not much food porn inside, it's mostly text. Here's an ode to Miracle Whip from inside the back cover:

 

0 Miracle Whip

 

TERRY KIRTS

 

Miracle Whip is the cold cream of Midwestern housewives

how they lather their thighs of a morning breathing in the oily balm

the egg white and soybean creaminess taking all the dry weeks

of an Illinois winter out of their bloodshot calves and knees.

 

Miracle Whip is the dependable friend the ubiquitous substitute in casseroles

and cakes the jarred marina that will outlast every ice storm or drought

that will save every recipe make every sandwich of braunschweiger

bologna cold beef roast or boiled lien taste good no matter how old.

 

Miracle Whip is the boy's first taste of love the tangy zip of a quick kiss

the after-school snack while the magazine's pages turn limp and slick

the girl's salvation from split ends and frizz the sister smearing

her listless strands into life the night before she dazzles at the prom.

 

Miracle Whip is the plague of picnics the sour whiff of potato salad

sitting too long in the July sun while the priest warns about marauders

or the relatives chatter guzzle beers from Styrofoarn coolers tell jokes

the deviled eggs the coleslaw the macaroni salad growing their golden skins

 

and the child gagging by the roadside on a low slope of Route 130

the father yelling at the passing traffic swearing suddenly in German

the mother sweating wringing her hands cradling the Tupperware

bowl like a colicky babe in the darkening valley of her lap.

 

(cover by Emily Eveleth, more of her painting viewable online at Artnet.)


5:16:38 PM    comment []

French toast and boiled cabbage.

It wasn't quite a nightmare, it ws more like dream FoodTV. The latest food fad, dissonant pairings. Before I woke up, however, I made a credible 3-point attempt with an uprooted poke salad in a confusing outdoor basketball game. It was impossible to dribble the vegetable matter, so I balled it up and hurled it at the net.

It hit the backboard and unfurled harmlessly off the left side of the rim. Why would one dream of an absurd near miss when absurd success is equally dreamable? If I coulda bounced it just once, I mighta made it close enough to score. But I instinctively understood, no matter how tightly it is compressed, poke salad will never bounce. So I was stuck with that ridiculous long shot. I hope coach understands.

When you say "salad" referring to poke salad, make sure it rhymes with "odd".


1:17:28 AM    comment []



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