My devotion to offal, especially heart, has appeared frequently throughout this blog. Recipes for this great, bloody muscle resurrect my body and spirit, piercing my tongue and thoughts with recipes revealing its divine aroma and taste. I have worshipped lamb hearts. I have worshipped smoked reindeer heart. I have smoked a heart myself. I have … Continue reading Musing On The Heart With John Of The Cross, Dante Alighieri, Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds, Sappho And Julia Child. A Most Monstrous and Wondrous Orgy With Recipe.
Time to cook for the family, which means sledging the bog, digging the swamp, pouring the fat. Off to Eastern Market to gather onions, carrots, parsnips, garlic, mushrooms, potatoes, herbs, and oxtails and short ribs. Yes, oxtails and short ribs. Produce from local Michigan farmers gleams aisle after aisle. All that grows in the dark … Continue reading A Bog In Saint Clair Shores Surrounds White Castle, While Danger Doom Stirs The Pot.
Always there waiting when I arrive, though not always visited, not always directly acknowledged and approached like an itinerant believer noticing the grail, but in the end deferring. Talked of often, gestured toward, but sometimes the car continues, the night passes. But not tonight. No, as I raise a glass of Michigan whiskey raised with … Continue reading “White Castles” As My Son And I Watch “Rick And Morty,” While Space And Time Bubbles And Wobbles Away
Right off the train, through the streets of Windsor, under the Detroit River, past customs and down Jefferson Avenue and up to Harper Avenue, Lou and Deb speed me to Frank’s on the Avenue for what I crave most when I visit Michigan–coneys and chili. “Two Coneys and Fries.” It’s afternoon. I think. Time has … Continue reading Frank’s On The Avenue And Travis Restaurant: East Side Dining Comforts For The Weary Traveler.
Hours from now I’ll look at my aisle window and believe it’s Venice instead of Stockholm, eighteen-hundred and forty-six instead of two thousand and nineteen, and I’m navigating channels on a gondola in the “City of Water” on my way to a ball in ‘Going to the Ball (San Martino)’. Also, my name is Joseph … Continue reading Traveling Through Winter Dark and Light With Samuel Beckett And Assorted Food Options.
The sunset burns the sky. Such mysteries occur all the time. I might think the world’s on fire, a revealing and ending through flames silhouetting branches, trunks and needles; but no, sadly apocalypse will have to wait for another year. Still, world-altering changes have taken place, at least for the family. I moved with Gabriela … Continue reading Goodbye To Two Thousand And Eighteen With Three Single Malt Scotch Bottles From The Southern Coast Of Islay As The Sky Burns Over Nacka And I Listen To Vic Chesnutt And Elf Power.
Winter is here. Frozen, snow-covered branches and needles fill windows round the house. Winter as my eyes, memory and all those ice-covered roads masquerading as neural networks fashion winter. Cold on the outside? Well, then drink a glass of glögg, mulled wine heavy on the allspice, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and on and on. After a … Continue reading Vinter Och Glögg Or Post-Impressionistic Impressions of Ice-Jacketed Branches And Sideboards Or What Happens in Sweden On Christmas Eve.