
ordered black coffee,
they brought a plate of cookies,
well-played, love won.

ordered black coffee,
they brought a plate of cookies,
well-played, love won.
Made in Chicago: Stories Behind 30 Great Hometown Bites by Monica EngTerraced rice fields. Some, in rectangular blocks. Others, following valley contours. In the tropics, all stages exist at once: The mirrored surfaces of flooded but unplanted paddies. The orderly stubble of freshly planted fields. The max saturation green fields, densely packed with verdancy. The tawny fields of heavy-headed ripe rice. One may pass all of these (and gradations, thereof) as one walks the narrow lanes that dissect farmland. People, birds, and animals transit the slender paddy levees, lending color to a monotony of vibrancy. Sometimes, a weather-beaten man or woman wades in the field -- feet wide and bent at the waist. Nowadays, people come from far away (sometimes even paying admission) to see these fields -- to see so much green packed under blue skies and to let that photosynthetic glory wash over them. mirrored paddy -- flooded but unplanted; a child studies himself lush green fields. crows on the paddy dike command the eye tawny rice. stalks bent under grain-swollen heads
There was a chef from Belize City who tried way too hard to be witty. He liked to serve pork, but when it was on fork, tell his guests it was rat, just not itty-bitty.
NOTE: Gibnut [a.k.a. Paca] is a huge rodent eaten in Belize. It’s been called the “royal rat” because it was once served to Queen Elizabeth II.

A multiethnic gourmand of Bratislava
liked to go downstairs for a hot java,
then over to Hungary
for torte topped with berry,
and on to Vienna for a slice of baklava.
The One-Straw Revolution by Masanobu FukuokaMy lungs were burning as I ran through town, and tried to escape the streets of cobbled stone and he from whom I ran, that evil clown, whose paint obscured a face I once had known, but how could I know something that's unknown and, thinking that, I knew it made no sense, though I knew it true deep within my bones. Then stirred by eyes so burning and intense, I picked a pointy stick for my defense, and chucked it at the creature's beastly heart. I missed its heart by width of a ten-pence. The clown, in turn, tossed it back like a dart. Awaking to sharp pains in my frail chest, the clown had slayed me, or so I guessed.
Real Food Fermentation, Revised and Expanded: Preserving Whole Fresh Food with Live Cultures in Your Home Kitchen by Alex Lewin