ISSUES

SUMMER 2008 Issue Six

Our first color illustrated story, The Flying Omelet, by Marguerite Dorian; interview with writer and food Web site guru David Leite; poems by Anna Maria Shua translated by Steven J. Stewart; an udon maker romance by Elaine Chiew; Pintip Hompluem Dunn's Thai tale of food and marriage; Linda Lappin's moonlit night with pane & pecorino; and F.J. Bergmann visits the Bistro at the End of the Unified Field Theory.

Plus: spoon up peyote soup and become one with the universe; notes on gefilte fish; slaying your own dinner; a love affair with bacon; zebras make plum jelly; how to eat found food; mango memories; and much more.... 33 writers & poets

Issue Six
excerpts . . .

From The Freedom of Found Food by Ellen Morris Prewitt . . .

We roamed the pastures of Mamo's farm, we weaved in and out of neighbors' trees, we even sampled from our own front yards. Like the scavengers we were, we'd examine, but not eat, the onions at the end of the onion grass. We ate flower petals -- velvety -- and, on our walk to Power Elementary School, we'd lick the pollen butter from the buttercups -- a dry, powdery disappointment. Likewise for wild strawberries -- the little knots had no taste at all. At least the mimosa beans that we crunched while Mother was learning to play tennis on the public courts tasted like dirt. But taste wasn't the point, was it, or why tackle the bitter persimmon?

From Portuguese Sauce by Anna Maria Shua translated from the Spanish by Steven J. Stewart . . .

A quarrelling couple has guests over. There's chicken with Portuguese sauce. The wife serves the white meat to the male guest and offers him the sauce. The husband is suspicious of his wife. With exaggerated courtesy he offers sauce to the female guest. The wife is suspicious of her husband. She insists on adding sauce to the male guest's plate. The guests are highly suspicious of the chicken.

From Killing Lambchop by Penelope Schwartz Robinson . . .

When it comes to food animals are craven. A pile of corn and it's every gander for himself. In the rush, I grabbed a goose by the neck and scooped her into the grain sack. This sounds easier than it was. The goose and I both went down, but I held on. I jammed her into the bag, scrambled to my feet and having twisted the top, threw the writhing bundle over my shoulder. I held on with both hands and ran from the yard, kicking the gate shut behind me.

From The Flying Omelet by Marguerite Dorian . . .