In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

58 Next Time No Potatoes I line up the ingredients: thick cut brisket, short ribs packed tight, bay leaves, chicken stock, fat organic carrots, a recipe from my secret lover, this is different stew, he tells me, this won’t taste like any other. Perhaps he cooked this while his wife, in the music room, metronome pulsing Chopin on the grand, aroma of beef distracting her from playing, sipped vodka from a flask, just as I, unsure cook take a sip of wine for each splash into the pot, pondering rice or potatoes, which will it be? His notes aren’t clear, why didn’t he specify? One hardly needs two starches, potatoes or rice, one must make a choice. I put them both in, watch the rice suck up the gravy like cotton soaking up blood, as the white bumps of potato squat in the heavy pot. At dinner my guests chatter 59 as they fork potatoes to the sides of their different colored bowls, I drift off imagining how I’ll tell him rice is all you need. ...

Share