June 26, 2009
My father knew how to suck eggs. Raw ones, through toothpick-sized holes he would pierce on the pointy sides in the shell. This sucking feat reliably made both my mother and me gag. Fortunately, when he was doing breakfast, he gave me my eggs cooked.
Only this particular day, I didn’t feel even slightly fortunate. He [...]
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June 25, 2009
PICTURE the scene. My first vivid food memory. A string-bean kid about five years old, fair hair braided into two long plaits, alone in the dining room and seated at a large, oval, wood table. The shiny sort you can’t put your coffee mug on because it marks.
If someone were to draw the scene for [...]
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