Back issues. Like, back when it was a quarterly.

I’ve been publishing Argentfork since 2004, the year the Sons of Tito Francona broke the curse of the Bambino. Since then, I’ve eaten pig’s head, Samish oysters and Castelvetrano olives, drunk No. 209 gin, Cahors wine and New Belgium Tripel—and written about all of them. Dig in.

  • Consider the oysters
    LAMB FRIES Oct 12

    Consider the oysters

    Lamb “fries” and mountain “oysters” fall into the category of edible unmentionables. Like sweetbreads and lights, they state what they aren’t versus claim what they are. Lights are lungs, from the Middle English lightes, meaning likely to float away.

  • The fairy flies again
    Absinthe Apr 12

    The fairy flies again

    There were unmarked things and things written in French, and several labels that could barely be called that, so few markings were there. The contents were brown, mysterious, and by now half-gone. He couldn’t remember what it tasted like, what it even was. “Let’s open one of these,” he said, opening two.

  • Crunch time
    Nuts Jan 12

    Crunch time

    “The leaues of Beech do coole; the kernell of the Nut is somewhat moist,” reads an ancient text, from a time when beechnuts were in vogue. We fancy what we haven’t. I haven’t a cellar full of wine, nor a larder packed with beech, butter, oyster and breadnuts.

  • Travels with my gut
    SEATTLE Oct 11

    Travels with my gut

    I love eating and drinking in Seattle, where a café sits in every strategic space, a pocket of neighborhood restaurants—any old neighborhood—emits a swarm of sweet aromas, a mixing glass rattles and froths with the emulsion of some new, smart set of elixirs.

  • An ode to the clove
    GARLIC Jul 11

    An ode to the clove

    Roasted garlic is transubstantial: a candied gem from a dynamite stick. A decent restaurant runs on garlic and spews its exhaust into the common air. A restaurant that doesn’t cook with garlic is to me a cathedral without ghosts.

  • Waking Blake

    Waking Blake

    We met after work over a cocktail for the sole purpose, it was revealed, of plotting some strategy for his entrée into the slippery world of the singles ads. And with that I clumsily withdrew from his life.

  • His way or the 3-way
    CHILI Jan 11

    His way or the 3-way

    Chili came out of the land of scrub and hoof, up from Coahuila in the Mexican plain, into the vast triangulation of Abilene, San Antonio and Chihuahua, where a lot of miles and men and beasts crossed paths on the way to slaughter.

  • An engagement of the pome
    PEARS Oct 10

    An engagement of the pome

    Thomas Jefferson grafted the orchard of his dreams, buoyed by the fruits of travel and memory and acquaintances, asexually fixed—grafted instead of seeded—to avoid rogue genetics and new varieties.

  • The fat of the land
    cochon-555 Jul 10

    The fat of the land

    There’s a strip of belly in my hand that somebody cured into bacon where I shift my attention. I observe it long enough to salivate, then bite: It crunches magnificently, like a Heath bar.

  • Midnight in the garden of oil and evil
    OLIVES Apr 10

    Midnight in the garden of oil and evil

    The Sicilian set up shop on Mulberry Street, seeking refuge and respect. In the beginning, he imported oil, so the mamas dwelling among the Knickerbockers...

  • Barbecue to the rescue
    WHOLE-HOG Jan 10

    Barbecue to the rescue

    I arrive at the restaurant ahead of Alias Emcee and take a booth near the window, where all the booths, come to think of it, are. I am early, no, the Alias is late. The waitress, caring only that I am alone...

  • Just add milk
    CHOCOLATE Oct 09

    Just add milk

    The Opossum God, when he hit the sacred road carrying the Rain God on his back, fueled his zeal with hits of hot chocolate. The Maya seemed always to be going someplace.