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.
LAMB FRIES Oct 12
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.
Absinthe Apr 12
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.
Nuts Jan 12
“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.
SEATTLE Oct 11
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.
GARLIC Jul 11
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.
ABSENT FRIENDS Apr 11
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.
CHILI Jan 11
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.
PEARS Oct 10
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.
cochon-555 Jul 10
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.
OLIVES Apr 10
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...
WHOLE-HOG Jan 10
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...
CHOCOLATE Oct 09
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.