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.
WINE Jul 09
I would cook and drink the fruity red cooperative wine and ponder what bottle to pull from the cellar beneath the stairs. The bottles came with the same fruit, but in more controlled blends, with less of a co-op’s democracy.
FRIED CHICKEN Apr 09
I like my chicken, like myself, with the bones intact. Bones are evidence of life, and it’s life, after all, that flavors a living thing. Meat hanging to bones is evidence of some plan, a design rendered by something beyond man to give him nature and character.
TASTES Jan 09
When I was a teen, there was a fad to design flavored snack crackers and then sell them with pretend names. Like Chicken in a Biskit. Artificially flavored and preserved for posterity, these things got in my blood. They are the original bad taste in my mouth.
STEAK Oct 08
The Avalon Supper Club seemed to be where the sweetest of the herd went when they died, their loins no longer girded but trimmed, their flanks overrun, a butcher’s steel sticking out of their ribs, their bloodied parts laid out like tender spoils.
EGGS Jul 08
Finger the egg on its broad end, as the roundness lends stability. Keep the egg loose in the hand, not only to prevent crushing but also to keep from diverting the energy to the arm, where it is misspent.
VARIETY MEATS Apr 08
Scots legend William “Braveheart” Wallace was dispensed at Smithfield, having given Edward I fits for years. Befitting the time and place, he was disemboweled—through a six-pack stomach, if we are to believe the depiction on the monument at Elderslie.
UMAMI Jan 08
We never say, “You were what you ate.” We are a people of the present, and, mercifully, death ends the reliance on the adage. As the eater no longer is bound by earthly appetite, our duty to codify a diner by her diet, a drinker by his drafts is likewise relieved.
HOT DOGS Oct 07
In a famous newsreel, Rita Hayworth has come home from somewhere sporting a topcoat. A reporter sticks a microphone in her face and asks her how it feels to be back in America. She says she just wants to eat a hot dog.
SAINT-CHINIAN Jul 07
I made a right and was at the threshold of Monsieur and Madame Peyras. With seven butchers in a town of 1700, it took me awhile to find Chez Peyras, and I was wasting no time sampling their coffers.
ALDI Apr 07
Price can be a beacon; often, though, it’s a rocky point, and there are many places one can dash. Price matters, always. If it didn’t, there would be no ALDI. Maybe there shouldn’t be, but the market is a forceful dynamic, once established not easily moved.
PIZZA Jan 07
My ambrosia would be as follows: an ultra-thin, crispy crust, barely thick enough to steady a Nerf ball, lathered in Ligurian olive oil; studded with tiny morels, several cloves of Carpathian garlic, roasted, and pan-fried shavings of Iberian ham.
PORK + BEANS Oct 06
Cassoulet, to the cook, becomes an emblem of desire, for one must truly need a cassoulet in order to make it from scratch. It's too fussy, though being fussy and demanding of the cook—and the eater—is part of its charm.