Julia Reed finds the poetry in a pork chop ...
I’d read—and loved—his poem “The Theory and Practice of Rivers,” in which he makes menudo, the Mexican tripe soup, for New Year’s revelers, and I knew something about his appetites. But I wasn’t expecting a life-changing meal. I figured we’d dine at the Dune Saloon, site of the pay phone that had served as our only means of communication.But then I drove my rental sedan up the cabin’s rutted driveway, marked “Trespassers Will Be Shot,” and there he was, preparing the grill for pork chops, a bunch of hardwood sticks in one hand and his beloved English setter Tess by his side. Our dinner consisted of a single course, but it remains among the most memorable of my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment