Good Taste

Ever since graduating culinary school Upstate New York, close to ten years ago, Buck has been employed as a chef. If you ask him he’ll tell you he can do anything and everything there is to do, where it concerns food. He’ll tell you he enjoys a tasty meal. Buck grew up on some tropical island where he lived with hi
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In With the New

January, Sunday, and the East End was unnaturally balmy. A cloud reclined on the ground, spreading itself generously in amongst denuded shrubbery, smudging outlines. For an instant the sun burned a hole through the heavy grey haze. Enthused by the splash of day light I ventured out for a drive. Dirty ice and s
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Ketchum, If You Can

I just spent a few days in the Rockies of Idaho, in a snow-globe deep-freeze sun drenched valley thousands of feet above sea level. I had been asked to read from my new book by the Ketchum Community Library. This came to pass because Sabina Dana Plasse, currently Arts & Events editor of the Idaho Mount
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It was soon apparent I did not possess Mary’s instincts for genius in children’s entertainment. Work, such as it was called, amounted to reading an incessant influx of unsolicited scripts. Topics favored the supernatural, and all were laced with syrupy morality messages. Where Mary saw magic I saw putrefactio
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Emma, a girl I knew from college, offered up the use of her fuchsia moiré satin sofa, “for a week or so, until you find a place of your own.” Emma’s trust fund took care of the details of her comfortable life. This included the ground floor of a townhouse on the Upper East Side. Half way along a leafy side s
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“Late.” Mary Salt remarked. She crossed her arms and stared, letting her eyes rove over me, “and you look like hell. This is not the way to make a good impression on your new boss.” Each word she spoke emerged in a bubble and then hung, in slimy drips, on the rungs of her metal headdress. She wobbled forward
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Fiction Part Three

I threw some effort at the Web and conjured a television producer, one Mary Salt hell-bound on hiring an assistant, because, as she said, she was ‘desperate’. She needed someone ‘Pronto’, no skills required. Show up at 12 tomorrow. A call to a pal with a guest room and I was good to go. I could scarcely bel
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Fiction Part Two

Despite more than forty years stateside Uncle Archibald and Auntie Mildred remained distinctly British; they studiously maintained their Queen’s English, they belonged to a local bird watching society and they drank a lot of sherry. Another throwback to the motherland was their modus operandi of keeping a 'st
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Fiction Part One

The summer was over and I was, as the poets are wont to say, shit out of luck. Even my pot plants were dead.