Monthly Archives: July 2015

Porchetta, Panama hats and a director whose name we will only whisper

My friend Giovanna had a bunch of us over for dinner on a recent summer night. With a baby perched on her hip, or on the counter, she prepared a cherry pie, rhubarb crumble, roasted potatoes, green bean salad, panzanella, and a porchetta.

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She’s extraordinary. So was the food.

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Fat Pasha and quiet lamentations

I think I’ve seen the Beast cry three times: during certain parts of Ken Burns’ Civil War documentary; certain parts of Ken Burns’ Jazz documentary; and, ¬†always, over the ending of Dances with Wolves.

I saw him cry for the fourth time two nights ago, the day his boss of 13 years, Lynn Albert, passed away. She had not been well. He had been managing the store in her absence for a several days. He¬†visited her that morning and held her hand. She was surrounded by her three sons and family when she passed, which was precisely what she’d wanted. What we all want, I imagine.

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