Word: breads
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...outset of the war, there was some panic hoarding of bread and other staples, mostly in the well-to-do northern sections of the city. There is no shortage of basic foodstuffs. Shops and supermarkets are well stocked with both Iranian and imported food. Kerosene, the principal cooking and heating fuel, is rationed: 20 liters a week for each family. The government has ordered a halt to the supply of fuel oil to private consumers until further notice. Anticipating a cold winter, people have been buying electric heaters, which are now in short supply. "If the worst fears come true...
...tableaus. The camera suddenly cuts from the scene at hand to a minute corner of the picture: In the lapse of conversation suddenly one is looking at a swarm of termites on a windowsill. A domestic portrait gives way to an extreme closeup of a rusty knife cutting through bread--the sound suddenly amplified and grating. Idyllic farm panoramas are interrupted with scenes of chicken roosters being slaughtered, huge shears go through sheep's wool, the camera slowly absents itself from a sermon and creeps in on a bloody axe, a strange glance, nervous fingers drumming violently...
...commercial energy and tightly-knit community spirit embodies the determination of South Bronx residents to revitalize their neighborhoods. The smell of fresh fish fills the street. Vegetable and fruit stands sprawl on the sidewalk. Shoppers double park their cars as they run into bazaars to buy homemade pasta, bread, or Italian pastries. This is the old New York ethnic dynamism, thought to have died in the South Bronx with Charlotte Street...
...Cambridge St. near Inman Square, Portuguese fish markets sell squid and saltwater delicacies; Portuguese bakeries send off the odor of fresh bread and pastries; community notices in the store windows are often in a Romance language. In fact, a good number of shoppers there probably don't know much English...
...next winter is better, at first. Though the winds howl and the thermometer dips to 50° below, the house is finished enough to stay fairly snug; it only catches fire twice. Between these moments of excitement, there is bread to be baked, books to be read, a crackling blaze in the fireplace to be contemplated. A dream of the counterculture seems about to come true, until cabin fever strikes. Suddenly, plates full of moose meat are being hurled about, hair is being pulled; Bob punches Elizabeth in the stomach. She writes: "I was free to hate...