Word: pumpkin
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...photo of J. Edgar Hoover. Staring at it, Mulder and Scully just shrug, but that's unfair to the FBI's snoop extraordinaire, the vicar of voyeurs, the patron saint of the TV show's belief that under every bed, in every closet or out in a pumpkin patch is something very scary that could bring America to its knees. And even if it doesn't, it's worth tracking down, keeping in a locked drawer. Knowledge is power, and belief in the dark side spurs you to gain that knowledge...
...work is steeped in loopy sweetness, from her first book, Pumpkin Moonshine (1938), in which tiny Sylvie Ann must roll a giant pumpkin across a field, to her last, Corgiville Christmas (2003), which depicts short-limbed pooches preparing for the holidays with amazing dexterity...
...distinctly remember the meal in Colico last summer—at the agriturismo just north of Lake Como—when I had the pumpkin ravioli I’d been searching for my whole trip. It was my second to last night in Italy and I knew I had finally found that perfect meal. I had to close my eyes between bites of the pasta. I was intoxicated by more than just the food, but the sentiment was genuine. I slapped my hand down on my seat and announced to the table, “This is where...
...market, but the Japanese delegates hadn’t scheduled a visit until the last day of the trip. With typical early spring break optimism, I thought my column would be long finished before then.The soy fish, pork soup, and tofu I had the first lunch were good, the pumpkin flan was interesting, and the display case full of rice marked “Lice” was touchingly Lost in Translation. Everything was distinctly Japanese, but nothing other than my having eaten it all in the same city made it coalesce into a single story. The rice balls...
...meaningful order, was intense exercise and weight loss; fugue states punctuated by light psychotherapy, heavy drinking and moderate drug use; really good sex; Italian classes (where I learned to pronounce il mio divorzio perfectly); and marathons of cooking. I had always enjoyed the kitchen, but now I would make pumpkin ravioli from scratch on Thursday and cook a black bass in parchment on Friday and bake an olive-oil cake on Saturday. The fridge was stuffed; my friends were ecstatic and full. But in the mornings, alone before dawn, a jolt of terror: What had I done...