SO MUCH FLOW
Can I harrow, can I stave? Oh, the wonder of
all these things. The Italian guy, down at the canal,
was speaking words of wonder - 'we washed the
pasta in only the best, clear water, back when I was
at home. Tutt'a de fiori. Mirabella. It all sounded
right rolling off his lips. 'Here in America,' I told him,
'we don't care so very much about anything like that.
Well, some do, but they make a big stink and go about
charging for their own perplexing and supposed form
of exceptionalism. Artisinal this, artisinal that. Everyone
wants to curate too - a vineyard, an art farm, a wheat
field gone gray from submission. It's all tax dodge and
bullshit - what can you get by not doing. You follow?'
He didn't. He grunted, some funny Italian-accented
grunt I recognized from a movie. Yeah, well, OK.
-
Marrow bones and marzipan. There's nothing so
much as a cultural divide on this, a real
Farmer's Market day, for sure.
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