Sublime

Why are people such slobs? I would wonder, loading feverish linens from Testa’s of Bar Harbor into my machines. Why are people such fucking slobs?

He sees Mark’s bag of fried flowers on the tip-pocked table. Funny thing about those flowers. Who’d voluntarily cook and eat a rose? It’s like planting and watering a breadstick. It’s perverse, and even sort of obscene, eating what’s clearly put on earth to be extra-gastric. Didn’t taste all that hot, either. And there’s still a piece stuck with th

“Inspectors must, of course, be physically sound. They must have an exceptional sense of taste, and this must be educated enough to recognize if a chef has taken shortcuts. Or worse”—Arnaud’s expression became grave—“if he has been cheating.” He paused to let this horror sink in. “Disguised dishes,” he said. “Cod masquerading as another fish under

I was lost in my fantasy, ignoring Dave Brubeck and coming up for air only when my father elbowed my ribs to ask, “Are you listening to this? These cats are burning the paint right off the walls!”

‘Hello,’ he said, intending a reproof. ‘Hello,’ said the boy. He had the ease of a creature never told it was a sinner from the womb.

Every morning, no matter how late he had been up, my father rose at 5:30, went to his study, wrote for a couple of hours, made us all breakfast, read the paper with my mother, and then went back to work for the rest of the morning. Many years passed before I realized that he did this by choice, for a living, and that he was not unemployed or mental

Traveling across the United States, it’s easy to see why Americans are often thought of as stupid. At the San Diego Zoo, right near the primate habitats, there’s a display featuring half a dozen life-size gorillas made out of bronze. Posted nearby is a sign reading CAUTION: GORILLA STATUES MAY BE HOT. Everywhere you turn, the obvious is being state

Rafe clenched his jaw. “This is bollocks.” Daphne smiled. “This is society.”