Ocular Omnivore

“Thursday night, I let the cast iron pan reach truly incendiary temperatures before laying down a fillet. The skin tightened into a sheet of pure crunch.” — Orzo Salad with Olives, Mushrooms, Raisins, and Sunflower Seeds

“A funeral staple was the raisin pie (and other improvised variations) , a dessert that could be quickly made out of readily available ingredients.”— Pics or it Didn’t Happen: Sour Cream and Raisin Pie

“This hospitality often arrived as edibles, and especially as dessert. Guests and relatives would bring food to show their sympathy and condolences. “— Pics or it Didn’t Happen: Sour Cream and Raisin Pie

“Funerals in the mid to late nineteenth century were opportunities for the community to gather and express hospitality.”— Pics or it Didn’t Happen: Sour Cream and Raisin Pie

“Upon some further research into a variation, the sour cream and raisin pie, I found that it also originated among Mennonites settling in the Great Plains, quickly spreading to other local communities.”— Pics or it Didn’t Happen: Sour Cream and Raisin Pie

“It smelled like burning banana peels, sandalwood, hairy ass, spilled beer, and patchouli. And the pho: cilantro and jalapeno, dishwater, and tripe and meatballs. “The incense is called Barack Obama.” Andrew spit out a tight laugh.”— The Good Housewife

“The baby scratched at her stomach, running his fully formed nails over her tissues. It tickled. Each teasing scrape worried Jo—she was carrying a hairy beast inside her womb, a snouty pig with tusks and soft cartilaginous hoofs.”— The Good Housewife

“As a coming home present, Carlos dug out a marvelous canoe on Jo’s stomach: a sun smoking a spliff. Two beads of sweat welled up on the sun’s forehead. Its mouth puckered around Jo’s navel, and a line of smoke curled like lingerie towards her breasts.”— The Good Housewife

“Her mother dyed her hair puce, painted her lips, rubbed her eyes blue, and loved Family Feud.”— The Good Housewife

“Two orange trees grew by her pool and dropped their fruit all summer, until the bees came and bored their way through oily skins to the flesh. Cheeks swollen with air and pain rising in her throat, Jo would swivel to “Sunny” by Boney M. The water would be warm like an orange egg yolk. At a precise but unknown temperature, pool water congeals and enfolds limbs and little hairs in a lithe embrace. Weightless and crystallized, the body floats suspended in space.” — The Good Housewife