#8 in an eclectic collection of notable noshes to whet your appetite and brighten your day.
When I was four years old we moved away from my first home, where the family gathered for lunch each Saturday singing songs around the table. We flew over the ocean to this hard gray city, and one of the first things I smelled was onions frying. I FELL IN LOVE with the coffee shop. The squeak of the stool. The shine of the aluminum. The stainless steel. The griddle. The toaster. The steam that rises. The noise. The choice. The confidence. And presiding over the frenzy? An eight-armed octopus called the short-order cook whose name is Barney March. Half a yawn past dawn, Estelle the waitress throws out the orders loud and fast. “ADAM AND EVE ON A RAFT. WRECK ‘EM!” (Could I kindly have scrambled eggs on toast?) “WHISKEY DOWN WITH A STRETCH!” (Rye toast with a Coke, please.) HE GRABS EGGS. (360 a day.) He poaches, fries, scrambles, boils soft, boils hard. He flips flapjacks. Sizzles bacon. He is the morning greeter, counter whizzer, white-apron wearer who toasts that white, rye, whole wheat, bagel, bialy. He is a hash slinger, potato masher, egg-cream whipper, onion chopper, plate stacker, burger slider. People say, “Hello, how ya doin’? Hiya. Howarya?” It’s a jazz combo. The soup slurper. The doughnut dunker. The pickle cruncher. The cash register rings. The phone rings. “CHICKEN SOUP, BOOTS!” (Chicken soup to go.) The deliveryman grabs the brown-bagged soup, dashes out past the accordion player on the corner and rings the bell of the finicky and persnickety . . .
MAIRA KALMAN RESUME
OBJECTIVE:
- To pursue a career in the growing field of donut product marketing
STATEMENT:
- I believe I am highly suited to this career because I’m eager to taste many kinds of fillings and I’m very curious about sprinkles.
EDUCATION:
- Harvard University summa cum laude
- Major: Leisure Food Technology
- Minor: Beverage Management
- Junior Year Abroad: Bomboli Program, Florence, Italy
- Senior Thesis: “Crullers: The Myth and Meaning”
~ from Chicken Soup, Boots by Maira Kalman (Viking, 1993)
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This tasty tidbit is brought to you by a blogger who also likes chicken soup, boots, taking naps, snacking, donuts and cafés, and who took time off from balancing an egg on its end to type this post. Still trying to figure out how to grow up to be Maira.
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Copyright © 2012 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.
Determined to avoid yet another fiasco involving false mustaches, Groucho Marx impersonations, or twitchy dowsing rods gone amok, we sent an urgent missive to the ever steady and reliable Mr. Random Integer Generator, who, after a brief sojourn in the French Riviera, Peugeoted himself across the border and is, at this very moment, relaxing in Tuscany with a glass of Chianti, pecorino, and summer-glorious panzanella.
Um, he should be here any minute. Greg may be just a tad late. This sometimes happens when you’re faster than a speeding cannoli, more powerful than a rum baba, able to leap tall croquembouches in a single bound.
As you may know, we’re in love with her latest book, 
Jama's Alphabet Soup 