Sheila Squillante
My daughter was born with a serious intolerance to dairy in any form, down to the protein level, so while she was nursing, I had to eliminate all dairy from my diet, too. During this time, I kissed butter goodbye and olive oil became the magical elixir of my kitchen. I love you and all you stand for, Julia Child, but even now, long after dairy came back to me, I still prefer my omelette cooked in excellent extra virgin rather than butter. The brighter and greener the better.
Web site: allthingsedible.wordpress.com
Work published and forthcoming from:
- Cream City Review
- No Tell Motel
- Melusine
- Brevity
- Literary Mama
- Waccamaw
- Right Hand Pointing
Accolades:
- Best American Essays nomination, 2010
- Dzanc’s Best of the Web nomination, 2010
- Pushcart Prize nomination, 2009
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American Home Cookbook
The day it became clear that country
music could also complicate,
there was still the matter of what to cook
and a toilet to clean. Guests had been few.
How many months now?
Luckily omelets are “hearty and un-ruffled
by last-minute decisions.” Some left-over
smoked cheese. A pepper, red and on its way
toward rot. Red onion rind. Revival
and a satisfying twang
to the voice. Precious few clichés.
Just the true ones. In some parts
of the country people you know would balk
at this. Six months ago? Well that was before.
Waylon Jennings’s gone and it’s clear now
that planning only gets you so far.
What, you wonder, would happen
if adages fell apart? “Rubber-neckers” would become
“nose-bleeders;” a bird in the hand would be
a member of the Westchester Country Club
on Lobster night. Your grandfather repaired pipes
for people like that. Used to let you play with his
CB. Breaker, breaker. I can stop this rig on a dime,
the kind trucker in the story said. And died in his rig
instead of crashing into traffic. You don’t feel
especially like a “hostess.” You feel more like
Patsy Cline. What’s to become of that that pound
of sopressata, darlin’? That wheel of gruyere
strumming love songs in the fridge?
