Appetite

Check out Derick's work at this upcoming exhibition, APPETITE: A reciprocal relationship between Food & Design. The opening reception is Tuesday, September 14 6-8 pm at 41 Cooper Gallery at the Cooper Union. See you there!

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The Sculpture Garden

Installation by Mike Ballou
Photo by Clint Spaulding
Send your photos of Angus and any ideas you have for future exhibits to anna@marlowandsons.com

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Photo by Clint Spaulding

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Tonight In Manhattan

Caroline Fidanza, Jess Arndt and Me (Anna Dunn) will be reading from past and future Diner Journals. Please join us for fun and mystery at the world famous KGB Bar along side Gabrielle Hamilton reading from her forth coming book. Show starts at seven, goes on past the second star to the right and straight on till morning.

Who: Us
What: Non-Fiction Series
Where: KGB BAR 85 East 4th Street
When: Seven
Why: Fun

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Come Rock Out and Put Out for Juliet

Our dear friend and family member was in a bad motorcycle accident. She is alive and beautiful and badass and well on her way to well. But unfortunately misfortune is expensive here in the United States. Were she in Austria, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Georgia, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russia, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Ukraine, Bhutan, Brunei, China, India, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Japan, South Korea, Sri Lanka, Taiwan, and Thailand, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, Brazil, Canada, Chile, Costa Rica, Cuba, Mexico, Panama, Peru, Uruguay, Trinidad and Tobago and Venezuela and the United Kingdom this wouldn't be an issue. But let's not dwell on our countries collective idiocies. Instead lets do the money dance for Juliet.

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Cut from the Same Cloth

Visit www.austerrosen.com for more information

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Diner Journal Has Valentine's Day Crush

On the New Amsterdam Market!

Please support our mission to establish a permanent, indoor public market in the City of New York, where purveyors such as butchers, grocers, mongers, and other vendors will source and sell food from the region.

By incubating and supporting these local businesses, New Amsterdam Market will provide additional outlets and opportunities for farmers too busy or too distant to attend New York's thriving Greenmarkets - a need made all the more critical by the economic collapse.

Our aim in 2009 is to begin holding New Amsterdam Market once every month. We have been speaking with the City about use of a public site in Lower Manhattan and are encouraged by this prospect. More news will follow!

Your generous support will help us start the market.

Purchase Tickets for you and all your friends NOW!

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Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know: Cecily Upton At Large

Last week, I drove across Nebraska. Nebraska is a really BIG state. Big and Flat. It's January, so there wasn't much growing as I passed through, but the remnants of our nation's great corn industry fanned out before me in field after field of broken stalks and barren irrigation contraptions. I know most people think this part of the country is boring, and perhaps I did feel a tinge of boredom after 300 miles on I-80 with nary a curve in the road to distract me. But mostly I think Nebraska and her sister states of Iowa, Kansas, and the Dakotas, are beautiful. Beautiful in the way that Jennifer Grey was before she got her nose job…a little plain, but kind of wild and alluring just the same.

So, I'm driving through Nebraska and I start to notice that out among the broken corn stalks in 4 out of 10 fields are herds of stout, black cows foraging freely. Foraging freely? In Nebraska? This is a state firmly in the grips of Our Nation's Food System. Subsidies are handed out here like handshakes at a campaign rally. Aren't all those cows supposed to be penned up, in chains, unable to move, force-fed unnatural diets of grain and animal parts and injected with all sorts of horrible anti-biotics? Isn't that what Fast Food Nation and King Corn tell us? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to say that doesn't happen, because it does. In fact, most, if not all, of those cows I saw munching away in the great open plains are destined for that very fate. Soon. And I passed those very feedlots the next day, in Colorado, and those animals are inhumanely jammed in there and there are MOUNTAINS of manure and it looks to be a pretty horrible existence. But, BUT, my east-coast, bleeding-heart, liberal, Slow Food sensibilities were kind of rocked when I saw those cows apparently enjoying themselves roaming freely amongst the corn stalks.

Then I got to thinking. And this is what I thought: what I'm seeing here might not be a quaint antithetical anecdote to the Evil Feedlot/Bionic Beef nightmare we know exists, but instead might be, in actuality, THE SADDEST INDICATOR OF HOW F***** UP OUR FOOD SYSTEM REALLY IS. Now, I'm still a little emotional about this, as you can tell. I'm going to try and lay this out clearly, but bear with me if it gets a little tangled. Here goes. These fields, in the spring, were most likely planted with GMO corn destined for one of three fates: feedlot grain, high-fructose corn syrup, or biofuel. Now, I need to make one thing clear: this corn is inedible. People cannot eat it. It can and will only be used for one of the three products I just listed. The farmers who grow this corn are most likely losing money on each acre and are subsidized by Uncle Sam to ensure the United States' bread-basket (note the irony here, given that these crops are not destined for food) remains productive. So, the sun shines, the fields are irrigated, the corn grows. Now in the good old days, some of these fields would be something other than corn and that other stuff would be harvested to feed animals like cows through the winter before a short diet of grain was imposed to fatten them up before slaughter.

I say a short diet of grain because grain is toxic to cows. Their stomachs can only tolerate it for a short period before it becomes infected, they sicken, and they die. Anyway, growing that other stuff became less and less profitable once the government began writing the checks. The government will really only write checks for corn and a few other, mostly non-edible, staples, so it didn't make much sense to be growing acres of crops that you wouldn't get paid for. Besides, science and technology had, in the meantime, invented all of these glorious drugs you could give your cows that prolonged the period that they could tolerate grain. So now you could send cattle to the feedlot at an earlier age, keep them on corn for longer, and they'd fatten up faster. Sounds like a win-win, right? Well, I think everyone reading this blog knows it's not, but I want to get back to the cows I saw munching away in the barren fields.

So, I'm driving along and I won't lie, my black Brooklyn heart warmed a bit when I saw those happy cows in the fields, but it soon iced back over when I realized the sad irony. Here were cows, spending their last short weeks before the feedlot, scavenging in snow-covered fields for the remnants of GMO corn that they would soon be force-fed in too-close quarters while standing in their own waste. These poor animals will never know what it feels like to follow their natural instincts. Over the years, they've had those instincts bred out of them. They're bred to eat, and eat they will, anything they can find. And in these fields, what they were finding would soon kill them. Then that heart got even colder and more ice-covered when I thought about this: what if those fields were used to grow actual food, for actual people. Food that nourished and provided our population with the nutrients and vitamins that many of us so desperately need. And what if, once that food had been harvested, the remnants of that system were left to be slurped up by hungry animals who could turn it not only into further nourishment, but also into natural fertilizer, making those fields even more productive next season. Ahh, what if? I'm no farmer, so I'm sure it's just a crazy idea dreamt up by a silly kid from the city who doesn't know what she's talking about, but I kind of feel like I might be on to something here.


by Cecily Upton

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Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

You may already have received this, but it is important. I am passing it on. Quincy Jones has started a petition to ask President-Elect Obama to appoint a Secretary of the Arts. While many other countries have had Ministers of Art or Culture for centuries, The United States has never created such a position. We, in the arts, need this and the country needs the arts--now more than ever. Please take a moment to sign this important petition and then pass it on to your friends and colleagues.

And I would just like to remind you all to stop by Bonita Two for in Forte Green some inaugural tacos and music. The choral ensemble will be performing at Bonita around 2pm! Happy day.

Petition Online

Quincy Jones image plucked from Gene Pendon - HVW8.

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Ah Summer

Drawings by Elizabeth Schula

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Morning

What I like best in this picture is what is not there. The RED fennel. The teapot. Possibly the hangover. Drawn by Scarlett Lindeman.

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Happy Halloween... I mean Holidays

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There is No Snow in a Snow Cone

The snow this morning looked edible. At first the flakes were oyster sized and sparse, then curtain-like falling diagonal across the sky, and now soft and but present in the air. It reminded me there is no snow in snow cones. But wouldn't it be rad if there was? I've been thinking about magical thinking and the media and food. From the snake oil of the early 1900s (which was in truth mineral oil and turpentine) to rumors of genetically modified headless chickens raised for KFC the food industry has proven to be a furtile bed for disinformation.

I saw Milk the movie last night which was great and I highly recommend. And at the end when summarizing Dan White's trial for the execution of Harvey Milk and George Mescone the film stated that White was innocent by way of insanity, insanity that was CAUSED by eating too much junk food. This is quite different then what actually happened. White's junk food (twinkies were never mentioned in the court room) addiction was actually used in his defense, as mentioned in an earlier post, but as a symptom of his depression. The term "The Twinkie Defense" now refers to a defense that some unusual biological component factored into the causes or motives of an alleged crime. I ate twinkies, they made me crazy, I killed. I blame Hostess.

Another misnomer I keep bumping into is the Einstein bee quote, "If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live." Believe me I wanted this to be accurate. But it's not. It's poetic, reverent, dire and maybe true but was never uttered by our dear white haired genius. He did however speak a few wisdoms:

"Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius -- and a lot of courage -- to move in the opposite direction."

One wonders if this was before or after the Manhattan Project. And:

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."

Sounds like snow to me. Save the bees in NYC. Go outside and make your own snow cone... Maybe a bitters snow cone? Also fortune cookies come from California and not China.

Portrait by Bella Foster

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It May Not Be Made of Bay Leaves but...

it sure is pretty. On Saturday December 13th, Blooming Hill Farm will be selling their wild, local, organic, seasonal, beautiful, handmade, holiday wreaths and decor in the parking lot across from Diner on Berry Street.

As Guy says "it's a lot of work to drag all that stuff out of the woods." Not to mention making it into something beautiful.

When:
Saturday, 13th of December
11 am until dark

Where:
The corner of Broadway and Berry.

Who:
Blooming Hill Farm

Why:
Beauty and Cheer

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Snowfalkes Are Always Cool

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Quota

In searching for the soul and romance of Thanksgiving today I found that mostly our thoughts on the day are unremarkable. Perhaps this is rooted in it being a celebration of murder and plague. Or because we're too busy eating to be thoughtful. But I dug up a few:

The delusional:

There is one day that is ours. Thanksgiving Day is the one day that is purely American.
O. Henry

The rhetorical (or the one that sounds like the Journal wrote it):

Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action.
W.J. Cameron

The one about the bee:

For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet;
For song of bird, and hum of bee;
For all things fair we hear or see,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!
Ralph Waldo Emerson

The idiotic:

He who thanks but with the lips
Thanks but in part;
The full, the true Thanksgiving
Comes from the heart.
J.A. Shedd

The inspiring:

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy

And The Original:

Thanksgiving food is soulless.
Caroline Fidanza

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Inspired By the Rejected European Edibles

Ugly Vegetables by Bella Foster

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A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Or rather a jalapeno plant. Last week a customer espoused on the ethical paradox we provide each purchaser of an iced beverage. The smoke screen that is the corn cup. It's not plastic! You can COMPOST it! All very well and good. But it does support commodity corn farming.. Never mind how few people probably actually carry around their iced coffee cup until they get home and start a compost pile in the 10 foot by 10 foot apartment. This is one of those environmental issues that I have been contemplating for a while and never come up on top of. Apparently I'm not the only one. Afore mentioned customer voiced these concerns and then upon feeling as though he or she may have over stepped a boundary (or something of that sort, I wasn't there so I can only speculate) returned with a gift. A jalapeno plant in a corn cup. And now the coffee counter has a new peppery friend. It reminded me of the open of the book by Betty Smith this post is titled after:

Serene was a word you could put to Brooklyn, New York. Especially in the summer of 1912. Somber, as a word, was better. But it did not apply to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Prairie was lovely and Shenandoah had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into Brooklyn. Serene was the only word for it; especially on a Saturday afternoon in summer.

Granted it is Fall in Brooklyn and we are a borough full of hope but I couldn't help taking this moment to remember our roots.

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"The whole point of the armed forces is to hurt the environment."

The two sides agreed that sonar can harm marine mammals, but they disagreed about how much. Mr. Kendall said sonar produces noise as loud as 2,000 jet engines and that some whales die or become stranded in their frantic efforts to avoid it.

Gregory G. Garre, the United States solicitor general, said the impact on the animals was minor and passing. "They hear the sound, and they go in the opposite direction," Mr. Garre said. "It can also mean that they could have some temporary effect on their feeding or breeding patterns." -New York Times

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Thursday Night Manhattan Friday the World

This Thursday night the Diner Journal crew will be hosting a launch party for the Fall issue. We will celebrate entering our third year with some readings by authors and the editorial staff varying in topic from coming out and eating goat to trying to find morels in the forests of Pennsylvania. And of course we will be paired accordingly with cheese and well... booze. We hope you all can join us at McNally Jackson Booksellers on Prince Street between Mulberry and Lafayette at 7pm for some seasonable, if not reasonable, fun.

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Ode Tomato

For me, the last days of summer arrive with an onslaught of Striped Germans. These beautiful giants put in a late-season appearance at the end of August and the start of September. Like a strange and wonderful dream, they're not here for long, and when they're gone, it's hard to convince yourself or anyone else that they did once, in fact, exist.

Legend has it that the Striped German originated in, well, Germany. In a vague and misty history, they're said to have ventured across the Atlantic with early Mennonite immigrants to Virginia. Seed catalogues love to report that Striped Germans were "found" in West Virginia in the 19th century.

Despite its peripatetic history, and no doubt due in part to its excessive size, the Striped German exhibits the classic flaw of the heirloom tomato: an inherent dislike of traveling. This flaw, however, is also what makes heirloom varietals key players in our anti-industrial food movement. These colossal fruits are often 1 ½ magnificent pounds. Sometimes bigger. Caution requires that they be held with two hands. If you bring home a Striped German and inadvertently destroy him in the process, the good news is that he can be cooked. With garlic and olive oil he will make a heavenly sauce or a lip-smacking soup.

In the best of all possible worlds, you will carry your Striped German home gently and reverently and no one will bump into you. You will slice him open quickly and smile at the colors within. After you have dusted him with salt and pepper and taken your first juicy bite, you will marvel at the mysterious taste and the great mass of thick, dense tomato flesh.

You may wonder, as I have been, exactly how the tomato, which originated as a small, wild berry in South America, became the beautiful heirlooms grown today. How many people (and how many tomatoes?) did it take to give a tiny berry the hue, girth and meaty demeanor of the mammoth Striped German? How many competing versions of an elusive tomato ideal are at work in creating the Striped German's fragile and elusive perfection?

Striped Germans are perfectly ripe when the tops are a little green, the bottoms are a little red, and the part in between is a lustrous yellow or vibrant orange. Only sometimes are they striped. They have a mellow, seductive taste: fruity, earthy, almost—but not quite—mushroomy. They are not tangy. A Striped German often gives the impression that it has been soaking in a rich and buttery olive oil. The pink and yellow flesh is lusciously marbled. Kind of like a rare steak or a August sunset.

By Maya Joseph

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Get Roasted

The Greenhorns is a documentary film that explores the lives of America's young farming community—its spirit, practices, and needs. As the nation experiences a groundswell of interest in sustainable lifestyles, The Greenhorns, both the vision of the film and the group of dedicated young people making it, see the promising beginnings of an agricultural revival. Young farmers' efforts feed us safe food, conserve valuable land, and reconstitute communities split apart by strip malls. It is the filmmakers' hope that by broadcasting the stories and voices of these young farmers, we can inspire another generation of optimistic agrarians.

The Glynwood Center is a working organic farm and conference center set in the middle of 2,000 acres of preserved forest glory. Their work revolves around helping communities preserve land and a strong agricultural economy. The site is stupendously beautiful with goats, chickens, orchards, rare cows and sheep, and an ancient orchard.

Join forces this weekend to raise awareness and money. I am particularly curious about workshops called: DIY Undergarments for obvious reasons and Anarchy Apiaries for more serious reasons! Alas I can not attend but Tom will be up there teaching meat curing! For more information check out the Greenhorn's blog the irresistible fleet of bicycles.

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Bird by Jason

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Mark's European Summer Set:

From the mystics to the mountains... both books tell very singular and somewhat solitary notions... Bicycle and brain!

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Our Red Headed Sparrow

Molly Quinn will be playing Drusilla in the new and exciting Omina Opera's presentation of Claudio Monteverdi's The Coronation of Poppea. Check out their write up in the New York Times today. And get your tickets soon!

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Chocolate Chip Cookies

*This makes a large batch. You will probably need to reduce to a half batch at least, if not more.

1 pound 8 ounce butter, melted
2 pounds dark brown sugar
2 cups organic sugar
4 eggs
4 yolks
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
6 cups chocolate chips
8 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons salt

Combine the butter and sugars in the bowl of an electric mixer. Add the eggs, yolks and extracts to combine. Whisk together the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add to the butter mixture. Fold in the chips at the end. Scoop using a small ice cream scoop for large cookies. Flatten with palm of the hand before baking - space 2 inches apart as they will spread.

Bake at 350 F. The center will set up but not be cooked all the way through. This will need some experimenting to get right in a home oven.

Cookies can be scooped and refrigerated up to a week or frozen up to a month. Let dough come to room temperature (enough to flatten) on parchment lined baking sheets before baking.

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Spam Spam Spam Poetry and Spam

I couldn't help trying to find logical patterns in the raging sea that is my morning deluge of internet spam comments. There amongst the 1000 gambling and car insurance blips I banished today I found this little haiku:

For motorola cell phones

bela tarr harmonies artificial eye review
frog eye salad recipe
jack johnson if i had eyes
how long does alcohol stay in your system


ps. One of my first weeks working in the store at Marlow's we got Spammed. Drunk customers left cans of Spam hidden on the shelves. I also should say I am a bit taken with gambling and car insurance as somewhat romantically linked ideas... There seems to be some method in this madness... How long does it...

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Wait is this an ad for American Spirits? Who is that ruffian?

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Someone I Know Loves This Trashy Vampire Book

This is how the book came about:
I woke up (on that June 2nd) from a very vivid dream. In my dream, two people were having an intense conversation in a meadow in the woods. One of these people was just your average girl. The other person was fantastically beautiful, sparkly, and a vampire. They were discussing the difficulties inherent in the facts that A) they were falling in love with each other while B) the vampire was particularly attracted to the scent of her blood, and was having a difficult time restraining himself from killing her immediately. For what is essentially a transcript of my dream, please see Chapter 13 ("Confessions") of the book.

Who could it be?

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The Instant

Whoa. Is it me, or is it hot in here? I'd say creativity is pouring out of people here like the beads of sweat this summer weather inspires. Go see our very own Josh Wiles' and others polaroid photo work at The Instant. July 26, 2008 from 7-9 pm. It's at the Texas Fire Hose 36-29 Vernon Blvd in Long Island City.

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Put A Egg On It

Today at the Rose tasting I thought the day couldn't get better. I was having temporary amnesia. I had forgotten the new air-conditioner in my apartment didn't work and almost fell out the window. That poor bird dog has a vet appointment. That the sun is as hot as fire, and the asphalt torching. But it was noon and I was drinking Rose. Life was great. And it was Pink. Domaine de Montrieux, Mas Jullien, Ciliegiolo.

Then someone handed me something. A manila folder with this egg journal and pin. As I have harped on before I have a hard time reading about food and the biggest culprit is preciousness. Immediately I was attracted to the little green zine. It represented the punk zines of lore, referencing the ripped borders, the content on the front page, the humor and ironic graphics and the paper. Still I worried. I had a sip of the bubbles in front of me. And started to read.

Words I dislike jumped out at me. Munch. Meal. Ravenous. Delicate. But still I read on and... I was compelled. The magazine features a lovely and sincere tale of eating in the rain and a night that ends in a slow dance.

This little number is a gem. It is reverent of its roots, paying subtle homage to the punk and the rock. The photo spread in the center is as sincere as the text and alive with the mess, awkwardness and community that is eating.

I would like to thank Sarah Keough, who is the author and editor, and recommend this tiny book to all. Also R&S Media are the perpetrators of Print Fetish, one of my favorite blogs. Ever.

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Meating the Demand

Carnality and pollution, historically meat's foremost negative connotations, have been represented in all forms – perhaps the most interesting of which is fine art (S. Twigg 1983). Take, for example, the carnal leitmotif of the butcher shop in Flemish and Italian paintings of the 16th century. Scholar Barry Wind writes that the burlesque characters of "these paintings exploit the meat stall as a metaphor for wantonness." In Bartolomeo Passarotti's "Butcher Shop," the licentious expressions of the butchers played on "vulgar colloquial connotations of the word butcher shop, 'beccheria,' which seems to have been used synonymously with sexual encounter." The implied pollution in these paintings is the moral and spiritual decrepitude of the leering, wayward butcher.

But pollution of another kind was on the horizon. The late 18th and early 19th centuries marked a period of rapid change for the West as the Industrial Revolution transformed the way people lived and ate. Innovations in industry were charged with notions of progress and prosperity – meat, formerly a rare luxury, would be available and affordable to all. This kind of ubiquity could only be made possible by a systematic overhaul of the process by which animals became meals. Engineering advances proferred machines that sped the preservation and dissemination of meat. These machines required the labors of hundreds of thousands of workers, and the entire apparatus ran on the vast capital investment of business organizations.

As Upton Sinclair's The Jungle showed, the sullied reality of packing houses was gruesome: "Under the system of rigid economy which the packers enforced, there were some jobs that it only paid to do once in a long time, and among these was the cleaning out of the waste barrels. Every spring they did it; and in the barrels would be dirt and rust and old nails and stale water—and cartload after cartload of it would be taken up and dumped into the hoppers with fresh meat, and sent out to the public's breakfast."

The shock of Upton's novel did less to inspire aid for the oppressed working class (as he had hoped), than it horrified meat eaters around the country. The public uproar spurred the Pure Food and Drug Act and the Meat Inspection Act, which were both signed on June 30, 1906. This cemented the Food and Drug Administration as a law enforcement institution in the name of consumer (read: citizen) health.

This is the system we've inherited. Industrial production has become industrial overproduction. Government subsidies keep the cycle going, driving prices continually up. South Korea gives proof that not everyone agrees with what the FDA pardons, that we are a world still concerned with the safety of its products. But many people are also concerned with contamination by the meat industry on an environmental level. Take one example of the industry's impact: vast quantities of water are used to irrigate cattle feedlots, then factory farm run-off returns to natural bodies of water or seeps into water supplies causing irreparable damage. The 2006 United Nations report called the meat industry "one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale from local to global."

Even as global demand for meat increases, consumers are more and more removed from the pollution that the meat industry generates. So many of us just don't know. That's why Mark W. Rosegrant, director of environment and production technology at the nonprofit International Food Policy Research Institute champions "a stronger public relations campaign in the reduction of meat consumption — one like that around cigarettes — emphasizing personal health, compassion for animals, and doing good for the poor and the planet." Because it's the remove, the lack of awareness, the total obscurity by which meat arrives on the dinner table, that carries us from Passarotti's colloquial and smutty (but personal) butcher shop to Roy Lichtenstein's 1962 piece, "Meat." Meat, an abstracted mass. A product. A profit.

Leah Campbell

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We Love Bees and We Love Crossdressing

Famous for many things, Richard Eagan makes great honey. No pun intended. Featured all over our menu Kay Sera Honey has charmed us. If you find yourself wandering through the store you may notice at some point that you are surrounded by honey. Jars and jars of honey. Honey combs, varietals, shades of amber. Someone here is obsessed with honey and I suppose it is contagious. When "flu season" starts you will see more than one of the staff walking around sneezing and chugging jars of the cultivated nectar. Eagan is also a striking artistic talent and a renowned karaoke diva frequently appearing at The Hope and Anchor bar in Red Hook. Sera honey is sweet. And as delightful as the colony and the QUEEN behind it.

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posted by DRUNK N SAILOR at 4:51 pm

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