New York Harbour (Julja)

Dear Julja,

° I blame Sandy.

° "Has Julja gone out to the Island?"

° "No, she's 'resting' at her country place."

° As bad as that, I thought to myself. For in Southrunese "resting" is a euphemism for "at Death's door," "lying in after an abortionvacation up North," or "still swollen and bruised from the face lift." As you require no plastic surgery--if you ever hear that I'm resting, you'll know that the next time you lay eyes on me my own eyes will be a quarter inch higher up my newly Dietriched forehead--and, being French, have better sense than to require an abortion, I naturally supposed your horse had wallowed upon you and the doctors given you up for lost. Or else killed you outright through voodoo medication. (As the Mexican Medicine Man says, "I can cure you for $300, or they can kill you for $3000.")

° But I forgot that Sandy's language has been debased by her lengthy sojourn amongst the Yankees, so apparently when she said you were "resting," she simply meant, "riposa."

° Well more Fool me.

§

° Ah, the Island, the Sea, the Channel, the Swans(!) No wonder you regret every moment spent inland, who wouldn't? I myself clickandzoom longingly Roman's fotos: Panama, washed in two oceans, and the great Canal to boot.

° Albeit we've been so hurricanedrenched hereabouts that we're almost no longer landlocked.

° Just what the global warmers predicted, first we get warmer and wetter, then hotter and drier, finally the forests die off, and abracadabra! Dune, Desert Planet.

° Don't tell Bush, it only annoys.

§

° I've encountered a hedging plant for your consideration, the Southern wax myrtle, evergreen cousin to the more familiarly aromatic myrica pennsylvanica. Small plants remind me of oleander or pomegranate. Large ones look like stunted live oaks. A plant for ripieno effects on a fairly large scale, an undergrowth for mature willow oaks.

° And yes, I like most of all this myrtle's confirmation of my invincible ignorance. 25 years of broadleaf evergreen specialisation, and here's one slipped my nets.

§§§§§

° Hurry back, however, before frost, the brugmansia and the hybrid gingers are prouding, their clean, alcoholic scents cutting the rich spicy fatness of the tuberosey butterfly hedychiums.

° At least hurry back before the blue October skies are quite done.

° I have an expedition planned.

° An eatingexpedition (though you are welcome to antique to your heart's content).

° I have six or seven pasticcierie on my list, each not to be missed. Parisian "mama-rangues," chocolate meringues spiked with toffee. Real cannoli and sfogliatelli confected by a real Italian. Ghanaian peanut butter soup. The tres leches cake at the Sri Lankan Mexican bakery. I pass on the amaretto carrot cake, but Key Lime pie is always fun. The Judgement of Paris enacted by you and by me on the rival chocolate bombes: the organic one, the French one, the goldleafed Chinese one.

° Then we'll stop in at the Macelleria Spagnuola, stare at the blooddripping pig's heads with their innocuous and intelligent eyes just a'staring back, and after a brief Princess Diana moment, it's off to lunch at the newly restored Senz'Amore Café.

° End World Hunger Now! chant I.

° And that afternoon, there'll be the beignets at--o well . . . .

° For, as the scattered saplings of volunteer avocado trees here at Meloncord will show, foods, or rather, sapours have become quite my avocation. Tuscan bread slathered with olive oil, creamed with fresh garlick, lightly toasted, then romanoed. Avocado smushed with pepperandsalt, oil, balsamic vinegar. Merckens yucatan buttons with Bodumbrewed Frenchroast coffee, 2.33 tablespoons to the 6oz. cup. Panna cotta enveloping toasted pecans; my great grandmother's gingerbread, topped with sourmilk toffee.

° Papaya spears, Turkish apricots, dried pie cherries, sugared crystallised ginger root, green tea.

° My own polentalike cornbread, soggy with butter and sorghum.

° For protein, chunky ground peanuts.

° For high feast days, artificial chikken.

° For guests, eatingexpeditions to Overton.

° No, haven't gained an ounce, the secret's in eating as much as you want of the things that you want as often as you want.

° Or if that's not it, must be a tapeworm from all those catkisses.

° Before dark, dank November, Giac.