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Adventures in Writing, Reading & Book Culture

Food Dreams

For two nights running, I’ve had food-based dreams. I can’t remember Tues night’s dream, but last night is vivid:

I was in an army unit, or infiltration squad (guerrillas, maybe), about ten guys. We had come to a sort of valley in a deeply forested area, near a lake. Homes were on this lake, set into the forest. The unit entered a home, empty from the looks of it.We looked around, sat down, rested.

At night, we built a fire in a big pit by the side of the house, off its patio. Wooden lawn furniture lay about. The fire was a real blaze, and then died down to smoldering red-hot logs. It was time to eat.

The pit was the size of a kiddie wading pool. A cooking grate fit over the top. There was enough space for five hundred hamburgers. Four of us began to cook. I used two dishtub-size pans to heat oil, and then dumped in a half-dozen whole fishes whose flesh I had scored with a chef’s knife. I was reminded of the movie “Eat, Drink, Man, Woman” and was telling the squad the storyline while the fish fried in the pans and I flipped them over and moved them around.

At the other corners, the three cooks were preparing steaks, corn-on-the cob, grilled vegetables, pork chops. We were cooking food for an army, but we had less than a party here. We were also getting noisy, and the neighbors, whose houses could’nt be seen in daytime, were lit up around us through the trees. We could see heads in the windows, watching. I tested the fish. It was done.

I woke up, but now am not hungry. I do have a craving for fried fish, though.

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