In the Heart of Patrician America
On the Philadelphia Suburbs and Oneiric Culinary Trends
The Heart of Patrician America
50 Watts, one of my favorite places to shop for books online, has a new physical retail space in the beautiful Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia, not far from where I live. They kindly ordered some books from me, both those I published through Paradise Editions as well as my translations of Kleist and Hilbig, so I decided to hand deliver them and check the store out. My car being wrecked at the moment (it was hit by a truck while parked) I took the commuter train, a very 20th-century or even 19th-century mode of transportation. With my straw hat and box of wares, I felt like was going back to the days when the city was known as the heartland of patrician America. The “Main Line” in mainline Protestant refers to a set of wealthy communities, still very wealthy to this day, served by another commuter train, the first of its kind in the United States.
It was a wonderful clear afternoon in early autumn, perfect conditions for a small business transacting business with another small business in a walkable neighborhood with good residual urban planning and transportation connections. As I was doing so I was aware of the moral valences attached to this activity. By the liberals: good. By the left: indifferent. (It’s a testimony the how dimwitted American conservatism has become that they regard these safe, wealthy, aesthetically pleasing communities as dystopian.) I had no other agenda that day other than selling some books and having a good time. The trip was successful on that count. It won’t save the world, but I do wish that more people could participate in that sort of lifestyle, with time enough to read and take the slow train. In other words, I was neither angel nor devil on that particular afternoon, just a lucky person peddling his wares. I hope my books do well for 50 Watts. Stop by if you’re in the vicinity.
Culinary Dream
I was in Brooklyn eating with friends at a trendy restaurant. All of the dishes there were made of algae. There was algae that was stir-fried, algae that was broiled, algae that was turned into sort of edible foam. We were all debating about what to get. None of the dishes seemed particularly appetizing. Then a waiter, coming out of the kitchen, dropped a plate with a hamburger on it. The entire restaurant rose in stunned silence. Then a customer asked for a burger instead of the algae dish they ordered. Then another asked and then another. The staff—chefs, bussers, waiters—all of them ran away in a panic, followed by the customers, whipped into an irrational fury by this burger oversight. My friends and I were the only ones left in the restaurant. The proprietor came to us in tears, begging that we should stay and eat the algae, as he had originally intended.
