Charcuterie Vol. 28
spring is here !!
March! I read Painting Time by Maylis de Kerangal and Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis. Kind of a rogue duo. I’m also almost through Two Dozen Eggs by Hugh Corcoran, which is lovely. More on all three next week.
The best non-book thing from this month was Granta’s Winter 2026 issue, which I read cover to cover. Its theme is therapy, more specifically, Freudian psychoanalysis, and it includes interviews with three prominent analysts, short stories and essays that tackle analysis as a concept—either head on or at a slant—and poems that aim to excavate. Favorites included “Good Medicine” by Sheila Heti (though I’m not sure I’m pro-psychedelics as therapy, and definitely ANTI-psychedelics as a way to see God), “Transference in the Afternoon” by Jesse Barron (analyst and patient are obviously both totally bonkers), “My Grandfather is the Future” by Victor Heringer (lovely tribute), and “Secondhand Smoke” by Dushko Petrovich Córdova (on the world of online perfume reviewers).
I additionally read this essay by David Sedaris in The New Yorker after my mom sent it to me to PDF so that she could read behind the paywall. This is a service I’m willing to offer. Sedaris is a little bit of a cheese ball but also a pleasure. In the SoHo McNally Jackson, I stealthily read “Curtis” by Patrick Cottrell out of the Paris Review. It’s a dryly funny little short story that packs a punch. And for my obligatory piece on something that’s going seriously wrong in the world, this article on online sports betting (and gambling more generally) from The Atlantic confirmed what I already know (online sports betting (and gambling more generally)) is a scourge on society). The obligatory piece on something going terribly wrong in the world is an area where The Atlantic seems to thrive. I meant to cancel my subscription, but I forgot, so we’ve just re-upped for another year.
In other news, daffodils, and the light is back on my walls in the morning. A pigeon is brooding over her nest right outside my lover’s front door, and neither of us has been pooped on yet. Have you ever actually seen a pigeon’s nest? I had my friends over this week to celebrate the equinox. I made chicken cutlets (by request) and a farro salad and garlic bread because I’m starting to feel like why wouldn’t you make garlic bread when you could just also make garlic bread. I did cut my finger trying to slice the baguette but it’s closed up and healing now. The baguette was so crusty and my knife was dull and slipped. There used to be a bakery on the Upper East Side called Hot & Crusty. I would pass it on my way to ballet and even as a child, I knew that Hot & Crusty was a disgusting name for anyplace that you were supposed to get food. Anyway, we had cupcakes for dessert. Xx
“A Primer” by Bob Hicok
Good luck in our future! Thank you in advance Mr. Pigeon!