Author Archives: Michael Procopio

About Michael Procopio

I write about food and am very fond of Edward Gorey. And gin.

Celebrating Christmas the Catalan Way

At first glance, a Catalonian Nativity Scene looks like any other one might encounter during the Christmas Season: the figure of a newly born Jesus in a manger looked upon by his adoring parents, a shepherd or two, and a … Continue reading

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A Quiet Place

The house next door, once vacant and more or less abandoned for years, is alive again with the sound of workmen’s saws, jackhammers, and polka music from 8 to 4. The overgrown jacaranda in their yard that used to shielded … Continue reading

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In My Solitude

A pair of mourning doves were fucking outside my kitchen window the other day. At the very least, they were giving it the old college try. The male fluttered his well-groomed wings from time to time to maintain an awkward … Continue reading

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The Assholes of the Sea

I quietly left the table, pleased by the thought that, because of my efforts, one more asshole in the world had been well and truly licked. Continue reading

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Not Over, Easy.

It is as comforting as it is economical, which leads me to point out that no one seemed to breakfast as cheaply as the Depression Era rich. Continue reading

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Lamb Dressed as Mutton.

No matter how hard you might try, you can never really get away with dressing up lamb and passing it off as mutton. Continue reading

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Simply Astonishing: Nun’s Farts

It was an adjective that would hang about Christina well beyond her natural days, much as the odor of transgression clung to those she both prayed for and disdained. Continue reading

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Let’s Just Forget That Ever Happened.

Let’s just forget these past few months ever happened, shall we? Continue reading

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Crème de Pot

In 2018, I am now far too old to be mixing drugs and alcohol cavalierly and have yet to secure my Election Night companionship, but I do know what I’ll be serving to those who do decide to endure this biennial ritual with me: Continue reading

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In My Own Little Corner.

I’m not going to worry about whether I’m the office type or not. It doesn’t matter. Continue reading

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