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Came across this article in the archives from July 19, 2001. Hemingway Old Man. A nice read. -- Hemingway wrote stories he heard too... I wonder at times.. once upon a time..


No one reads anymore. Sad. If they did, they would enjoy some of the finer things in life. Example? Books, of course. Or old suitcases filled with papers, letters. They would find writers that no one knew. They would go to bookstores instead of bars to seek. Well, to seek friendship. For a book is better company than most drunks.

I think this is why I sought bars at first. Why? People talked to me. Why? I am, shall we say. I am, me. And I can listen and am talked to.

The problem? You can only listen to people so long and wonder. IF a boy likes a girl. And she does not like him. Why? Or if some guy is going to murder someone. Why on earth is he telling me the details? Or so the government murdered people in Katrina. After a while of writing those stories and thinking about them. You say. I prefer books to those discussions.

Why? You can only know, like 4 or more serial killers before you wonder if I might go to the wrong bar. Why was I going to these places?

Simple math. If you see a big guy go into a place. A. He gained weight there because the food tastes good. And, I like food. But you are a shrimp. Sure. but I still go to places normal people don’t go to. Why? I like to eat.

Hemingway too, I suppose, liked to eat. Ernest Hemingway ate to live and lived to eat. The sad part about most of the letters, papers, and short stories I found in the box and suitcase. Seemed to show he cooked. Ernest seemed to like to hunt. And he cooked venison, squirrel, possum and raccoon, as well as pheasant, duck, quail, partridge, doves and all kinds of fish. 

The problem? For me, I like recipes. And well I found some - recipes from Hemingway’s life and art featuring such unique dishes as Dorado Fillet in Damn Good Sauce, Woodcock Flambé in Armagnac, Campfire Apple Pie, and Fillet of Lion washed down with Campari and Gordon’s Gin or a cool Cuba Libre. Letters enriched with  family photos, dining passages from stories him fishing with an Old Man.   The whole bunch was in the box. Made me wonder at times. Do people read their old papers and letters of people or do they just toss them out as garbage?