from the fabulous IG comes this fVox Hunt:
Does anyone else have any favorite food-related passages from books they want to post? Vox Hunt, anyone?
from James Joyce's Ulysses
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls.
He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices
fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled
mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting
her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the
kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel
a bit peckish.
The coals were reddening.
Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn't like her
plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob and set it
sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. Cup of
tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table
with tail on high.
–O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire.
The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the
table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my
Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to see:
the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the
green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
–Milk for the pussens, he said.
–Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we
understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her
nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder what I look like to
her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
–Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the
chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it.
–Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively
and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits
narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to the
dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, poured
warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
–Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped
three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can't
mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or kind of feelers
in the dark, perhaps.
He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with this
drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a mutton
kidney at Buckley's. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better a pork kidney
at Dlugacz's. While the kettle is boiling. She lapped slower, then licking the
saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap better, all porous holes.
Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No.