Jerry Stratton

Yew may lose weight and cast in hot weather, it picks up in cold; in freezing weather it may break in your hand, it develops crisals (a peculiar crack that works at right angles to the grain of the wood) which occurs with Osage or Lemonwood only in rare instances, and may prove cussed beyond belief in more ways than one. Yet we are frank to confess that a fine yew bow is a joy to shoot and something to cherish.

Perhaps Fermi was right. Perhaps the chain reaction would not spread beyond the unstable U235 to ignite the oxygen and hydrogen atoms of the atmosphere itself. Perhaps when they tested the thing it would not start a conflagration that consumed the entire globe.

To the right of the entrance are the first and second salons, in Regency style, with many mirrors. No checkroom for your topcoat. Keep it on your knees. At Demel’s you are not supposed to be comfortable; you should be glad to be there.

People often speak about “the sweet secrets of Demel’s” as if the establishment had top-secret recipes. But their only secret is quality. Today as before, they use only the finest ingredients, and they work a little harder than everybody else.

It was a pioneer meal, that ancient breakfast, a meal for men who were carving a nation out of forests and earth and mountains. It was a prelude to the two-bladed axe, the cant dog, the crowbar, the scythe, or the adz. It was the only proper breakfast for the man with fists like mauls and thighs like young oak trees.
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The Maine morning meal is like a tune on the bagpipes which calls the stouthearted Scot to war.

It’s interesting that in New York one can find authentic food of every country on earth, save of the South. What is advertised as Southern fried chicken is usually an ancient fowl encased in a cement mixture and tormented in hot grease for an eternity. Southern biscuits à la New York are pure cannon wadding. Gumbo they’ve not even heard of.

There are meals we never forget for the sheer delight, the astonishment, the novelty, of them… Oh, such feasts—meals in distant places, vegetables never before tasted, soufflés that literally took one’s breath away, and yet there is always a meal that one wants to repeat.— Edna O’Brien, “The Ghosts of Taste: Recapturing the Flavors of Childhood”, Gourmet, September 1999

All the blood, all the heroism, all the money and munitions in the world will not win this war unless our allies and the armies behind them are fed.

They will Not be fed unless we take care; indeed, if we are not prudent we, too, shall go hungry. Protect our supplies, then, that they may be fed, that your sacrifice of life and money be not in vain.

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Follow directions. If Germany wins you will be obeying orders given by someone you will not care to obey. Your government asks you to prove that free people can follow directions.

Let the Food Administration define “meatless” for us. “By meatless we mean to eat no red meat—beef, pork, mutton, veal, lamb; no preserved meat—beef, bacon, ham, or lard.”

Better eat war bread now than eat the black bread of Germany later.

The most disturbing aspect of Climategate was the revelation that the Big Climate establishment largely held the “deniers” view of Mann’s appalling science—but they kept it to themselves.

I was utterly disgusted… Science, not so very long ago, pre-1960s, was largely vocational… They’re not like that nowadays. They don’t give a damn… They say: “Science is a good career. You can get a job for life doing government work.” That’s no way to do science.—Professor James Lovelock