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The Lewis and Clark of The Ozarks

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Jarod Kintz

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“My phone buzzes in my shirt pocket, and Frank takes a step back to let me answer it. I’ve got another text from Jem. What does the breast part look like? I think I’ve got it upside-down. “The fuck?” Frank says. “He’s talking about the turkey.” “Oh. Jesus. I mean…good.” “Jem knows what human breasts look like.” Frank shudders. “I can’t deal with this,” he mutters and stalks away.”

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“That first night, after she'd made sure the door was locked and turned out the lights, Diana climbed into the loft and got into bed. She could see Willa's silhouette below her, sitting on her haunches at the foot of the stairs. "Come on, girl, it's okay," she said, patting the bed, and Willa had gathered herself, trotting up the stairs and leaping onto the mattress, her tail rotating madly. She licked Diana's hand, sniffed her way around the perimeter of the bed, then turned herself around three times and curled up on her side, with her back against Diana's hip. Diana wrapped her arm around the dog's head, and Willa rested her muzzle on Diana's forearm. That was how they fell asleep.”

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“Chicken legs, beef ribs- they ate the food with their fingers, dipping into the horseradish sauce, feeding each other greedily. Laughing. They rolled leaves of cabbages and chewed on them like monkeys. They ate the golden potatoes as if they were apples. By the time they returned to the making of stock, and took the roasted veal bones from the stove and put them into the pot and filled it with enough cold water so that it could slowly simmer, their own legs no longer ached, their feet felt as if they could stand the weight of their bones for yet another day and they tasted of garlic and wine. "Thank you, chef," he said. "Thank you, chef." She opened the cheese larder and took out a wedge of runny Camembert, which she covered with a handful of white raspberries that he had draining in a colander by the sink. He opened a bottle of port. The dishes could wait. They sat on the back stairs of the tall thin house and looked over the lights of the steep city of Monte Carlo and out into the endless sea. The air was cool, the cheese and raspberries were rich and tart; the port was unfathomably complex with wave and wave of spiced cherries, burnt caramel and wild honey.”

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“Cloves sweetened the breath and stoppered up the bowel. A drop of musk or ambergris was likely to inspire passions by firing the lower regions. Rosamund was a little hesitant with these last two lest she unleash something beyond anyone's control. Filip had chuckled when she confessed her fears to him and threatened to advertise these when the place opened. The varieties of what could be added were endless, as was the transformation even a small sprinkle of something like vanilla or milk could lend the dark fluid. It changed from being a little bitter to luscious. Likewise, a few extra twists with the molinillo and the consistency altered from gritty to frothy, to smooth as silk, leaving a fine coating on the tongue and throat that could be revisited for hours after. Including a small quantity of chili made the drink hot and spicy; cinnamon made it sweet and even heady.”

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Book:The Chocolate Maker's Wife
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