Rasmus Munk, the celebrated Danish chef, has such memorable eyes— they are a piercing blue, and often bloodshot—that when a waiter at Alchemist, his restaurant in Copenhagen, served me an eyeball, I recognized it immediately. The iris was f lecked with brown and rimmed with red, and the eye stared up at me unwaveringly, at least until I picked up a long-handled spoon and dug in. It had a gleaming gelatinous surface and was both salty and creamy, with a surprisingly nubby texture and a distinct taste of—what was it?—shrimp.
Esta historia es de la edición September 30, 2024 de The New Yorker.
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Esta historia es de la edición September 30, 2024 de The New Yorker.
Comience su prueba gratuita de Magzter GOLD de 7 días para acceder a miles de historias premium seleccionadas y a más de 9,000 revistas y periódicos.
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HOLIDAY PUNCH
\"Cult of Love\" on. Broadway and \"No President\" at the Skirball.
THE ARCHIVIST
Belle da Costa Greene's hidden story.
OCCUPY PARADISE
How radical was John Milton?
CHAOS THEORY
What professional organizers know about our lives.
UP FROM URKEL
\"Family Matters\" and Jaleel White's legacy.
OUTSIDE MAN
How Brady Corbet turned artistic frustration into an American epic.
STIRRING STUFF
A secret history of risotto.
NOTE TO SELVES
The Sonoran Desert, which covers much of the southwestern United States, is a vast expanse of arid earth where cartoonish entities-roadrunners, tumbleweeds, telephone-pole-tall succulents make occasional appearances.
THE ORCHESTRA IS THE STAR
The Berlin Philharmonic doesn't need a domineering maestro.
HEAD CASE
Paul Valéry's ascetic modernism.
