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Laura Brennan is complicated. She is also American, from the East Coast actually,but claims San Francisco as home, THOUGH, she lives in Barcelona. There she enjoys talking about things that cannot be solved, punctuation, drinking too much wine, provocative relationships and Bolets! If tuberculosis…was still prevalent; she’d probably be dead.
Txema Oh is very tall and has exceptional patches of grey in his beard and hair, and a little extra fur on his cheeks that is not alarming, but does build character. Due to his strong Basque accent, Txema sounds more Transylvanian than Spanish when he speaks English. Txema lives the parallel lives of a technical professional, and a literature obsessed modern day drunkard with a nice collection of blues and jazz. He has lived in many locations in the States and Spain, and now resides in the City Center of Barcelona with a little white dog named Aprika who really needs a bath. Once when he was a young teen he stole money from his Grandmother… and still feels bad about it. Txema’s Bio by Laura Brennan.----------
Liv-or Di-et by Laura Brennan
A brief account of two foie addicts making an attempt at recovery.
My flat mate Txema Oh and I are both known for our ecstatic (and sometimes destructive) love of food & wine, so after a very... intense late summer/early fall, we decided it was time to take a break from the Jamon Bellota, Basque cheese , crianza and dear God—the gin tonics.
After considering several options, we decided on Dr. Sandra Cabot’s Liver Diet. The diet is suppose to last around two months and consists of primarily fresh fruits and veggies, legumes, fish, nuts and lean meat. All the while avoiding processed food, anything from a can, animal fat, cooked oil and ALCOHOL.Though we managed to pick the worst time of year to be interrupted by food holidays, we did to stick to it for around three weeks and felt amazing! My double chin went away, and his skin changed from a kind of yellow/grey shade back to his natural Spanish olive complexion.
We have hopes of getting back on track in January (when no one is roasting goose or handing over baskets of wine, cheese and pate).
~
Letter to Mother by Txema Oh
Dear mother,
You will be happy to know that he who writes is healthier than ever, or at least than in his whole adult life.
Of this I must be thankful to food.
I have been put on a strict cleansing diet, if you can believe that. And I assure you, it is not fiction, but fact.
Mother, in my kitchen, the plates, once full of matches and ash, proudly present lively salads and soups.
The counters, where empty bottles of wine stood, are now lovely gardens of spices, roots and jars full of nuts.
Mom, on the fridge’s shelves, there are no more notes to the police with the name and phone number of the transvestite who is coming to visit me on call, in case they find me lying bleeding and dead on the living room floor.
Or a note to Siobhan with "Ali and friend: (number)" written on a post-it and stuck to the door.
Carrot and celery leaves hang through the cracks with grapes, tomatoes, mangos, turkey and bass.
And there are no more vials of morphine on the door compartments... now I use chili paste for kicks.
Hurry and read this letter maw, because this is only going to last the month of November.
Mother, I love food. And I look forward to loving yours when I come home come at Christmas time. My hands don’t shake any more now—see. They just tremble in anticipation.
Love.
You will be happy to know that he who writes is healthier than ever, or at least than in his whole adult life.
Of this I must be thankful to food.
I have been put on a strict cleansing diet, if you can believe that. And I assure you, it is not fiction, but fact.
Mother, in my kitchen, the plates, once full of matches and ash, proudly present lively salads and soups.The counters, where empty bottles of wine stood, are now lovely gardens of spices, roots and jars full of nuts.
Mom, on the fridge’s shelves, there are no more notes to the police with the name and phone number of the transvestite who is coming to visit me on call, in case they find me lying bleeding and dead on the living room floor.
Or a note to Siobhan with "Ali and friend: (number)" written on a post-it and stuck to the door.
Carrot and celery leaves hang through the cracks with grapes, tomatoes, mangos, turkey and bass.
And there are no more vials of morphine on the door compartments... now I use chili paste for kicks.
Hurry and read this letter maw, because this is only going to last the month of November.
Mother, I love food. And I look forward to loving yours when I come home come at Christmas time. My hands don’t shake any more now—see. They just tremble in anticipation.
Love.