When I was a kid, my mom used to throw these incredible parties and she always
served onion dip, the kind you make with instant soup mix. Then I came to
college and bought my first keg, packet of Lipton, and pint of sour cream. The
crowds dug in like starved animals and I thought, "Who needs the degree? I've
made it. I have figured this shit out." And then I watched my roommate puke a
big puddle of dip and PBR.
This is when I began to strive for a more daring palate. Bear stew, chili fried
spiders, cherry soup, Vegemite. Though my experiences with some of these
delicacies have not been all that different from that of my roommate's fountain
of fun, my commitment to exploration of the unbounded continues. Because what I
have realized is that making and consuming onion dip is easy, comfortable, and
bad for us. Seeking squid pickled in brine of unknown origins is scary. It
requires trust; it opens us up to new experience; it teaches us something about
ourselves; and, more often than not, it tastes good too. Here at sub-scribe we
respect the traditional tale, and yet you won't find a single one in this
issue. You may find a strangely deviled egg; but you won't find a bad one.
Intrepid reporter and devoted editor,
Lois Kent
WE ARE CURRENTLY LOOKING FOR NEW WORK. Click "call for submissions" at the bottom of the page for more info.
Thank you,
sub-scribe staff
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