“God help anyone who touches wine destined for Amram's lips!” Eliazar laughed as he lifted the skins on the cart to reach for a piece of bread to chew as he walked.
Over an elaborate lunch — kimchi and other pickled vegetables, East and West Coast oysters, pork and shitake mushroom buns, noodle soups and hamachi with beet purée — he and Mr. McCarthy discussed their attempts to sidestep the clichés of postpunk stardom while still making a record people could dance, and debauch themselves, to.
For my father's sake, I thought I must keep up appearances, but the food stuck in my throat, and I could not swallow another mouthful.
put on the block
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