My news today is that I missed the filing deadline for having no news. My other news is about tofu, firm vs silken. Tonight, I am going to deep fry it. I have no fryer, but I'm going to try all the same. Once, when I was kid, I went over to Dina Dimitri's house. Her mother had a little chubby, black plastic, electric kettle that boiled oiled. Her mother made doughnuts in there. Her mother made french fries. I am going to be Mrs. Dimitri when I grow up, I thought to myself. The woman had nails and a beautiful elongated station wagon. These were in the days before tofu and blogs. I am still not her. I am still me, wanted to be her and Eleanor Roosevelt and John Denver, fishing for soy bean cakes in soup pot bubbling with grease.
leigh newman's work has appeared in Tin House, One Story, New York Tyrant, Fiction and the National Public Radio's The Sound of Writing. Her memoir about growing up on the Alaskan tundra is coming out next year from Dial.
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