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Literary Culinaria - Carson McCullers
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Carson McCullers
So they rested at the table, for the way they ate their meals, this summer, was in rounds: they would eat a while and then let the food have a chance to spread out and settle inside their stomachs, and a little later they would start in again. F. Jasmine crossed her knife and fork on her empty plate, and began to question Berenice about a matter that had bothered her.
“Tell me. Is it just us who call this hopping-john? Or is it known by that name through all the country. It seems a strange name somehow.”
“Well, I have heard it called various things,” said Berenice.
“What?”
“Well, I have heard it called peas and rice. Or rice and peas and pot-liquor. Or hopping-john. You can vary and take your pick.”
“But I’m not talking about this town,” F. Jasmine said. “I mean in other places. I mean through all the world. I wonder what the French called it.”
“Oh,” said Berenice. “Well, you ask me a question I cannot answer.”
“Merci a la parlez,” F. Jasmine said.
-- Carson McCullers (1917-1967), The Member of the Wedding
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