Act of Creation

Mary ran her cake business in a way she could never have run her marriage. It was by appointment only, full deposit, partial refund (and this purely at her own discretion). Business was terrific and she had to turn down job after job. She only made cakes, custom-ordered weeks in advance—months if you wanted a wedding cake. Mary wasn't at all temperamental—she'd make any cake you'd like, any design you wanted no matter how banal. But what she was really known for, what people sought her out to do, was her beautiful confectionery sculptures, eerily real and heartbreaking to eat. (To read more about poor Mary's obsession, click here.)

What I Did For Pho

Once upon a time there was a Vietnamese restaurant. And then there were two, and four, and eight, until one corner of downtown had hundreds, all clumped together and indistinguishable. Little Saigon was one of the first. It's the one I always went to, maybe once a week, usually with my wife Phyllis. One Sunday we went down for a late lunch and walked straight into the wrong restaurant. We didn't realize it until we had the menus in our hands. Identical menus, only spanking new. (To read more about this tragic tale of Pho, click here.)

Gurume Kurabu

The troubles began with Gordon Swink. You have to know Gordon—large and bulbous, floating around on a high whiny voice that was by far always the loudest in any room. But with a wit and intelligence, a crafty ingratiation that made people take heed, even leech off of him. Gordon was a scrounger, obsessed with little knowledge—like where you went to get old shoes made into new, who still cured their own corned beef, how you could get contraband absinthe, who had rare performance recordings of Lead Belly. (To read more about how Gordon screws his friend, click here.)