Star Wars as Noir

[thesummerqueen]

Saw this last night and had 3 or 4 nerdgasms over it. I love the noir genre.

Star Wars is based on "The Hero's Journey," a type of story that can be retold in as many different forms as you wish, and thus it's pretty easy to put it into just about any time and setting, but I really dig this one.

http://unrealitymag.com/index.php/2012/0...noir-wars/

"Hawk Solomon" (Han Solo)



"Lola O'Gannon" (Leia Organa)

[The Magic Pudding]

There's not enough recipes on this forum.

Lamb with Dill Sauce à la Raymond Chandler

I sipped on my whisky sour, ground out my cigarette on the chopping board and watched a bug trying to crawl out of the basin. I needed a table at Maxim’s, a hundred bucks and a gorgeous blonde; what I had was a leg of lamb and no clues. I took hold of the joint. It felt cold and damp, like a coroner’s handshake. I took out a knife and cut the lamb into pieces. Feeling the blade in my hand I sliced an onion, and before I knew what I was doing a carrot lay in pieces on the slab. None of them moved. I threw the lot into a pan with a bunch of dill stalks, a bay leaf, a handful of peppercorns and a pinch of salt. They had it coming to them, so I covered them with chicken stock and turned up the heat. I wanted them to boil slowly, just about as slowly as anything can boil. An hour and a half and a half-pint of bourbon later they weren’t so tough and neither was I. I separated the meat from the vegetables and covered it to keep it moist. The knife was still in my hand but I couldn’t hear any sirens.

In this town the grease always rises to the top, so I strained the juice and skimmed off the fat. I added more water and put it back on the heat. It was time to deal with the butter and flour, so I mixed them together into a paste and added it to the stock. There wasn’t a whisk, so using my blackjack I beat out any lumps until the paste was smooth. It started to boil, so I let it simmer for two minutes.

I roughed up the egg yolk and cream and mixed in some of the hot sauce before putting the lot back into the pan. I put the squeeze on a lemon and it soon juiced. It was easy. It was much too easy, but I knew if I let the sauce boil the yolk was gonna scramble.

By now I was ready to pour the sauce over the meat and serve, but I wasn’t hungry. The blonde hadn’t showed. She was smarter than I thought. I went outside to poison myself, with cigarettes and whisky.

Extract from ‘Kafka’s Soup: A Complete History of Literature in 17 Recipes’, written and illustrated by Mark Crick