James Owens is angry.
“I get pissed off every time I think about this,” the 53-year-old from Southeast Baltimore declares, sitting at a conference table in his lawyer’s office. “I don’t trust the cops,” he says, his glasses only slightly shielding the f
Liz Lerman crosses her hands, shifts to the side, crosses her arms, looks down, leans back and then forward over the back of her chair, hands out, grasping downward; she turns toward Paloma McGregor, her collaborator, and turns away; straddles chair,
Calvin Trillin revolutionized American food writing when he rejected “La Maison de la Casa House”—the fancy continental restaurant in every city that people told visitors to eat at but never went to themselves—and started writing about downhome places like barbecue joints in Kansas City.