MICHAEL TUCKER

Author. Playwright. Jolly Introvert.

PRESS

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Mike writes "personal essays about Food, The Ex-Pat Life, Senescence, Childhood, Puberty, Marriage, Sex, More Sex, Friends, and Other Things I Can't Remember:"

New story on Substack! BRUCE'S LASAGNA: “Yeah, Bruce is good with all that flour stuff. He can make anything.”

Jojo waved her hand vaguely toward her husband, who flashed his Cheshire Cat smile and blushed. He was feeding just-made pasta through an old hand-crank machine that was bolted to the edge of the kitchen table, kneading and smoothing it. The dough was bright egg-yellow with a texture that begged to be touched.

“If the oven works this could turn out to be a pretty good lasagna,” he said... READ MORE on Substack. LINK IN BIO.
#umbria #storytelling #foodies #substackwriter @jilleikenberry @dystelgoderichandbourret

New story on Substack! THE KIDS: We wake up to a text from Alison and Francis -- that’s our daughter and son-in-law --saying their flight from JFK to Paris has been delayed. Which means their connection from Paris to Rome is up for grabs. Our son, Max, and his new girlfriend, Megan, are in the air somewhere over the North Pole, flying from Portland to Amsterdam, where they plan to make their Rome connection at Schipol, the Bermuda Triangle of airports. This plan was fragile to say the least: the two couples’ planes would arrive in Rome within minutes of each other, one from Paris, one from Amsterdam; they would meet at baggage claim, hug, gather their luggage and go out to meet the driver, who will be holding a sign. I mean, really... READ MORE on Substack. LINK IN BIO.
#substackwriter #storytelling #umbria @jilleikenberry @dystelgoderichandbourret

New Substack story! AN ACTOR PERSPIRES: My knees wobbled as I edged out onto the catwalk and looked down through the ropes and pulleys and hanging scenery to the stage floor some forty feet below. All I could see were the tops of the actors’ heads as they labored to bring some life to one of the drier parts of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. From my perch they looked like kids dressed in their parents’ old clothes, their voices strained, their gestures overblown. In a minute or two I would be down there doing very much the same thing. God willing. First I had to survive the trip... READ MORE on Substack. LINK IN BIO.
#substackwriter #storytelling @jilleikenberry @dystelgoderichandbourret @actsanfrancisco #actorslife

New story on Substack! THE KIDNEY STONE THAT CAME TO DINNER: "I have a kidney stone.” That’s my opener. Simple, evocative. Not unlike, “I had a farm in Africa …” Close your eyes and imagine Meryl Streep saying it -- with that accent… "I have a kidney stone …”
Okay. Moving on. This is not my first stone, by the way, and we’ll get to that in a minute. But this stone, the title stone of the piece, is the matter of the moment because my doctor told me that I could very well carry this stone inside me for the rest of my life. There’s a phrase to ponder. Although, I could buy a three-dollar umbrella from some guy on the street that’ll probably last the rest of my life, too. I’m eighty fucking years old. READ MORE on Substack. Link in bio.

#storytelling #substackwriter @jilleikenberry @dystelgoderichandbourret

New story on Substack: SPUDS In the tiny Umbrian village of Aqualoreto, there’s a piazza that’s barely big enough to call itself that; just two streets crossing at an odd angle with a stone monument dedicated to the town’s casualties in World War Two. And on one crooked corner is the Osteria La Cruccola, which is a place you should visit if you get the chance. You’ll have to reserve in advance because the patrona, whose name is Neysa, plans the evening’s menu around who’s coming that night...READ MORE on Substack - LINK IN BIO #substackwriter #storytelling #umbria #italy #foodie @jilleikenberry @dystelgoderichandbourret

New story on Substack: SCIACCA "There were six of us for lunch on the deck of the Ristorante Lampara, which juts out over the fishing port of Sciacca. The fleet was tucked in for the day, the sun was high and hot, and the mood at the table was jubilant. Our waiter had set out bottles of water, fizzy and flat, and a liter of the local white, chilling in a pitcher with the restaurant’s name on the front. Giampaolo, our friend from Umbria, filled our glasses and stood at the head of the table. He cleared his throat – theatrically – and we gave him the floor...READ MORE; LINK IN BIO

#storytelling #substackwriter #sicily #sicilyfood #sciacca @dystelgoderichandbourret @jilleikenberry

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MICHAEL TUCKER

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