Dana Blankenhorn

The Chef

This is one in a series of short stories I've been writing during my own coronavirus quarantine. You can find the complete collection of fiction written especially for this blog here. My books are available on the Amazon Kindle, for sale or for reading via Kindle Unlimited. 

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He was born Frank White in Newnan, Georgia. But he became known around the state, and wanted to be known around the world, as Lem LeBlanc.

Lem grew up in the “Age of Emeril,” the golden days of the 1990s when he would sit at home with his mother and watch FoodTV. His father had left before he was born, so he never took the man’s last name. The home belonged to his mother’s parents.

Lem wanted desperately to follow his hero’s path. That’s why, when he got into Johnson & Wales (the Charlotte campus, not the one in Providence Emeril had gone to, but he didn’t know that) he changed his name. LeBlanc sounded like Lagasse, but he couldn’t be Emeril (that would be silly), so he was Lemuel.

By the time he finished in 2005, chefs around the country were becoming established stars. But there was a new style coming along. It was a search for “the good stuff,” for authentic foreign flavors, pioneered by an ordinary sous chef named Anthony Bourdain.

The good stuff held local or regional provenance. The good stuff took poor, local ingredients and made magic with them. The good stuff wasn’t American cooking. So instead of seeking a four-star restaurant or resort gig, Lem LeBlanc sought to travel the world.

The Great Bull Trap of 2020

Three times in the 12 years, Republicans have convinced the rest of us to bail out common stockholders.

• During the Great Recession, banks were bailed out by the Federal Reserve creating cash, subsidizing consolidation, and forgiving them the crime of creating fake “insurance” for mortgages.
• In 2017, the Trump Administration bailed out the bull market with a tax cut that went almost entirely to propping up stock prices, extending the disconnect between stock values and the real economy.
• In 2020, the Federal Reserve created trillions of dollars of new money, and Trump wound up giving it to people who didn’t need to spend it, once again propping up assets like stocks.

The Survivor

This is one in a series of short stories I've been writing during my own coronavirus quarantine. You can find the complete collection of fiction written especially for this blog here. My books are available on the Amazon Kindle, for sale or for reading via Kindle Unlimited. 

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In early 2020 Ann Jefferson was the golden girl of Tulane University.

It wasn’t her looks. It wasn’t her athleticism. It was her grades and her study habits. She was going to spend the next few months choosing among Harvard, Baylor, and Stanford Medical School. Her grades, MCATs and references were immaculate.

Then came COVID-19.

Ann had grown up in what became one of the early hotspots, Albany, GA. Her parents had been at one of the funerals which fueled it. Her mother, Anita, died from it. Her father, Albert, was crippled by it.

Ann went home the moment Tulane closed. She volunteered at a local hospital, the world’s most overqualified candy striper. Soon she was doing a nurse’s duties.

During that whole sad spring and summer, Ann Jefferson nursed strangers all day and her father all night. She lived in a gown, a mask and face shield, without complaint. She washed her hands and face so often her skin blistered.

Albert Jefferson had the full range of post-COVID symptomology. He couldn’t eat. He suffered a stroke. His lungs were permanently scarred. His right foot was amputated. His kidneys were damaged.