1/ Donald Barthelme, “For I’m the Boy” (1964):

The bottle was old and dirty but the brandy when Huber returned with it was tasty in the extreme.

2/ Grate­ful Dead, “Brown-Eyed Women” (1971):

The bottle was dusty but the liquor was clean.

“Tastes Like Chicken”

The year is 1995, or there­abouts. Lunch is ending, we’re pulling into the park­ing lot of our high school, and the Grate­ful Dead are play­ing, as ever in those days, on the radio of my Bronco II. It’s “Sugar Magnolia”:

She’s got every­thing delight­ful
She’s got every­thing I need

Jimmy has a new girl­friend, and she’s a talker, one for whom the quan­tity of words are more impor­tant than the sense. For the sake of the song, and our sanity, we wait a moment before leav­ing the car and giving the lunch hour back to the gods.

Takes the wheel when I’m seeing double
Pays my ticket when I speed

“The Dead are so amazing,” the new girl says, gain­ing nods of agree­ment. “They always get it just right.” More nods. “Like that line, ‘Tastes like chicken when you’re on speed.’ It’s so true. Every­thing tastes like chicken on speed.”

No one nods now, nor do we look at each other, afraid (we tell our­selves) of laugh­ing at her mis­take, but also afraid (we do not admit) of how that flash of for­eign knowl­edge had made our lives seem so small so fast.

(Photo: Trevor Paglen/New York Times)