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...movie, the National Enquirer-esque tone escalates, starting with the scene in which Ullman gives birth to a chicken. Teresa's first sexual experience makes the screen go blue and bubble as if underwater; Jesus shows up sporting a British accent, and instead of multiplying loaves of bread and fish, coats the room in red-and-white checkered shirts; and in the end, stigmata scars appear on Teresa's palms. All of this, and Joseph's sausage starts curing heart disease and cancer...

Author: By Patrick S. Chung, | Title: Heaven Help It | 11/4/1993 | See Source »

After five straight overtime contests and a long 4-7-3 season with all the emotional satisfaction of a slice of stale buttered bread, the Harvard field hockey team finally put forth one of its best efforts and closed out the season yesterday with a win over Brown in Providence...

Author: By John B. Trainer, | Title: F. Hockey Finishes Second With Win | 11/3/1993 | See Source »

...dining experience is actually rather unclean by our ethnocentric Western standards; there are neither napkins nor silverware for the patrons, and with two of our guests affected with mysterious sniffles, your reviewers were somewhat uneasy about picking at a communal platter with pieces of injera--spongy, sour, pancake-like bread...

Author: By Adam Sonfield, | Title: Drowning in Blood | 10/28/1993 | See Source »

...mush, which didn't taste much different from the other mush they slopped down for free in the center of our platter. Not to say that that was a bad thing; although a bit bland, both of them were entirely unoffensive, until one of our guests stopped using the bread and started picking at it with his fingers. All of us took that habit up eventually, because the bread was so sour it made our stomachs churn. And then there was the lamb... we think. It was so unremarkable, it didn't even taste like lamb, and we couldn...

Author: By Adam Sonfield, | Title: Drowning in Blood | 10/28/1993 | See Source »

...bread basket doesn't look like anything special, but it's really quite a pick-you-up. The focaccia--served with fresh olive oil, in a swampy herb-filled bottle--is heavenly. It is slightly crispy with a hint of salt and seasoning, and it tastes even better when dipped in the oil. The cornbread, on the other hand, is just too damn sweet (nothing like Rosalita's). And none of us even touched the solitary roll...

Author: By Adam Sonfield, | Title: Oh-so Soho Goood | 10/14/1993 | See Source »

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