Matthew Amster-Burton, who knows more than a thing or two about kids and food (put in a pre-order for his new book Hungry Monkey if you’re interested in raising an adventuresome eater or just in fun writing), put up a seriously fun post on kids writing their own fortunes over at Serious Eats. Turns out there’s a company that lets you order customized fortune cookies, and a friend of Mr. Amster-Burton son’s school did it--and let the kids write the fortunes. The end results seem brilliant and funny and much more entertaining than the normal fortune cookies (at least the ones he has in the post). For example, “There’s a lake with a unicorn sitting in short grass. The unicorn will sleep; you will get dragged deep in the forest.” Scary? A bit. Amazingly better than normal fortunes? For sure. But perhaps my favorite, for its short, kōan-like quality, is this simple one, “You are a donkey.” Now, ponder getting that after a big meal. Looking at these also leads to the question: if you could write fortunes for fortune cookies, what would they be? Would you write more specific ones (you will break your toe next Tuesday), or more philosophical (you should strive to be like the gouda, firm but flavorful), or more just far-out (the eagle flies, but the robin sings brightly)? If you’ve ever had a good fortune idea, put it in the comments, and then maybe we’ll order up some Al Dente fortune cookies.
--A.J. Rathbun
Matt on February 27, 2009 at 11:44 AM
There's a great poem by Frank O'Hara called "Lines for the Fortune Cookies." Lots of good ideas in there.
A.J. Rathbun on February 27, 2009 at 01:05 PM
Wow, Matt, that's an great call. I love Frank O'Hara, and should have remembered that poem. Here it is, and like you said, there are tons of good ideas in here.
Lines For The Fortune Cookies
by Frank O'Hara
I think you're wonderful and so does everyone else.
Just as Jackie Kennedy has a baby boy, so will you--even bigger.
You will meet a tall beautiful blonde stranger, and you will not say hello.
You will take a long trip and you will be very happy, though alone.
You will marry the first person who tells you your eyes are like scrambled eggs.
In the beginning there was YOU--there will always be YOU, I guess.
You will write a great play and it will run for three performances.
Please phone The Village Voice immediately: they want to interview you.
Roger L. Stevens and Kermit Bloomgarden have their eyes on you.
Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.
Your first volume of poetry will be published as soon as you finish it.
You may be a hit uptown, but downtown you're legendary!
Your walk has a musical quality which will bring you fame and fortune.
You will eat cake.
Who do you think you are, anyway? Jo Van Fleet?
You think your life is like Pirandello, but it's really like O'Neill.
A few dance lessons with James Waring and who knows? Maybe something will happen.
That's not a run in your stocking, it's a hand on your leg.
I realize you've lived in France, but that doesn't mean you know EVERYTHING!
You should wear white more often--it becomes you.
The next person to speak to you will have a very intriquing proposal to make.
A lot of people in this room wish they were you.
Have you been to Mike Goldberg's show? Al Leslie's? Lee Krasner's?
At times, your disinterestedness may seem insincere, to strangers.
Now that the election's over, what are you going to do with yourself?
You are a prisoner in a croissant factory and you love it.
You eat meat. Why do you eat meat?
Beyond the horizon there is a vale of gloom.
You too could be Premier of France, if only ... if only...