When I lived in Berkeley years ago, I'd read Ben Katchor's comics just after the SF Guardian had come out, every Wednesday evening over a supper of one roasted chicken leg, tabbouli, and mashed potatoes from the pita house downstreet.

Dizzyingly packed with architectural details, signs, and suited men, Katchor's comics are poetically condensed and melancholic, strewn with dialogue apt for the city of the salesman, the photographer, and the huckster. Ketchup and spicy mustard are the perfect condiments with his tales.




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