Books

A New Project on the Craft of Living

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After a rainy day and almost too much walking around in it, it seems the last wayward drops are making their way off the trees and onto the patio.

The week at the winery ended, for me at least, in one of those “what the fuck happened,” twelve-hour shifts that you can’t quite put your finger on where the day went or where it clearly all went wrong, but the only thing for it is embracing the suck, powering through, and getting to a point where you can leave the kitchen for a couple days without fear anything will irreparably explode.

I dragged my ass home, pausing to hit up one of my favorite beer stores along the way. The fact that I then dropped all three can of dark beer on the pavement- one rolling under the car, leading me to kneel down in the dark in a black hoodie, waiting for some impatient shmuck to flatten me before I realized it had rolled all the way under to the curb- confirmed that the day was Seriously and Entirely Fucked, and I needed to get myself home and out of work attire before something else happened.

Emily, absolute princess that she is, greeted me when I came home and told me to just get comfy. I stripped off my jeans and long sleeve undershirt, having already deposited my aprons and jacket for the laundry I’d do later. After a little downtime, some brainrot internet cartoons, and a little of my latest whiskey acquisition, I was feeling something like human again.

I’m in the middle of outlining a second manuscript (yes, while the mentorship book is still very overdue on my own schedule. It’ll get there, this is important too, trust me.) This one is the first book I’ve really tried to write with another person- and what’s more, it’s my father.

Dad was already a doctor here. I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was. Both of us had mud in our boots and wet socks.
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When Last We Left Off…

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Hello everyone!

My six-month hiatus did bear some fruit, as the book is at least two chapters closer to being done, but mostly it took some pressure off of me to write every week during a particularly nightmarish wedding season at the winery.

There’s been at least one wedding every single week since May, and it still hasn’t stopped, but the restaurant is winding down a bit with the end of summer and even though our fall offerings and harvest season vibes are on point (if I do say so myself,) autumn in Portland means the rainy season. That means losing a quarter of our dining space- and our diners.

Every weekend of the last six months, I’ve been hoarding every moment I didn’t need to work or think about working like they were the last roll of toilet paper in a bomb shelter, ready to go for the throat of anyone who suggested they might need a few squares because they’re running out of pages in the Twilight series. I made time to write for sure, but energy reserves was another story entirely.

A typewritten page with a poem by Charles Bukowski. It reads: “air and light and time and space "–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job, something has always been in the way but now I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this place, a large studio, you should see the space and the light. for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to create." no baby, if you’re going to create you’re going to create whether you work 16 hours a day in a coal mine or you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children while you’re on welfare, you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown away, you’re going to create blind crippled demented, you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your back while the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment, flood and fire. baby, air and light and time and space have nothing to do with it and don’t create anything except maybe a longer life to find new excuses for. - Charles Bukowski”
“Excuses, excuses…”
Yeah, I know.
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The Bookworms

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“Think not of the books you’ve bought as a ‘to be read’ pile. Instead, think of your bookcase as a wine cellar. You collect books to be read at the right time, the right place, and the right mood.”

– Luc van Donkersgoed

Years ago, one of my relatives indicated the piles of books in his house and told me “Booksellers love Jews, because Jews buy books. Why? Because we’re always the ones that have to remember.” It could also be that we’re historically not that great at sports and needed something to do on the playground.

Photo by Rafael Cosquiere
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How Cooking Became a Flex

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“The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable stages, those of Survival, Inquiry, and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where stages. For instance, the first stage is characterized by the questions “How can we eat?” the second by the question, “Why do we eat?” and the third by the question “Where shall we have lunch?”

-Douglas Adams,
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy #2)

If you are biological, you need to eat. You need to consume the energy you need to live somehow, no way around it. Plants photosynthesize, animals graze or hunt, and humans go to Wawa. It’s part of the whole “being alive” thing.

For most of our history as a species, what we ate was of greater concern than how we ate it. Douglas Adams hilariously but accurately described it in The Hitchhiker’s Guide quote I gave above. What Adams left to food historians, sociologists, barstool philosophers, and other nerds like myself to debate was how we felt about the act of cooking. Even within the lifetime of the last couple of generations here in the USA, the change in how we as a culture approach cooking and food in general has been massive.

If one is curious enough, one can twist out the wild story from the influences of changing cultural norms, gender roles and expectations, technological developments, and world events like twisting yarn out of cobwebs.

Several books and personalities have investigated this question in depth before- I’ve dipped a couple toes in that ocean myself. I’ll link some of those books throughout this post, but I want to focus on one interesting aspect of it- when and how did cooking for yourself become something to brag about?

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