foodwriting

The Afterlife of Restuarants

/ The Black Hat Baker / Leave a comment

I hadn’t seen the windows of the bar papered up since before they opened. The vinyl logos and graphics had been up back then, but little else indicating that The Nerd Out would be a bar and not a comic book or collectibles shop. Standing outside now, the giant neon logo had since been joined by menus, flyers for events, comic-book inspired graphics for the typical restaurant notices (“Kids welcome everywhere but the bar,” “we welcome everyone,” etc.) and a host of stickers on the door. Delivery services, local clubs, reviewers that wrote about them… and one with a black top hat on it.

I gently knocked on the door. The owner, Mitch, greeted me and ushered me into the Nerd Out for the last time.

The Nerd Out, shortly after opening.
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When It Rains

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Even in my basement apartment, I can still hear the rain and thunder if I try.

The sound of a storm has been soothing to me since college. On one of my four-hour drives between Southern New Jersey and Hartford Connecticut, I once got caught in a thunder storm somewhere in New York State. The rain came down in sheets, my wipers couldn’t keep up, and it was already dark.

I decided that arriving late was better than never arriving, so I pulled off into a rest area. I set an alarm for an hour, grabbed my spare blanket from the back, and took a nap while I waited for the rain to stop. To this day, that is the single most restful sleep I’ve ever had in my life.

It’s raining now, and there’s a storm outside. It’s not relaxing, though- it sounds more like a Seal being opened, and tiptoeing toward Armageddon.

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Snapshots from the Bakeshop IV- “The Band Played On”: Baking Through A Pandemic

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My eyes pop open into the dark of our pre-dawn bedroom. No haziness yet, no sleep fog, just a quiet “oh goddammit” as I roll over and check the time. Tapping the bedside table is enough motion for my Apple Watch to wake itself up and inform me that I’m half an hour ahead of my 4:30 am alarm. I groan, grab my phone, and resolve to keep myself up by catching up on the latest news.

Tiptoeing around the apartment trying not to wake my wife, and enduring the loud pesterings of a bratty cat who has taken VERY quickly to being fed in the early morning.

Gotta eat breakfast, meditate, and get cleaned up. Gonna need all the goodwill I can gather, because God forbid people go without their croissants in a pandemic.

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The Curse of the Blank Page- How to be Creative on Demand

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Good morning, friends and neighbors!

In the last few months, I’ve developed a new tradition. After my therapy appointments, I wander down the street to my old cafe. There, my friend Madeline is usually on the espresso machine. She makes me my favorite coffee drink (a cafe con miel, essentially a latte with honey and cinnamon syrup,) then I sit down to write… something.

Usually it’s the start of that weeks blog entry, as now, or continuing work on the next book. Recently I’ve also started posting more casual, narrative foodwriting through Medium.

Regardless, it’s a block of time each week that I have set aside to be creative. Routine and Practice are vital if you want to make anything worth making.

“What I’m gonna write about today” though… that’s always a bit dodgy. As you can see, sometimes I just start with “whatever is right in front of me.”

The artist at work. That blog title looks familiar… >_>;;
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The Portland Experience

/ The Black Hat Baker / Leave a comment

Good evening, friends and neighbors.

My day off yesterday started early- I finally found myself a therapist, and the sessions have been really productive so far. There’s a lot to be said for starting the morning by immediately doing something good for yourself.

I got to crash out at a cafe for a little bit, get some more words down on the Mentorship book, and saw some old friends.

The author's ipad and folding keyboard next to a seemingly empty coffee cup.

With most of the business of the day done, I decided I wanted to treat myself to dinner, and a walk in the rain. Come along with me.

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