Cherry on the Cake

It's been a long day and I've been fantasizing about Gorgonzola on brushcetta under ribbons of pancetta topped with a dimesized schmear of fig jam... Let's just say I've been less than concentrated.

In the ho-hum routine of going to class you find things to get excited about; I tend to go toward the food fantasy which might hold more sexuality than is considered normal--but don't judge me for that. So when I get home from a long day of class-versus-fantasy, it completely throws me to discover that I have received a response from a food writer!

[Insert ridiculous giddiness here]

I sent a message to Duluth Superior Magazine, hopeful that someone would point me in the right direction and lucky for me they did. I received a response from Robert Lillegard, the restaurant writer of the magazine. His polite reply and willingness to help me with my inquiry was wonderful to see in my inbox. However, Mr. Lillegard didn't stop there: he actually read some of my blog and gave me some fantastic advice:

"Don't take yourself out of the running by giving up."

Viola! The cherry to my cake: some hope.

Remember when I was whining about nobody responding to my tweets/posts/e-mails/etc.? Uh yeah, that's because I wasn't trying hard enough. Lillegard has been published in Latina and Midwest Living, not to mention he's only a slim few years older than myself. So he's got real-life experience-- finally words from someone not in a book!.

So what do I do now with this golden nugget of inspiration? Well for one, it means that I've got to put my big-girl apron on and start to be more proactive if I want to be realistic about pursuing this career.

For two, like Lillegard says, it isn't impossible to break into the food writing business; this is by no means to say it is in any way easy, but I've really got to start to make a solid and persistent effort. That requires writing more about food, networking effectively, and keeping up with the latest publications in food.

And three, I really need to dig into the food industry from every angle. In my last blog I spoke about Secret Ingredients, The New Yorker  Book of Food and Drink--a book I hold close to my heart these days. It's a great place to start research. The book gives interesting anecdotes, pieces of history, and like most food-referencing books, a lot of technical terms and important people. This will be my introductory education since I didn't attend culinary school, and I need to be able to understand what everyone is talking about-- especially if I actually have people (well one person) responding to me now!

A Mouthful

I find so often that as much as I like to experience food, I have some difficulty clearly expressing what what the point is. Usually it seems that the point of me telling you about what I've eaten is a personal recommendation or just a memory I'd like to share, but that is not always concisely conveyed. It is common for my school papers to do well--but not without a scribble on the side that reads something along the lines of "Clarify what you mean here" or "Side-tracked".

To me, in food writing it seems simple that the point of me telling a story to begin with is to praise the glory of food. But in reading many works by many different authors, my naivete is revealed: Food writing isn't just about gushing about some delicious steak or critiquing a questionable meal, it is about the world of food as well; there is a point to it.

There is more to eating than just the meal, there is a universe out there dedicated to understanding food, ingredients, technique, history, it's all there. I've been reading Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain, author I am particularly partial to, so his writing is clear as day to me. Aside from a few references that extend past my birthdate, I can hear him in my head dipping and weaving through his inflections as he tells me of his tales by text.

But to read a singular author is to understand a single perspective of the food industry. I think by magic (and I mean that literally because I do not recall requesting this book from the library, but somehow it arrived from another school to be checked out by me) I stumbled upon a book called Secret Ingredients, The New Yorker  Book of Food and Drink. It is a beautiful collection of writings on the subject of food from a fountain of angles. Many of the authors I do not know, but there are a few names here and there that suggest that everyone  who contributed to the book is a "somebody". Not to mention it's The New Yorker for goodness sake; you've got to have talent to be twice-published by them.

The very first chapter, "All You Can Hold for Five Bucks", by Joseph Mitchell, is truly delightful. He explores the social-food tradition of the "Beefsteak"; a gathering with roots in male bonding around beer and large slabs of red meat. But though Mitchell talks about the food, it is the history of the meal that entices me. I am mesmerized and perplexed that we do not have food celebrations of this gargantuan style anymore. A failing economy? Who cares! We could have world peace by the end of the week if we treated are UN counterparts to a [culturally appropriate] Beefsteak!

I haven't done the research to find out who Joseph Mitchell is yet, but I will, because thanks to him I have been made aware of the other wonderful aspects of the food world. He has pointed out the history and traditions that lie in the past; but they are not to be forgotten or under-appreciated because they make our food so much more rich than a T.V. dinner could ever explain, or that we might be able to understand from watching the travel channel.

It'll be hard to have a brain freeze ever again if people like Joseph Mitchell keep giving me things to talk about, and with my mouthful to say, you'll see the point I'm making.

Brain Freeze

Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing...


Scarfing down the joy of starting my first blog and having an excuse to write about food is one of the pleasures of my entire school semester. In the beginning I was ambitious and full of goals and ideas, but soon after over-dosing on my new found blog obsession I was quickly burnt out.

In my daily life, given the opportunity, I would explore every hobby and niche there is possible; only to give it up soon after. Most students know what it's like when school starts and you are laden with ambition and ideals of success. A-filled report cards seem like a cake walk and you don't think twice about all the syllabi's you've received-- you can handle it. But in my ambition to take the blogging world by storm, I seem to have had a brain freeze.

Perhaps it is the rigor of school that wears one down; by mid-term season the gusto we shared has faded away and we are left with all the reasons why we dread school. This blog seems the exception to my routine though. In fact, I really enjoy writing about my food still, and even reading a book that talks about food some more.

But as much as I am enjoying this all, I seem to be frozen in time. One spoonful too many and I can't write a lick about a food adventure. Furthermore, I can't even bring myself to finding out what my next food-trip will be. So here I wonder: Is this the right career for me? Will I strive to become a food writer and then come to find that I not only lose inspiration, but become ashamed that my "permanently hungry" adventures have hit a hiatus?

It's mid-semester so I think I'm just burnt out: writing papers for classes, reading books, chapters, articles, writing for work, writing for fun, texting, tweeting, posting--I'd say this is not a symptom of a failed career ambition, but a side-effect of my lifestyle.

When people become saturated in their work, they take a vacation to rejuvenate themselves. So in true-foodie-form, to help myself relax, I am going to eat. Liver and onions was my last serious experiment (yikes). Since then, I have tried my hand at fondue, eaten at an Italian restaurant, and an English pub. All had yummy results but nothing amazing to jump start my journalistic juices. I think I've got a spot in mind to try that will serve authentic food, and hopefully it will inspire some authentic writing. While I'm at it I'll even try contacting some authentic food writers.

I can feel my brain freeze melting away at just the ideas.

Or maybe I'm just drooling...

Slow Roasted Torture

But writing about sights and sounds and flavors that might otherwise be described as orgiastic-and doing it in a way that is calculated to inspire prurient interest, lust and envy in others... that raises more questions in my mind as to ... I don't know... the moral dimension.

Sitting here, choosing words, letter by letter, on the keyboard with the explicit intention of telling you about something I did or something I ate and making you as hungry and miserable as I can--surely that's wrong.

But fuck it.

-Anthony Bourdain, Medium Raw

I want to torture foodies with words too. In reality it isn't a torture to them, because they ask for it. I know, because I am one of them. We willingly turn on the television hoping someone is making an impossibly difficult food all the while telling us about how good it smells, knowing that we are watching, writhing with the urge to re-create every delicious meal we've witnessed.

Bourdain wrote a chapter called "So you wanna be a chef". In it he reminds us that the outcomes are not commonly those of Food Network stardom or even high-end success. Meanwhile he encourages those willing to endure a life of mediocre, under-paid, indistinct work in a kitchen with no name, to run the gambit and take the chance.

But what if I don't want to even be in the kitchen? I JUST WANT TO TASTE AND WRITE ABOUT FOOD. In the chapter, he goes on to encourage those who might want to join the cult and drink the Kool-aid to just take the initiative and go for it; if you have the chance, travel. Make friends with people who know their craft, learn everything you can about food, and if you should do desire, go to cooking school.

Finally! Some direction. Turns out I've already started doing all these things--sorta--instead of going to cooking school I chose a four year institution(I'm a late bloomer). And although I haven't wistfully traveled the world yet, I will. It's all an uncertain path, and I can only plan as far ahead as time allows, but after being discouraged about not having any direction to take I am revived with these words.

While taking on this journey towards understanding what it takes to become a good food writer, initially I am humbled and feel foolish for considering that I may be worthy of becoming someone people might want to listen to someday. But then I read words like the quote by Bourdain above, and instantly my spirits are lifted again. It won't be an easy journey, but regardless, I can't wait to slow-torture foodies with tales of my edible adventures. For now I'll just continue to sharpen my knives. I mean skills.