One Thing at a Time

and a new workshop

A friend’s mother ate nothing but clams for six months. Morning, noon and night, nothing but clams. “I don’t know what it is, I can’t seem to get enough of them,” she told her son. He shakes his head, but I understand. I eat nothing but polenta for days, then nothing but broccoli for a week, then chicken thighs browned with shallots, a dab of bitter marmalade on top of each one, put in the oven with a tight lid at 325 for thirty-five minutes. I think I’ll make that again right now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about food and memory. The way my grandmother’s kitchen always smelled of something delicious. What she cooked for us that I cook now. Bigmom’s famous macaroni and cheese, her applesauce, the icing on her cakes. But writing about her food is different from cooking it. Writing puts me right back in her kitchen. It’s the mid-fifties, I’m probably twelve or thirteen years old. A very funny cartoon from The New Yorker is glued to the front of her breadbox. It’s about food, and it contains the word “hell.” I always check to make sure it’s still there. It’s so cool of Bigmom to have hell on her breadbox.

Memories of food may include people and places and times that are long since gone. Writing about food transports you. Look around, you are there again. Some of those memories will be wonderful, others more difficult to relive. But all reveal something about our lives, and ourselves.

The marvelous Darien Gee and I are giving a 4-hour workshop on Zoom on March 29, about food and memory, the kind of writing that sneaks up on you and tells the truth before you’ve had time to tidy it up. We’ll write. We’ll read. We’ll sit in small groups and see what comes up. Bring a recipe if you like—one you love, one you’ve lost, one you know by heart. Others you discovered by winging it.

I hope you can join us. You can learn more here: https://luma.com/e8mztuog

Love to you all,

Abby