It’s been too weird to write recently because everything feels frivolous. But necessary, sure, to keep talking. Keep working. Though writing about gin and pastry feels a bit silly, these days. I realize it’s a privilege to ignore a problem because it is not a problem for me, personally, one that I’ve indulged in while the country was being led by someone with whom I mostly agreed. I used to wonder how people living under dictatorships or oppressive collectives could go on with their lives, not taking to the streets and freaking out. Now I see how easy it is to bury oneself in the full time job of living one’s life. But we owe each other more than that, it seems.
I keep thinking about food as political weight. Clinging to my coastal affections for cuisines from Asia and Latin America; eating foods harvested and prepared by an unbeatable immigrant workforce I wish we would make feel more welcome. Foods bridge cultures, we know this. I keep wondering if a nice plate of tamales or some gulab jamun would change the minds of Congressional bigots.
Civil Eats is on point. Check it out.
No, I am not writing about how, at 21, I would drink two $3.50 Heinekens for dinner because I was fed up with tunafish and hormel chili.
I’m writing about relationships. More specifically, the relationships we have with intoxicants.
I don’t have the healthiest relationship with alcohol, but it’s better than my relationship with my family. And I love my family.
-Me. Just now.
So I’m taking a workshop with the fabulous and stellar Writing Workshops LA this fall. Worth every penny and, more dearly, every minute I spent white-knuckled on the 110 before I figured out I could just take surface streets all the way to my instructor’s house. Almost two years in LA, kids.
I got an idea, after an assignment wherein we had to write our own NYT Mag style Letter of Recommendation, and the discussion swung around to not only the things we irrationally love, but also things we hate, too strongly, for no apparent reason, and what does this say about us?
So I thought it might be fun to explore some of these personal hatreds, in polemic form, then deconstruct them.
ISSUE 1: Avocados are Awful