Food Writing

Dear R.,

It has only been six weeks since that napkin-crumpling, tear-stained breakfast with you at the Z-7 Diner, but it feels like years have passed. My job was on tenterhooks; I needed to find a new one or soon join the swelling ranks of the unemployed. Murmurs of a double dip recession were getting louder. I had so many questions and too little time. What do you do with a gastronomy degree anyway? Why is it that the sustainable, “socially responsible” organizations are the ones offering only unpaid internships? How do I land a new apartment lease in the highly competitive NYC real estate market if I can’t demonstrate an income? I am a fighter, yes, but this city is one who fights back. And I was determined to go down in a Viking pyre of glory.

Corby Kummer, august senior editor for the Atlantic and one of my all-time idols, thinks my writing is shit.

Fine, he didn’t say it exactly like that.

Kummer was teaching a weeklong writing workshop, and everyone had submitted second drafts of essays on food. One by one, he whisked us into the hallway for individual conferences, then periodically returned to give comments to the entire group. All day, I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. Why wasn’t my piece being read out loud to the class? Why was it at the bottom of the pile?

Wine journalism. Is it a public service, or simply pretentious nonsense? What forms does it come in? Does anyone pay attention to this stuff anyway? Who is the target audience?

On this gray November day, we were greeted by the warm presence of Richard Baudains, a wine writer for Decanter who has also contributed to the Arcigolo Gambero Rosso guides Vini d’Italia (Wines of Italy) and Vini del Mondo (Wines of the World). He hails from the Channel Islands (an archipelago between England and France), but has spent the last two decades living and drinking in Italy.

A month has passed since I was last in France (my how time flies!), but I’m still milking those experiences for class projects. Our trip to a Bresse chicken farm was particularly memorable, so I converted that into a magazine-style piece that I will submit for evaluation.

A Flight of Fancy: France’s Poulet de Bresse (727 kb)

Before you ask, no this isn’t a photo of me, it’s the daughter of a family friend, picking Asian pears in the orchard.

“People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating and drinking? Why don’t you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way others do?

They ask it accusingly, as if I were somehow gross, unfaithful to the honor of my craft.