the best chicken i ever had was made by my cousin June an extremely practical and capable south Georgia woman (and who wrote under the name Bailey White and sounds like an old woman on the radio but far from it even now and so modest and fairly amazing, we have laughed alot over the years...) and she made it under rustic conditions in a camp on a northern Vermont pond in a balky oven weighing it down with a brick on a dutch oven she found laying about and with some basic spices thyme im sure and i still remember how hungry i was the heat of workday gone the loons calling and it fell off bone and we devoured it
So as I enter my mid 60's ... I'm stunned at how my "dating self" would write. And I would. But I'd really like to believe that I'd have a buddy that would tap me on the shoulder and tell me to Turn That Shit Down. Us romantic guys in ours 60's can be such idiots. But his reaction on an oh so reasonable counter makes clear that his 8 year old self is in the building. Poor guy. But that's so much to suffer from the other side.
Ah, CDUB, you are so on the mark here. I didn't want to say it but, as we writers like to say, "show" it and then wonder If we did--and as I say, I did indeed wonder. xx ~ Mary
We roasted chickens last night for supper. Some round the table had never heard of the oyster, never knew of it. Also a discussion of the parson's nose as we call it in UK, that fatty Chef's treat, I can't bear to eat but my friend's husband loves.
My experience of reading these (Re)Making Love installments is one of simply, unusually, without any critical distance, feeling empathetically, painfully for protagonist Mary's romantic immersions -- and then writer Mary sets me thinking by also considering the musical score, surveying the kitchen, roasting the perfect chicken, and quoting some blissful Nabokov and sublime Nietzsche, and I can't wait for the next installment.
Thought-provoking. Thanks for another fascinating post, Mary.
I wonder with the last bit on Nietzsche:
"a small light only and yet great comfort for shipwrecked sailors and castaways." Is this, then, happiness for others and not for him? Or, making others "happy" makes him happy too and saves everyone ...
I'm so in love with that last line that I often think of cutting it. Being "in love" with one's own quote of another is so dangerous for the writer. But then this memoir is all about danger, so right or wrong, I don't get the courage to cut it ... xo
The professor sounds exhausting.
Understatement! That's exactly what I'd hoped you'd conclude.
the best chicken i ever had was made by my cousin June an extremely practical and capable south Georgia woman (and who wrote under the name Bailey White and sounds like an old woman on the radio but far from it even now and so modest and fairly amazing, we have laughed alot over the years...) and she made it under rustic conditions in a camp on a northern Vermont pond in a balky oven weighing it down with a brick on a dutch oven she found laying about and with some basic spices thyme im sure and i still remember how hungry i was the heat of workday gone the loons calling and it fell off bone and we devoured it
practically whole
Nothing better than a home-roasted, oven baked or grilled on a rotisserie chicken.
So as I enter my mid 60's ... I'm stunned at how my "dating self" would write. And I would. But I'd really like to believe that I'd have a buddy that would tap me on the shoulder and tell me to Turn That Shit Down. Us romantic guys in ours 60's can be such idiots. But his reaction on an oh so reasonable counter makes clear that his 8 year old self is in the building. Poor guy. But that's so much to suffer from the other side.
Ah, CDUB, you are so on the mark here. I didn't want to say it but, as we writers like to say, "show" it and then wonder If we did--and as I say, I did indeed wonder. xx ~ Mary
"Après nous, le déluge"
Ah, love you as a reader and a writer! Great we found each other here!
Yes, for me too. I'm loving your memoir
I like mustard on anything, it's a kick. Chicken works.
You'll love Thomas Keller's recipe, Bill.
We roasted chickens last night for supper. Some round the table had never heard of the oyster, never knew of it. Also a discussion of the parson's nose as we call it in UK, that fatty Chef's treat, I can't bear to eat but my friend's husband loves.
Great discovery, for sure.
My experience of reading these (Re)Making Love installments is one of simply, unusually, without any critical distance, feeling empathetically, painfully for protagonist Mary's romantic immersions -- and then writer Mary sets me thinking by also considering the musical score, surveying the kitchen, roasting the perfect chicken, and quoting some blissful Nabokov and sublime Nietzsche, and I can't wait for the next installment.
A reader with such insight and such eloquence and such a close read is gift, indeed.
Delicious, Mary - and I don't just mean the chicken! 🙌
How lovely. Always so good to know that you're reading the memoir.
😊
'He was a deluge.' So funny.
It's interesting reading this again. I am enjoying your dry, wry humour Mary.
Oh! That recipe for roasted chicken. Yum.
I loved that line too
The "deluge" line?
No kidding on both! And Thank you for the comment on wry humor. xo
Thought-provoking. Thanks for another fascinating post, Mary.
I wonder with the last bit on Nietzsche:
"a small light only and yet great comfort for shipwrecked sailors and castaways." Is this, then, happiness for others and not for him? Or, making others "happy" makes him happy too and saves everyone ...
I'm so in love with that last line that I often think of cutting it. Being "in love" with one's own quote of another is so dangerous for the writer. But then this memoir is all about danger, so right or wrong, I don't get the courage to cut it ... xo
At the intersection of literature, food, personals, desire, and did I mention food.
Love the irony in this comment ... xo