Glut

This Morning, No 91

Here is a list of the food that I have made in the past four days.

• Salt, Pepper, and Rosemary Popcorn

• Paprika and Honey Roasted Nuts

• Cheese Plate - Petit Basque, Truffle Laced Pecorino, La Tur

• Comté Puff Pastry Twists

• Endives, Cucumbers, and Carrots with Muhamarra

• Ricotta Toasts with Mushrooms in Vinaigrette and Zucchini in Escabeche

• Tortilla Squares

• Ginger and Coriander Beef Meatballs with Cilantro and Peanuts

• Brown Butter Buckwheat Roasted Strawberry Rhubarb Financier

• Einkorn Chocolate Chip Cookies

• Lemongrass Lime Chamomile Arnold Palmer

• Cheese quesadillas

• Guacamole

• Salsa

• Savoy Cabbage Slaw

• Agnolotti, Lemon Butter, Favas and Sage

• Arugula and Ricotta Salata

• Tofu Pad Thai with Spring Peas and Broccoli

• Cucumber Radish Salad

• Spring Rolls with Peanut Sauce

• Jasmine Rice

• Broccoli, Zucchini, and Asparagus Sautéed with Rice Wine Vin and Sesame

• Italian Lentils

• Thumbalina Carrots with Pistachio Dukkah

• Flatbread Pizzas

• Quinoa Kale Avocado Salad

• Tomato, Lentil, Coconut Soup

• Spring Green Lasagna

• I am missing a few things.

That was all for work. This does not consider the food that I made for myself or that Henry made me. It feels absurd to relay to you all the things I have cooked and eaten this week in the midst of the forced starvation going on in Gaza (and the 1 in 5 children in the U.S. going hungry, not to mention the current threat to SNAP under this administration).

I have felt disoriented this past week and so tired. I think as a result of the cognitive dissonance required to be manufacturing abundance while holding the current reality. I feel this way to a certain extent each day, walking past people begging for change to get something to eat, or saying no to people on the subway asking for food or simply my attention during their “showtime.”

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If you have been worried about me, about Mr. Train, we are doing well. Thank you for your concern. Despite all my sensitivities, I am acclimating. The word acclimate, as it relates to botany, means to harden off. To become less sensitive to the changes in your environment. But I don’t want to harden off, I want to stay perceptive and feeling and soft and in my body. I am writing this I think for that reason. To not harden off to the suffering, and as an attempt to feel less helpless than I do.

One of the things I know to be true is the power of good food. Or maybe just, food. It’s unimaginable the level of violence that is withholding food from someone. Think about the hungriest you have ever been. I try to imagine what it would be like to be face to face with one hungry orphaned Gazan child. Rather than hear the numbers, which are horrific, I try to imagine just that one human. Imagine how you would run to get them what they needed. The food, medicine, a blanket. I don’t understand how this is happening.

Mostly, it feels important, if not literally obvious, to name that these bodies going through this violence are the exact same as my and your body. It would feel the same if you were deprived of food, medicine, your limbs. If the world around you, your world, your land, was in rubbles. If the world at large was complicit.

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I studied in Cape Town, South Africa for my semester abroad during my junior year. The program itself wasn’t a great fit, full of “Greek Life” students, of which I was not, and those that wanted to spend a lot of time at the various nightclubs. Something I was never that into after the age of 17 (New Yorkers do tend to grow up fast). I found my community in a little farm at the base of Signal Hill called Tyisa Nabanye (which means feed the others in Xhosa). The first time I went to the farm was for a small concert and curry night. Unathi, a member of the team, had made a simple vegetable curry from their produce and rice. The group of farmers were actually squatters on the land, having fled the gang violence in their township. Tyisa Nabanye was their attempt at safety and sovereignty. At the end of the evening, I offered to wash the dishes. Though I wasn’t sure how, as there was no running water or electricity in the building that they were living in. Another member of Tyisa, Vuyo showed me around back to a water spigot and their dish washing set up.

I tend to move quickly, so when doing a task, the goal is how fast can I get a chore done. The water ran cold, but I didn’t see any way to heat it up, so I forged ahead. The curry was made with coconut milk, which hardens when cold. Each plate had a slight residue of fat on it, but I thought, considering the circumstances this would suffice. At some point Vuyo came back and brought with him a pot of boiling water made over a campfire stove. Something I didn’t know that I was waiting on. I can’t remember the exact engage, Vuyo didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Xhosa so it was likely more of a physical interchange. I understood him to be saying something like – the way you are doing the dishes is ineffective and it won’t make the plates as clean as we need and want them to be. We need to do it right. Just because we are squatters and don’t have running water or electricity, doesn’t mean we don’t deserve the dignity of properly cleaned plates. We finished the dishes together, gentle Vuyo showing me how it was done.

There was something shameful about his needing to assert his dignity. Like he wouldn’t want to eat off of improperly cleaned plates in the same way that I wouldn’t. I think about this night and this moment frequently.

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As Henry was making dinner last week, I briefly swelled with tears, which then dissipated when he placed a soup that we’ve dubbed “Swamp Water” in front of me. Swamp Water is a savory broth, that right before serving you add a big spoonful our homemade green zhug. You can put anything in - we had black bass and spring vegetables. I can’t remember the exact current event that instigated the tears, but the feeling was total confusion. Like how the fuck is this the world that we live in? A feeling of genuinely not being able to comprehend.

As I write this to you, I receive an email from a celebrity requesting meals, she is recently postpartum and is looking for nourishing, well-sourced food. As she should be. I will cook so much food again today. In the midst of all the cooking, I myself will forget to eat. That is just how it goes.

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The Stack

What I’m reading!

The Business Birthing Handbook: A Theory of Trimesters

Jennifer Armburst

This slim manual is special! Using the structure of a pregnancy, Armburst guides the reader through conceiving, visioning, engineering, and actualizing a business through a feminine and feminist lens. To say the least, it’s resonating!

I Regret Almost Everything

Kieth McNally

My beloved Rosa wrote a beautiful review of McNally’s memoir in The Paris Review. Highly recommend reading. I’m at the start of it, but the book’s melancholic and regretful tone has been an apt accompaniment to this dreary, rainy week in New York. As someone about to set out creating a restaurant space, this is required reading.

How to Be Well: Navigating Our Self Care Epidemic, one Dubious Cure at a Time

Amy Larocca

Amy Larocca introduced me to the world of “products.” My dad and Amy met each other through their work at New York Magazine. She was the fashion editor and knew that my father had two girls at home. He would often return from work with bags of makeup and skincare products. Hard to articulate this thrill. My sister and I would divide up the bounty. If you rummage around our house upstate you can find old lipsticks that can be traced back to Larocca. Lots to say, but mostly I think this book is important! Larocca exposes how the commodification of wellness has diluted the agenda of actually being well. As someone who participates in many wellness trends, it’s important to think critically about them, and Larocca is a great, if critical, guide.

Worlds Within Us: Wisdom and Resilience of Indigenous Women Elders

Katsi Cook

After listening to the On Being podcast episode with Katsi Cook, I rushed to download this book on my Kindle. It is a collection of personal stories from eight Indigenous Elders. They share their ancestral wisdom through their various lineages and how this knowledge can help to build a more whole world. I read a few pages each morning, almost like an invocation. There are much more life generating ways to be in this world than the one we are witnessing fall apart.

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A note to say - you have likely noticed my publishing schedule has changed. I’m trying to keep it to around every other Friday now, but I’m in the midst of quite a lot of shifts so am letting myself off the hook of a self-imposed schedule. I wanted to clarify/remind (in case you are confused, like my mother) that my Substack is totally free! If you are a paid subscriber, that is extremely meaningful to me but please feel free to toggle it to free if you feel like you committed when the offerings were more robust. There are seasons for everything so I have no doubt that when I have more capacity, I will pick back up publishing with frequency. I just wanted to keep you looped into what is happening now!

Love you all, seriously!