It's actually a lot of fun to read on the Kindle. My first and so far only book is Josephine Tey's Daughter of Time. It's not what I expected, but her writing is sublime and I am enjoying it a lot. No way to lose your place. Shuts off when you get up to do something.
I'm still working on getting my novel downloaded to it, and the learning curve is a little, well, curvier. I'll definitely put another book or two on it before leaving for south Florida. Taking my new notebook as well. A high tech trip, along with the digital camera.
The trip is for research on my WIP. Work In Process to the uninitiated. I have travelled to South Florida for years and years, either on business or pleasure and sometimes both. However, I never thought I would find myself writing about it. Heaven knows, there are so many authors who use the setting, and it's a great setting. Carl Hiaasen comes to mind. John McDonald's Travis Magee (sp?) hung out, as well as many others. The Florida MWA is a large and productive group.
Nevertheless, my character headed to Florida and I followed her, and she went to Miami and Key West, locales I only had a passing acquaintance with, and now I need some telling details. My drug lord lives in Miami and the character makes a crucial trip to the Keys. Again, the plot follows its wimsey, in a controlled way, of course.
The web is good for research, but nothing beats being there. So I'm off. The best thing is the book takes place this time of year, so I should be able to nail weather, sunsets, what's blooming, how wilted one feels, and all that good stuff. Yes!
More anon.
Grapeshot
Showing posts with label key lime pie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label key lime pie. Show all posts
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Competitive Cooking
When I was in junior high and accompanied the pastor's daughter to the Wednesday Night Christian Fellowship suppers in the church basement, one of the biggest culinary delights of the spread (and a spread it was) was Mrs. Dahm's poppyseed cake. She made it for every supper, and no one had the recipe. It was white cake and a gooey layer and poppyseeds. Scrumptious. Maybe I wouldn't like it anymore, but back then it was oh-so-good. The good Lutheran woman's reluctance to share her recipe was my first inkling that cooks could be, well, competitive.
The second jolt was at a New Year's Eve party at my friend's house in Syosset, Long Island. We were trolling for hors d'oeuvres, and I made meatballs, always a popular offering, especially in the 70's when people didn't shun beef. A mutual friend, a male, made the comment that I was really a good cook and the meatballs "weren't very competitive," i.e. I could have made a showier dish and garnered more . . . what? compliments? admiration? Who knows.
The New Year's Eve group remained friends forever, and my friend and I used to cook on houseparty weekend's in East Hampton. We had some really cool menus and we cooked together, collaboratively, which is the way women have cooked for millenia. No mention of competition. The host made a fab Key Lime Pie, other guests made lunch or helped with dinner, the hostess, a non-cook, did the dishes. S.O. contributed his fantastic cocktail, the Sea Breeze. We were a happy crowd.
Then came the food channel. I love the Barefoot Contessa, and Paula and Giada and even Rachel and some of the guys. What I don't love are the frantic emo-laden competitions with tears and flashing knives and racing against the clock and the frantic urge to win, win win. This is not cooking as the world knows it. This is something else, rather ugly, actually.
Even the NY Times got into the action this week, pitting two food writers against each other, but the judge (the food critic) had enough sense to delare the competition a draw and just enjoy the meals. As we all should.
This competive cooking is crazy, and it must deter newcomers to the cooking life, which can actually be rather relaxing and easy if one times things right. So. Enough said. I made my poppyseed lemon cake today, and tonight we have a South Beach Diet chicken salad, both yummy. Last night I made a Spanish dish with scrod, and that was toothsome as well. No hurry involved. Working deliberately is one thing. Racing around the kitchen like a bloody fool is quite another.
Grapeshot
The second jolt was at a New Year's Eve party at my friend's house in Syosset, Long Island. We were trolling for hors d'oeuvres, and I made meatballs, always a popular offering, especially in the 70's when people didn't shun beef. A mutual friend, a male, made the comment that I was really a good cook and the meatballs "weren't very competitive," i.e. I could have made a showier dish and garnered more . . . what? compliments? admiration? Who knows.
The New Year's Eve group remained friends forever, and my friend and I used to cook on houseparty weekend's in East Hampton. We had some really cool menus and we cooked together, collaboratively, which is the way women have cooked for millenia. No mention of competition. The host made a fab Key Lime Pie, other guests made lunch or helped with dinner, the hostess, a non-cook, did the dishes. S.O. contributed his fantastic cocktail, the Sea Breeze. We were a happy crowd.
Then came the food channel. I love the Barefoot Contessa, and Paula and Giada and even Rachel and some of the guys. What I don't love are the frantic emo-laden competitions with tears and flashing knives and racing against the clock and the frantic urge to win, win win. This is not cooking as the world knows it. This is something else, rather ugly, actually.
Even the NY Times got into the action this week, pitting two food writers against each other, but the judge (the food critic) had enough sense to delare the competition a draw and just enjoy the meals. As we all should.
This competive cooking is crazy, and it must deter newcomers to the cooking life, which can actually be rather relaxing and easy if one times things right. So. Enough said. I made my poppyseed lemon cake today, and tonight we have a South Beach Diet chicken salad, both yummy. Last night I made a Spanish dish with scrod, and that was toothsome as well. No hurry involved. Working deliberately is one thing. Racing around the kitchen like a bloody fool is quite another.
Grapeshot
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