garlic and sapphires-ruth reichl

“you shall know this now”

the prophet‘s latest sentence creation says it all. my alleged attitude problem has been causing some grief around work as of late, and i must say that my belligerence at the raptors’ home opener was at an all-time high, but seriously, kids-do you really need to crawl over the laps of a row of people just to spend $19 on a box of popcorn? with three minutes left in the half? hashtag-bitch, please. also, telling a homeless man “i don’t have any money for you because i’m trying to save up all my money to quit my job…also, some people don’t have feet” only to turn into urban outfitters to impulse buy myself a pug life t-shirt was another highlight of the past few days. but last night, as the grease from the fried chicken was burning holes through my fingers on my way to a library presentation about pop-up books (that was actually moved to two weeks from now), i mused in front of a gorgeous mural of a rhino that i really do love my life, and this city. i got an unsolicited and talk appreciating my work in the program for which i volunteer to learn childrens how to read good, and it was so timely and necessary. i look forward to developing my creative educational reach sooner rather than later. my favorite part of this book is the journey of writing oneself through growing out of a job, and the unique scrapbook evidence of that evolution.

“In the end I came to realize that a restaurant critic’s job is more about eating than writing, and every time I cancelled a reservation I grew more seriously behind. I was having a secret affair with cooking, and I knew it could not continue. But every morning, after walking Nicky to school, I’d go home and sit in the kitchen, sifting through my recipes. A jumble of handwritten pages, they were gathered into an ancient, torn manila folder filled with memories. Tomorrow, I’d think, tomorrow I’ll go out to eat, tomorrow I’ll go back to the restaurants. And then I’d turn over another page and a long-gone meal would come tumbling out, more evocative than any photograph could ever be.” (269)

i was also floored by the samaritan (dir. david weaver) starring the always fantastic (and yelling) sam jackson and my beauty-full city and her good looking money, public transportation vehicles, and 24-hour diner on ossington (hey, lakeview). shouts to my reparation partner in the junction and my bready lover/roti partner. together, we will make it through.

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2 thoughts on “garlic and sapphires-ruth reichl

  1. living to eat:

    “I did just as she had show me, but even after all the theater I was not prepared for the feel of the noodles in my mouth, or the purity of the taste. I had been in Japan for almost a month, but I had never experienced anything like this. The noodles quivered as if they were alive, and leapt into my mouth where they vibrated as if playing inaudible music.” (60)

    “He filled a crisp sheet of nori with warm rice and spread it with umeboshi, the plum paste that is actually made from wild apricots.” (75)

    “While they plied their forks like civilized people I’d bring the bone up to my face until the aroma-animal and mineral, dirt and rock-was flooding my senses. Then I’d bite into the meat, soft and chewy at the same time, rolling it around in my mouth. It was juicy, powerful, primal, and I’d take another bite, and another. The meat closest to the bone was smooth as satin, and sweet. It tasted like nothing else on earth, and I would gnaw happily until the bone was stripped naked and my face was covered with a satisfying layer of grease.” (107)

  2. growing pains:

    “When I became Molly, I merely took the theater of restaurants to the next logical step. Becoming my mother, on the other hand, was taking a giant leap beyond. The only thing I can compare it to is being so absorbed in a novel that you disappear into the fiction and feel emotions that are not your own. The moment the silver wig went on my head, I turned into someone else. It was stunningly unnerving.” (83)

    “Much more, I thought, than I ever would. And suddenly it came to me what being Miriam meant: it had allowed me to experience this meal in an entirely new way. My mother could be difficult, but when she was happy she was uniquely capable of abandoning herself to the moment. By becoming her I had shed the critic, abandoned the appraiser who sat at a distance, weighing each bite, measuring each dish.” (99)
    “I made a note to try to remember these phrases for later use; they might come in handy. I liked the idea of wine assaulting food with criminal intent.” (142)

    “He was pleasant enough, in his own tedious fashion, but like many of the minor editors he secretly resented the critics and reporters in his charge. He took his revenge by cultivating a personal aroma so ferocious that everyone on the third floor routinely plotted alternate routes around his desk. Those forced to spend time in his proximity doused themselves with cologne, which only made his corner of the newsroom more pungent. My own strategy involved gulping entire cloves of garlic before every encounter.” (155)

    “Self-doubt may be healthy, but it is hell on critics. The more I thought these things, the more difficult my work became. I went to the office every day and sat at my computer, staring at the keyboard, willing the words to come. Stubbornly they stayed away. You could read it in my reviews: those that weren’t mean were dull.” (262)

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