my favorite things about Michigan, a fond farewell

photo from wikipedia, taken by Lars Lentz, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 1.0

1. my family and friends
2. the beaches of Lake Michigan, with long slopes of sand and rolling dunes
3. foodie destinations: zingermans, trattoria stella, journeyman cafe, uncommon grounds, captain sundae, schuler books and music, simply wine, foods for living, Okemos farmer's market, Holland farmer's market
4. memories of the 26 years I lived in "the magical mitten"
5. two of my three alma maters, Alma College and Michigan State University...oh, and I suppose I should throw in my k-12 schooling at West Ottawa, places that all contributed to my eggheadedness:)

somehow a list seems incomplete, but if I think in full sentences this morning I'll focus more on the sadness of what I'm leaving than the exciting possibilities that await me in Wisconsin...

I'll catch up with you on the other side of the Lake...

last desserts

Friday's the big day: we load up the 16 foot Penske truck with all my worldly goods. There's much questioning about the size of the said truck: will it be large enough to hold all my boxes? I'll spend the night at my parents' home and then make the drive to WI on Saturday morning to unload with the help of my new colleagues/friends.

Yesterday I baked my last goodies in this kitchen that I've hated yet grown accustomed to, with its dark pressed wood cabinets and annoying refrigerator that insists on freezing my baby lettuces...

First I made a cute two layer six inch chocolate cake, which I'm just about to frost. I'm bringing it to Grandpa C, who loves sweets, but particularly chocolate cake. He's refinished a Hoosier cabinet for my new place and I promised to pay in chocolate cake.

Then I made an ultra rustic peach and blueberry galette, with Michigan peaches and my own family's blueberries (I have many stories about that to come). I had to dig my rolling pin out of the box it was already packed in, and attempt to maneuver it on the small counter space left free during the packing frenzy. The pastry crumbled and fell all apart, so I had to press it back together...It certainly wasn't the prettiest of galettes, but it was tasty.

My friend K came over to spend the night and we enjoyed the tart and tumblers full of wine (as I already packed my nice stemware). K and I are friends from college--we were the two highest officers in our--brace yourself--sorority (more on that another time:)--as well as editors on our college newspaper (she was editor-in-chief and I was Features). We caught up on college gossip and discussed the travails of young motherhood and single life, respectively. We're planning a visit for her family to come to WI and go to a Packers game (her husband is a HUGE sports fan)...we have to wait until Brett Favre retires to get tickets, but it will certainly be an adventure (especially for me, as I'm functionally football illiterate).

759 pages, 6 hours

I spent my afternoon with Harry and the gang. Won't write anything else 'til I know it's safe to discuss...but I have some thoughts on the form that I'm itching to discuss:)

One vastly overlooked benefit of completing grueling PhD comprehensive exams (think 3 subject areas, 150+ works to read and be ready to write about and discuss with unerring intelligence and eloquence) is the ability to read. Smartly. Lightning speedily. I may no longer remember the publication dates and corresponding historical significance of Nathaniel Hawthorne's great works; the allusions and influences of each of Pound's cantos; or the nuanced differences between radical, liberal, first, second, and third wave feminisms; but I have retained my ability to read at all speeds.

claudio corallo, chocolate god

Photo by Medicaster. Cacao tree in Hawaii Botanical Gardens. Wikipedia

I first read about chocologist Claudio Corallo in Chloé Doutre-Roussel’s delightful book, *The Chocolate Connoisseur: For Everyone with a Passion for Chocolate.* (note: I was fortunate to attend a chocolate tasting at Zingerman’s with Chloé, an event that transformed my relationship to chocolate). At the time of publication, Claudio Corallo’s chocolates were sold exclusively at Fortnum & Mason (where Doutré-Roussel is the chocolate buyer--what a job, no?), not available to chocophiles worldwide. Now, these amazing chocolates are available and...

But first, a bit of background on Corallo. According to Doutre-Roussel, Corallo was the creative force behind the plantation lines for Pralus, my previous number one chocolate. Corallo’s family’s small plantation in Sao Tomé e Principé is the site of their chocolate production, and Corallo is dedicated to keep chocolate plain, eschewing some of processing we’re used to in order to create chocolates that taste, well, like chocolate...

Last time I was at Zingerman’s I spied a new addition--a row of Corallo chocolates, but was unable to taste and buy at the time. This week I made my farewell visit to my favorite gourmety foodie mecca in Michigan, and decided it was time to purchase and to taste. I came home with a 75% bar--well, actually, when I opened the vacuum sealed packet (intriguing in its simplicity--silver vacuum pack with a white tag with limited info about the treat inside), I giddily discovered three bars. I snapped off a bite...well, as snappy as it could be given the less than ideal chocolate storing conditions here in my home...smelled its complex, warm wonder; and popped it in my mouth.

I nearly cried. Complex yet simple. Primitive. Wild. Rich, with a much less refined and creamy texture of most other chocolates, the flavor seeped into my whole being, and suddenly, poor Pralus was demoted to the number two spot. And I love the juxtaposition of the clean, modern lines of the packaging, and the old and otherwordly simplicity of the chocolate inside.

up north adventures: sassy scrams and tiny bubbles

artwork from wikipedia, 1915 English magazine illustration of a lady riding a champagne cork
From The Lordprice Collection, copyright license found at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

Two years ago H, S, and I discovered the delicious foods at Kejara's Bridge, a little cafe smack dab in the middle of the Leelanau Peninsula. I still remember sitting out in the garden, dodging bees, and feeling more than a little windswept, as we ate our fresh, clean flavored breakfasts. H and I ate there twice this visit, talking about our dreams of buying the place (it's for sale)...a real dream since other lives and other jobs beckon, not to mention a serious lack of capital. But it's fun to imagine the possibilities of a different life.

The most delicious item on the menu, in my mind, is the Sassy Scram (which also happens to have the best name). Three eggs are scrambled with spinach, red and green pepper, red onion, tomato, feta, and white cheddar. Served with whole grain toast and fresh fruit, the concoction makes a lovely breakfast or lunch. I've made similar dishes at home on a random Tuesday when I don't feel like "really cooking," but somehow Kejara's is a bit more delicious, which I suspect has something to do with their much more liberal use of cheese.

The ambience veers towards the boho-hippy, with local art for sale on the walls, an eclectic range of vintage tables, and folksy music. We were lucky enough to listen to Bob Dylan (well, I was. H isn't a big fan of Dylan, but she softened towards his vocal stylings by the end of our lunch). There's something about Dylan's rambling narratives that comforts on days--like this one was--when all I could think about was the melancholy of leaving and moving on to new chapters.

On our last visit, H and I had the pleasure of serendipitously running into an old friend from college who's doing really important and great work.

As my time on the Peninsula drew to a close, H and I had one more destination in mind: the vineyards of Larry Mawby. As I've mentioned before, vineyards dot the land in this region. What distinguishes Mawby is that all his wines are sparkling. He uses the traditional methode champenoise, and his wines are effervescent and lovely. The tasting room rollicks with music that can only be described as *sexy fun*--selections like "Let's Get It On," "Lady Marmalade," and "You Sexy Thing." Between the tiny bubbles and the fun music, H and I were dancing in our chairs, reading all the poetic text on the walls describing the various wines. I bought a half-bottle of Talismon, an estate wine named one of the top 100 wines in the US, and Sandpiper, available only at the vineyard. H bought a bottle of Fizz, a demi-sec sparkler, and Sex, a wine rife with jokes. Add my new purchases to the bottle of Conservancy I bought when I visited last fall, and I'm ready for celebration!

up north adventures: the tao of lake michigan

Last Tuesday morning, I repacked my car and left my parents' home for a mini-break in Northport, Michigan with one of my best friends and her family (minus her husband, who had to return "downstate" to work). I decided to take the scenic route, following 31 up through the coastal towns of Grand Haven, Muskegon, Ludington, and Manistee, before angling over to the peninsula around Benzonia...the drive lulled me into calm joy interrupted with existential quadries about the sheer beauty of the land unfurling outside my car windows. Not being on a strict timetable, I stopped with every whim...for coffee in Manistee, for dried cherries in Glen Arbor, and more coffee and bread in Leland before arriving at the M's home.

The Leelanau Peninsula beckons with rolling dunes, verdant farmland, sumptuous Lake Michigan shores, and a smattering of small communities, each offering a new vista, a delicious eatery or two, and an individual ambience. I love this place. Why? I've been fortunate enough to spend a handful of days there every summer for the past 13 years, as the M's have graciously opened their home to H and her group of giggly, silly, rambunctious friends. Now we're not so rambunctious as we were at the beginning, but we're still giggly and silly, eating chocolate and talking about our dreams. We've grown up--some of us have husbands, some have babies, and some have drifted away. But the place remains, changing a bit with each year as a new winery pops up, or we discover a new favorite place to spread our silliness. This solitary visit didn't supplant the whole group visit, but was a chance for me to temporarily shake off the moving stress.

The Peninsula, and particularly the M's home, has always been my wonder spot, that place where nature's beauty soothes the stressful edges of everyday life, and the constant crash of waves in the background reminds me of the paradox of constant change/non-change.

On Thursday morning, I took a yoga class at the Leelanau Center for Contemplative Arts--yin yoga, which is deeply restorative--and the teacher concluded with a passage from the Tao te Ching, a text I used to read fairly regularly, the lessons of which are especially apropos now. Tears stung my eyes as my relaxation merged with the reminder of something familiar and strengthening.

sad ibook

I'm back from my vacation and have a trillion stories to share, meals to chronicle, and gorgeous vistas to describe. But first, a sad note about my trusty, beloved ibook...I closed the lid quickly, forgetting that my ishuffle cap was resting on my laptop (in retrospect, a really stupid place to set it), and cracked the lcd display. A lovely arcing line of pink and purple frames the right side of my screen. On the bright side, they're my favorite colors...and they're not yet spread to the center of the screen so it's still functional. Here's the ridiculous news about repairing the damage--it costs at a minimum $850 to fix ( well, I did find some cheaper places online but remain skeptical about shipping my ibook off to strangers). Now, a new ibook is $999. Does this make sense? (I'm sure to apple it does, ugh). With all the moving expenses, and not to mention stress, this is just too much for me to deal with now...

I wish I didn't love my ibook so much. But it's not the thing itself as much as what it holds--all my writings, emails, a smattering of photos, and a connection to the wider world. Ahhh. A good Buddhist--and many other faiths and philosophies--would use this as a lesson of being overly attached to "things." I'm afraid I'm not in an overly religio-philosophical frame of mind:(

tea parties, pimento cheese, and ratatouille

photo from Wikipedia; license available at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5/

Balmy. Sticky. Luckily, also breezy. Welcome to summer in the Great Lake State! This morning I ran on the Lake Michigan shores, straight into a driving wind kicking up two foot rolling waves. Exhilarating! My "vacation/last weeks in Michigan" continues with a drive up the shore of Lake Michigan tomorrow to spend a few days visiting my friend H, her daughter, and her parents, in my favorite summertime haunt: the Leelanau Peninsula. I hope to bake a cherry tart for my hosts, and maybe make a dinner from farm fresh produce from the market stands that dot the rolling hills and lake vistas...

This weekend my Mom and I hosted a tea party on my parents' porch for my cousins, aunts, and grandma. The porch is perfect for parties, complete with a cedar swing, lots of chairs, and little tables. My grandma and aunt brought flowers from their gardens--lilies, daisies, and hydrangeas. Mom and I made lemon angel food cake cupcakes, cucumber sandwiches, tomato sandwiches, and a variety of fresh fruits. Grandma brought mini cheesecakes in adorable heart print cupcake papers. My favorite tea party treat, though, is pimento cheese.

Pimento cheese is one of those Southern foods I never actually ate until I moved back North. Go figure. My grandma (who was born and raised in the South), recalls their version of pimento cheese when she was young, which revolved around Velveeta cheese (also a staple for the ubiquitous Rotel dip that peppered grad school parties). My version of pimento cheese is a bit more gourmet-ey, which is the cause for some teasing, but everyone eats it up just the same.

Pimento Cheese:
Grate equal amounts of best extra sharp white and yellow cheddars (now I use Vermont and New York, respectively, but I suspect this will change once I move to the other side of ye ol' Lake), mash with a fork, add a squirt or two of mayonnaise (I use Hellman's Light), and a small jar of diced pimentos (drained). Add black pepper and cayenne pepper (powder or sauce) to taste. Mash it up real good, refrigerate (preferably overnight so the flavors meld), and serve with celery, bread, crackers, pretzels, crostini, anything, really. Drink a glass of sweet tea on the side.

Today I took two of my cousins to see *Ratatouille,* which has received rave reviews from other bloggers AND the NYT film critics. What a fun, thoughtful film! Such a delightful foodie movie, and I'm so glad I could share it with my cousins.

happily ever after!

photo from wikipedia


Tonight I took a break from packing another round of boxes and drove to Stucchi's for frozen yogurt, with visions of Laura's French flower cones in mind (check out her blog at http://www.lauraflorand.com/blog/). Of course, my cone wasn't nearly as pretty, or probably as delicious as those farm fresh glaces, but YUMM. After tasting several varieties, I settled on toasted coconut--a vanilla base with chocolate covered toasted coconut. In an old school sugar cone. Ice cream is simply fun, and it's hard to be stressed or sad when you're enjoying the chilly treat. Especially when you're also watching a glorious sunset spread across the sky--big billowy cloud turned hot pink and orange against a deep blue backdrop.

I'm pleased to add some new visual details to my blog! Check out the neat library program at LibraryThing... My next step is figuring out how to add hyperlinks...I suspect this has something to do with my browser which I will switch when I have more time and a faster connection to download a new one, so please be patient with my old school links. Oh dear, I used "old school" twice already in this post!

Two exciting updates on the writing front: I wrote the HEA (happily ever after) for Sam and Lily today! This is monumental. Not because the novel's finished. (I wish! I've kinda been skipping around). No, it's huge because in the past I could never write the end. So to write a happy (albeit tearful) scene of reunion and potential bliss makes me feel like I've summitted some kind of mountain of my own (to follow through on Sam's mountain moment metaphor:)

And today I discovered that one of my scholarly articles is online! The article appears in *Searching the Soul of Ally McBeal,* published last fall and edited by the talented Elwood Watson. And now, someone has included my article on an online archive of sources about Bridget Jones (I look at Bridget and Ally together. And defend their search for LOVE. And defend their NEUROSES).

boxes, bob dylan, and bookaholicism

photo from wikipedia

This is the week I am forced to start packing. Seriously packing. 25 days 'til moving day. Since college, I have a history of not being completely packed when my dear family shows up to load cars, trucks, and trailers full of my belongings. Over the years, my possessions (mainly books and kitchen supplies) have multiplied, but my ability to be completely packed by moving day has not changed. I could recount many a tearful, stressful, and irritated scene, but will leave this to your imagination. I have vowed publicly that this time I'll be all packed. You know that song by Queen and David Bowie, featured in that film with the cute Josh Hartnett (whatever happened to him, BTW?), *40 Days and 40 Nights,* that's now feaured on various commercials where people are all stressed out, and the refrain is "under pressure"? That would be me.

During my post-prandial stroll (yet another packing stalling technique and sanity saver these stressful days), I listened to a little Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm," which made me think of Sam on the mountain, and, more importantly, coming off of the mountain and finding Lily. "Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved. Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm..." (Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm")

After walking, I picked up the novel *The Baker's Apprentice,* to read just a chapter before filling the empty boxes awaiting my prized possessions. I realized, several chapters later, that books are my drug of choice. Not exactly an epiphany, but something about my current situation and all the real work I have to do throws my quasi-addiction in relief. "Put the book DOWN, Jessica, and just walk away," I muttered more than once. Does my ability to actually walk away save me? Are books an inherently dangerous addiction? You know how those 18th century folks worried about the influence of novels on impressionable young women...

mojitos and men on mountaintops

photo of the Keyhole on Longs Peak, from wikipedia, taken by J. Benjamin Wildeboer

In some circles, I'm known as Martha, after Martha Stewart, for my cooking craft, and in other circles I'm known for making a mean mojito. One relative-of-a-relative actually calls me Mojito Martha. Last night I made the first mojitos of the summer with some gorgeous, fragrant mint from the farmer's market...this time I actually went to the little trouble of making a mint syrup, but you can just as easily muddle the mint and sugar in the bottom of a glass. Add a shot of golden rum, juice of one lime, ice cubes, and top off with club soda for a refreshing, painless drink. Painless until you realize you've downed two of them and these days one drink is enough to provoke tipsy laughter and true confessions. Have another drink and who knows what might happen...

So I've placed Sam, my RN hero, on a mountaintop. Cliche? Perhaps. But I realized I needed something BIG to provoke his romantic "come to Jesus" moment. Losing his job didn't do the trick, neither had moving back to his hometown. I drew on my own experience climbing Longs Peak, a "fourteener" in Rocky Mountain NP, for Sam's big moment.

Long's Peak can be climbed non-technically--that is, without ropes, harnesses, all of the trappings of "real" rock climbing. In 2001, I spent about six weeks working at Shadowcliff lodge in Grand Lake, CO, and planned a climb with my co-workers. In typical dharmagirl fashion, I read everything I could about the climb, and prepared physically and mentally. The books made the climb sound challenging but not difficult (if that contradiction even makes sense). In reality, the climb was grueling, a 14 hour event that saw several missteps, including losing my footing on a particularly steep portion of the climb, just yards away from the summit. Thank goodness for my friend N, the British bloke who pushed me back up and kept me from sliding into a rocky abyss. This climb was transformative--a testament to my resilience in the face of challenges, and a certain tenacity that isn't always apparent when I feel muddled with insecurity and uncertainty.

So what better experience to give to Sam, who needs something larger than life, larger than himself to propel him back to Lily? I have him stop his climb at the Keyhole, a definitive moment that all the guidebooks say is where most people who fail to summit turn around, as the immensity of the mountain becomes apparent. You have to step through a keyhole shaped opening in the rock to a narrow ledge on the other side to wind up closer to the summit. And this is all at 6.2 miles into the 8 mile hike to the summit...turning around when you're that close takes a certain emotional truth that I want Sam to realize and to redirect.

retro photo dharmagirl

As you can see from the camera I'm using in this photo, I'm still old school. Retro. Non-digital. Hence the text-only blogging thus far. I love the food, flower, and place photos in other blogs, so I'm--gasp--researching digital cameras. To purchase. Sometimes, even the best text cannot convey the visceral emotion of a photo.

caprese and affogato

A perfect salad consists of a balance of flavors and textures, a sense of proportion, and a delight of architectural aesthetics. I can name only a handful of salads that have come close to achieving my Platonic Ideal of salad:

1. A summer salad of bibb lettuce, fresh cherries, and some other ingredients I can't quite now recall, since I ate the salad last year. What I most remember about this salad is how perfectly it was dressed--the vinaigrette clung to the leaves and none pooled on the plate. That takes talent. Place: Trattoria Stella in Traverse City, MI. A slow food restaurant located in an old mental hospital...

2. Caprese salad of baby greens, grape tomatoes, mini fresh mozzarella balls (I know there's an Italian word for these but it escapes my mind this morning...), roasted red peppers, pesto, balsamic glaze, and parmesan frico. Not your classic caprese, and with such an array of ingredients the salad could devolve into confusion. But. The flavors were perfectly balanced. What a lovely treat. Place: Courthouse Pub in Manitowoc, WI.A super restaurant where the Chef walks around and checks on diners. A Wine Spectator Award of Excellence recipient. I had a glass of Crios Torrontes, a wonderful fresh, floral, complex, refreshing springy wine I bought for Easter dinner this year from Ed, the dreamy wine guy from Simply Wine in Birmingham, MI.

Last night I enjoyed my first Affogato ("drowned"), in this case vanilla ice cream drowned with espresso. Good espresso--creamy, smooth, rich, and complex. None of those sharp, jangly edges that can come from poorly prepared espresso. Imagine the possibilities--cinnamon ice milk with espresso. Or coffee ice cream with espresso for a jolt of pure energy...as it was, the caffeine kept me awake on my drive home from Ann Arbor. Fireflies flitted over the expressway and congregated in the ditches to share their joissance...ahhh, summer.

field to fork

One of the most exciting finds from my Wisconsin trip is a restaurant/gourmet shop/foodie gem in downtown Sheboygan. After a day filled with frustration, tears, annoying calls from a quasi-stalker potential landlord, and a decision on a cute apartment a few blocks from Lake Michigan (not owned by aforementioned landlord), Mom and I drove down the coast to Sheboygan for lunch. I had seen an ad for Field to Fork in a brochure at a local coffee shop (more on that crazy place later), and hoped that the food, ambience, and grocery would be as wonderful as I imagined.

High expectations can be dangerous, and many, many a time this tendency of mine towards grand visions has ended in serious disappointment. I am, therefore, elated to report that Field to Fork exceeded my expectations. The restaurant has wide, old, knotty wood floors, an open grill, a handful of tables on the ground floor and an open loft with more seating. Our waiter was bubbly and kind, and the food! The food was delicious and well/ethically sourced. The philosophy of the place is to use local, sustainable foods where possible, but not to exclude other delectable gems from around the world (like the San marzano tomatoes in my Ceci bean soup). The grilled cheese feature Wisconsin cheeses, of course, and was a real treat grilled in butter (unlike the more healthful olive oil I use at home).

I ate a few bites of my soup (ceci beans--like garbanzo?, tomatoes, rosemary pesto) and felt the jangly edges of new beginnings and uncried tears soothed by the comfort of good food. I envisioned Saturday mornings spent driving down to Sheboygan for yoga classes, a delicious lunch at F2F, a quick shopping trip from their gracious cases (they have milk in glass bottles! and Italian pastas! and San marzano tomatoes!), and then meandering back up the lakeshore to settle in with a stack of student papers...okay, there is where my dreamy fantasy breaks down when faced with prosaic reality.

hot child in the city, er, country

I'm sitting in the air conditioned comfort of the Herrick Public Library in Holland, while outside hazy skies and escalating temperatures reign. Lake Michigan beckons with the promise of refreshing waves (well, since there's little breeze, the waves might be a bit hyperbolic, but a girl can hope)...which is why I'm still hanging out with my family and not boiling away in my limited AC apartment. I purposely left my laptop at home so I WOULDN'T hang out here, but you can see how well that strategy worked. And now I'm experiencing blogging and emailing withdrawal...with SO many stories from my Wisconsin journey to chronicle, and so many cliff hangers on other blogs, limited computer access is a serious inconvenience. So I'll give you a little preview, a little tease for entries to come (forgive my lapse from parallel structure--my free internet time is about expired): **list has been edited because the lack of parallel structure ruins the list, or so saith dharmagirl now that she's reunited with her trusty iBook**

1. My new home is cozy, charming, and located blocks from Lake Michigan
2. My new colleagues are wonderful--funny, kind, smart, and sociable
3. The drive through Chicago is helacious
4. The ubiquity of football helmet bars (Badgers and Packers) in my new town is humorous and frightening
5. The outlet shopping possibilities between MI and WI are amazing...and amazingly dangerous:)
6. The great foodie mecca Field to Fork in Sheboygan promises many a fine degustation
7. Good coffee and wine abound in my corner of WI
8. My new office is posh and non-institutional (a crucial distinction from the office I've recently vacated)
9. Phantom Deer cause much consternation and jubilation at 1:00am in Berrien County, MI
10.My Lady of Leisure Days are drawing to a close as packing, partying, and preparing shape my next four weeks

berried bliss

... a recipe to celebrate the eve of the summer solstice...

WASH and pat dry fresh, local strawberries at the height of ripeness...
MELT, in a small saucepan, over low heat, chocolate (any combination will do. I used a handful of ghiradelli dark chocolate chips and a smidgen of an *insane* 99% michel cluizel bar)...
POUR melted chocolate in a small bowl...
DIP berries into chocolate and savor while looking out the window at the fireflies cavorting in the blue-black night, which will likely cause the chocolate to drip all over the place, but pay no attention...
FORAGE other tasty morsels, like whole raw almonds or organic pretzel sticks to twirl in the cooling chocolate when strawberries are gone...
SMILE. FORGET that you're supposed to be reading Pierre Bourdieu, and instead rest up for the longest day of the year.

meta-narration

Happy Birthday to my Dad! I listened to Rascal Flatts' "My Wish" in his honor (he gave my brother and me the CD last fall because that song made him think of us, so sweet). It's an apt song for a time of transition...

Thanks to Laura's encouraging words and a long walk today when all I could write was page after page of dialogue (do these people never shut up?!?), I have developed a narrative structure to allow for the characters' place-based po-mo fluidity. Scarily enough, it involves drawing on some po-mo theory of identity/subjectivity/narrative...which will work wonderfully with a *surprise* meta-narrative device that fell into the story last week. And, Lily's (heroine) Mom happens to be a professor, so this structure can work into the existing character pool and plot...now, if I can only correctly remember the aforementioned po-mo theory from my grad school days when it was de rigueur...

Last night I cooked my first meal of the season using exclusively local produce! Well, not local by locavore standards, but from the greater Holland area where I bought my fruits and veggies at the outstanding farmer's market. I'm reading *The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter* by Peter Singer and Jim Mason and thinking about the many implications, personal and political (which are inseperable, yes?), of what we choose to consume. I'll have a whole post on that soon enough. Anyway, the book is as transformative a read as Michael Pollan's *The Omnivore's Dilemma* was last year. Whereas Pollan made me more emotionally connected, Singer and Mason engage a much more complex, analytical perspective. They resist simple platitudes, like the "local, sustainable, organic" mantra, by exploring the multi-faceted ethical quandries such decisions pose.

Finally, my excitement grows for my scouting trip to WI this weekend. Serendipitously, my future colleagues are having a party so I'll have a chance to meet everyone again, this time without the pressure of an 11 hour interview. Yes, 11 hours. (I hope to convince my PhD Friends to blog with me about the insane rigors of The Academic Job Search, in which the full story of that day might be revealed, but I'm afraid our potential blogging will get bogged down in the act of naming. I'm fond of MLAgirl, but know that would only engender a discussion of girl v. woman v. womyn v. grrrl. I miss such debates!)

50 K

No, this isn't some insanely long race I'm training for, but rather the phenomenal news that I've *finally* crossed the 50,000 word count on my RN! Hoorah! I'm fully aware that it's rather arbitrary, and a mark of quantity rather than quality, but I'm pleased just the same.

The weekend was full of family--graduation party for 2 cousins and father's day celebrations. I'll miss my family dearly when I move across the Lake, a move that's becoming more real with every passing day and every packed box. I rented my moving truck today...and will (hopefully) find a new home when I visit WI this weekend.

Strawberries continue to feature prominently in my daily cuisine. Now I can add cherries, sugar peas, and summer squashes to the list of available local foods! Hoorah again! I know I'll be tired of the squashes in a month, but for now, they're a lovely new addition to my meals.

post-modern romance hero?

Thanks to Laura for her kind post to my "Lady of Leisure" musings. I read her book *Blame It on Paris* (loved it--I highly recommend it. The scene with her French beau and her brother shooting in the Georgia woods is hilarious, as is the scene with her friend "sampling" chocolates in a Paris chocolate boutique...I could go on, but I'll let you discover the book for yourself). Then, I wanted to find out more info on book and author, found her blog, and here we are. I love how this technology expands the words on the page into another world where writers and readers can connect and find a community of kindred spirits:)

I've been working on my RN, and I'm almost to that elusive 50,000 word count. Now, the story has all kinds of problems, mainly that it's episodic and the plot elements need real attention. Maybe this is my narrative style: create interesting characters, place them in geographical locations I love and know, allow them endless witty repartee, include minute details of desserts and clothing, throw in a little "yadda yadda yadda," and repeat...

Recently I read about the value of "flow"--that is, losing oneself in an enjoyable activity. And it had been a long time since I experienced writing "flow," but I did the other night when I decided it was time to take Lily, the RN heroine, to Alabama, where Sam, the hero, is originally from...I conjured up some of my favorite places, tried to remember the name of roads, and thought about a Yankee's first impression of the Deep South, which took me back ten years ago (!) to the hot September when I moved to Alabama.

An interesting thing happened to my characters, especially Sam. He changed into such a different person, because of the place and because of his family, it was rather uncanny. I want to keep this mulit-faceted aspect of his character, but how to make it ring true and not inconsistent?

And the academic side of me starts wondering how to write characters who represent post-modern fluidity in the romance genre, which hearkens back to more sentimental models of writing in which characters have a stable core...blah blah blah. If I somehow manage to pull this off I will be very proud:)

home is where the food is

The strawberry tart....mmmmm. Crispy, buttery, crumbly crust. Sweet, thick jam. Lush berries. Tangy creme fraiche. What's not to love?

I'm working on a scholarly article on Amanda Hesser's *Cooking for Mr. Latte* and did a little googling last night to see what a range of readers had to say about the book. People can be really mean! I found a forum on Chowhound that summarily dismissed the column and book because of unnecessary romantic details. Now, I never read the column, but the book clearly states in the full title (Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship, with Recipes) that this is going to be a tale of courtship. How could one have a courtship story w/o love details? And then some of the romance readers diss the book's emphasis on food, which they think detracts from the love story. I throw up my hands in frustration for Hesser...but for my argument (that the book is creating a new hybrid genre), these vehement reactions work beautifully.

Food, love. All about coming home to oneself, to another.

Writing has become more difficult, as I'm trying to take my moving preparations more seriously. The chaos of books and bags of paper to be hauled to the recycling center are cluttering my physical and psychic space. Yesterday I finally finished paring down my foodie magazine collection--years of Bon Appetit, Gourmet, Food and Wine, a few scattered Martha Stewart Living, Cooking Light, and Vegetarian Times added to the mix. I flipped through the magazines, tearing out recipes that made me want to head to the kitchen, and dumping the rest of the magazine in the increasing pyramid of printed material to recycle. Eight trips up and down the stairs, my G6 is filled with food writing...and my home is a little less chaotic, if less filled with myriad food possibilities.

And then there's the mental distraction of not having a home in WI yet. I've called a few places and have a least one solid lead, but now I need to go see it in person. Next week! I'm trying to decide whether to go a bit cheaper to allow me to save more $ to buy a place of my own sooner. Somehow that seems more responsible and grown up, which is both heartening and a little scary. I've started dreaming of my ideal home, and my dreams always begin with the kitchen...