Books & Bakes February

photo by Sir Cecil Beaton, 1938

If you squint, don't I sort of, kind of, look like Gertrude? I even have a poodle! My Alice B. Toklas is Mirtha (just the cooking part), and I'm getting ready to have another group over to discuss Monique Truong's novel The Book of Salt. Because the book is about a Vietnamese chef who works for the legendary couple, our menu is both French and Vietnamese. We'll start with Pate and Gherkins and French cheese and crackers while sipping on a French rose. Dinner is a Vietnamese Noodle Salad with Shrimp, Beef or Vegetable Pho and Tofu Bahn Mi. For dessert I've shined up my rusty French pastry skills (another life) and made a Vacherin with Berries and some Ginger Black Peppercorn French Ice Cream. I won't divulge what happened to my first meringue.  Did it burn in our ancient oven that predates Gertrude herself? I'll never tell. I told you that I'm rusty, a far cry from this gal who cooked in a four-star New York City restaurant back in the day under one of those maniacal pastry chefs you read about and an equally maniacal French-Swiss-Hong Kong chef who yelled so much, his white face turned pink and his tall chef's hat nearly blew off with the steam from it. Never at me, though. Never.

The ice-cream base nearly boiled over, too, but I saved it in the nick of time, and it's now sitting in an ice bath, slices of ginger and tiny multi-colored peppercorns steeping away. Oh, la, la.

Wish you were here.

A Latin America Food and Marquez Feast: Group Two

I held my second Books & Bakes literary and food salon last night with another ten people. Mirtha made her Latin menu again, and I baked a red wine chocolate cake with a red wine chocolate glaze. I think the night went really well -- so interesting how different the two groups were and how different the conversation and discussion. This group was a mix of close friends, people I don't see very often but whom I really like, my friend Sally from San Francisco, and a woman whom I'd never met who found the salon through my blog! I felt so privileged to be in all their company and grateful that this small dream came true. I can't wait until next month when we'll be discussing Monique Truong's novel The Book of Salt and eating, probably, a combination of French and Vietnamese food. Although it's quickly filling up, I still have some spots in both groups on February 13th and February 27th, so email me if you're interested!

Interesting fact: The Book of Salt is a novel about a Vietnamese chef who works for Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. When I originally envisioned this salon, I fancied/dreamt of a bohemian type thing with women and men and artists and writers and musicians and thinkers and cooks who come and go. I've always fantasized about being a sort of Gertrude Stein with a monolithic head (physically, not figuratively) and body, married to a small woman who adores me. Ha! So weird that I picked that book and it's about them! I guess there are no accidents.

Another Interesting fact: Monique Truong worked on the manuscript of her book while a resident at Hedgebrook, the place that awarded me a residency in June! I only learned that when I read through her acknowledgements. What are the chances? I think that's a good omen, no?

Books and Bakes

I've been plotting and scheming in my mind for quite some time to establish a sort of reading and eating salon and this weekend, with the help of my sister Jennifer and my friend Moye, I designed my first announcement and put it up on Facebook. Within about 30 minutes, the ten spots were filled, so I added another date and those are just about filled up, too. In case you're in California in January, and particularly in Los Angeles, I'll show you what I advertised, so you can sign up as well! I plan on having these groups twice monthly and envision a lively literary thing where we eat, drink, make merry and discuss some literature, facilitated by me. Part of my life plan is to morph into Gertrude Stein and be surrounded by interesting people all while paying no attention to what I'm wearing or how short my hair is or how monolithic my body and head (literally, as I don't want a big head figuratively). I'd welcome an Alice B. Toklas, too, but it'd be a stretch for me to go all the way, if you know what I mean.

BOOKS & BAKES

A Literary and Food Salon

January 9th, 2015 from 7 to 10 pm

January 23rd, 2015 from 7 to 10 pm

Strange Pilgrims by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Are you a lover of literature but stuck in a book group that never really discusses the book? Are you a lover of food but want to cut through the pretension of the foodie world? Do you revel in devouring both beautiful fiction and food, especially when they intersect? Are you looking for a unique gift for your loved ones or yourself? Come join a community of like-minded souls and share your love of literature and food at my first Books & Bakes literary and food salon. Salon size is limited to 10, so rsvp early! A light dinner, drinks and stimulating conversation are included.
$75.00 per person includes facilitated discussion about Strange Pilgrims, related food and alcohol.

Email Elizabeth Aquino at elsophie@gmail.com for more information

Gertrude Stein, IEPs, Conservatorships and Books

I'm doing laundry and researching conservatorships. Sophie turns eighteen next March, and I have to divest her of her rights, basically, and become her guardian. Sigh. I'm also preparing for her IEP is this Friday morning, and her teacher asked whether I wanted her to be there. I told him that no, IEPs are always about what she can't do, and I don't want her to hear that. I also don't want to fill what peaceful, hard-working spaces are left in her brain with the educational jargon the IEP demands. Those of you in the know, know what I'm talking about: achieve 65% success with 92% accuracy and 50% prompting. When this involves using a spoon to feed yourself, you get my drift. I'm also listening to a cool recording of Gertrude Stein from 1934, where she chastises the interviewer on what it means to understand a text. I loved reading Gertrude Stein in college -- read nearly everything she wrote and relished the weird cadence of her language, the koan-like nonsense. Evidently, my enjoyment presupposes understanding, and in this one wonderful interview, Stein affirms what I've always believed and never articulated: either you like a book or not, and the liking is the understanding. I wish I'd known that when I labored for hours in an all-male book club in New York City, nodding my head in deferment to wiser minds that appeared to understand but not enjoy. In another life I was married to a PhD student in English literature, and I remember suffering through interminably boring get-togethers and parties where graduate students spoke of literature with verbal gymnastics that made my head spin (I was always a terrible athlete) but never of liking something or disliking something, of joy or its opposite. Do these people even like to read? I asked my husband at the time. Maybe I'm just slightly off -- I've written before of my envy for Gertrude Stein, for her massive head and unattractive hair, for her seeming comfort in her own bulk and obtuseness. After five straight days of exercise and yoga, I can feel every muscle and sinew in my body, and they ache. Would that I were Gertrude in a voluminous black dress, sitting in a salon with a mousy helpmate cooking something delicious in the kitchen, spinning words into stories that make no sense except to those who enjoy them.

Look here. Being intelligible is not what it seems. You mean by understanding that you can talk about it in the way that you have a habit of talking, putting it in other words. But I mean by understanding enjoyment. If you enjoy it, you understand it. And lots of people have enjoyed it so lots of people have understood it. . . . But after all you must enjoy my writing, and if you enjoy it you understand it. If you do not enjoy it, why do you make a fuss about it? There is the real answer.

(via brainpickings.org)

The dryer just binged, so it's back to folding clothes.

Reader, what are you doing today?

Ouch

via Writing Time

They might have said, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Musings

My good friend S and I had a fantabulous lunch today at Mozza-- the most perfect chopped salad of lettuces and herbs and salami and the thinnest slices and bits of cheese and a sprinkling of herbs and just enough acid, was it lemon or vinegar -- in the dressing. And then we had two little pizzas -- on the most perfect crust, completely devoid of grease -- tiny little clams that tasted in one bite exactly like the sea and on the other thin slivers of artichokes and a bite of lemon taking the edge off some kind of creamy cheese. S had a glass of wine because it was her birthday lunch, and I took a couple of sips from it and it tasted like flowers. And then we had dessert -- spoonfuls of butterscotch pudding with a hidden crunch of Maldon sea salt, so faint that the sharpness was a surprise that disappeared in the puff of thick sauce that came with it and the finish of light, airy whipped cream. We just about ran our fingers in the glass and licked them, it was so good.

On the way out we kept talking, mainly sharing stories of our daughters who both have special needs. I gave her a big bag of clothes that Sophie had grown out of and remarked on the rickety stroller in the back of my car that I need to replace. I need to buy a new one, and the insurance company doesn't cover wheelchair/strollers. The stroller will cost at least $2500 and I just don't have that now or, for that matter, in the near future. And then I remarked that I understand insurance companies cover Viagra, that drug that helps older men maintain erections. S has the same sense of humor as me and she pointed out that I should write about it and call it:

SPECIAL NEEDS MUSINGS

So here's one:

I wonder if I could get a prescription for Viagra, cash it in over time and buy a wheelchair for Sophie?

OR

I wonder if there's a black market for Diastat, the rectal valium that we have to keep on hand for emergencies. Each package has exactly two doses, already in their syringes, and they cost $450 each (without insurance), and I always have to make a case for how much we need them whenever I refill them.

I could perhaps stockpile the Diastat (since the insurance company suspects that's what I'm doing) for real and have a rectal valium party where people pay for their dose.

And then there's another blogger friend, Ms. Moon, who mused on her own personal vanity as she slowly gets ready to be a grandmother. Even though I'm nowhere near being a grandmother, I spend an inordinate amount of time being vain -- about my weight, about my appearance, about the loss of my skinny, young, carefree self -- you'd think I had nothing else to worry about. HA!

Another Musing

I wonder whether Gertrude Stein worried about what she looked like. I like to think not. That she had somehow come to a state of peace and sat, immobile, on her literary throne, waited on hand and foot (and loved) by the even uglier Alice B. Toklas, eating incredible food, entertaining the greatest literary and artistic talents of the day. I want to be like Gertrude Stein.