I've long been unsure how to talk or even write about things of substance. This is in part because I'm introverted and hold my thoughts close, disclosing the deep and tricky things to only a few. I don't need nor want to "join the conversation" on Twitter, and in fact deleted my Twitter last year because I found it all so pointless and echo-chamber-y. (That and social media is where nuance and empathy go to die.) But I've also never been a person who can view an artwork or read a poem or watch a documentary and say with conviction, "That was stunning and powerful." These are statements made so often, tossed around about literally everything, that they feel utterly meaningless to me. If the sunset is stunning and the sour cherry pie is stunning and the painting that took the artist years to complete is stunning and the documentary that exposes deeply ingrained societal flaws is stunning, what isn't stunning?
But also, I don't take myself seriously enough to trust my own opinions, which in turn means I don't always act on my convictions. (Imposter syndrome + crippling self-doubt strike hard, though I'm learning to fight back.) And despite my best efforts to not care what other people think, I do — especially about opinions from people who are smarter than me.
I didn't come to the freelance food life in a (heavy air quotes) "traditional" way. I didn't study journalism or writing. I didn't work for a student newspaper. I’m not from New York City; I didn’t move there to pursue a job in big food media. I didn't go to culinary school. I didn't work at a restaurant (unless you count a Pizza Hut on an Air Force base). Instead, I grew up on a farm, moved away and saw the world beyond it when I was 13, went to a small liberal arts college, majored in Russian, and then ended up working for a cookbook author, which led to where I am now: editing, consulting, recipe developing, and writing by contract. (There's a lot more in between all of that, obviously, and I've been around long enough to know that "traditional" is a ruse, that there is no one path to anything.) I’m rarely sure of my place in food media and constantly self-interrogate. What exactly am I doing here? What do I want my work — that of a white woman writing about food — to do, to evoke, to say?
The vastness of the deeply ingrained problems surrounding food — farms on land stolen from Indigenous people, nutrition + wellness commodified, whole communities blocked from accessing fresh food, writers marginalized into telling their stories through the white gaze of a trend, the demand for cheap eats, workers in farms and factories facing dismal conditions and little compensation, and on and on and on — completely and utterly overwhelm me. It's all connected, don't you see it? Everything is woven together, interdependent on systems working in tandem, and for what, exactly? Who is the beneficiary? Who gets access to tell the story? Why can’t people tell their own stories, and when they do, why don’t we listen? What is lost when a story is filtered through the lens of someone who can’t identify with the subject’s circumstances? What biases does the writer bring with them, and does their work question and examine those biases or simply confirm them?
But being overwhelmed doesn't mean I can't pull at the strings, little by little, to untangle the mess just a little bit each time. I also know I’m not alone, that I can share and amplify the work of those who've long been digging and tugging and yanking the pieces apart. Those people include:
Click through those links for some examples of their work and then, if you don’t already, follow them via Insta or Twitter or their newsletters or set up Google alerts or whatever you do to follow people on the Internet these days!!!
If you've read most of my stuff before, you may view these words as a departure, or a sudden change in how I consider food and food writing. Most (though not all) of my work to date treated food as fluff, as lifestyle product, as a fun escape. A big reason I quit a full-time job at a highly respected news organization is because that is exactly what much of my work was: recommending recipes to readers, mostly in an effort to draw eyeballs to older recipes and grow website traffic. We can pretend that (heavy air quotes) "articles" featuring mainly recipe recommendations are a way to connect with people, to help them decide what to cook, but when those recipes are all self-referencing and tied with a neat little bow of a headline designed to draw your click, then you, the reader, surely see through that, right?
(This topic, fluff vs. depth in food, is a subject I’ll return to several times. It’s not simple nor easily distilled into bite-size, silky smooth, easily digestible pieces. But then again, what is?)
Now that I've been freelancing for more than a year, I'm still building my writing strength. It truly is a muscle, and my oh my were my muscles atrophied. ~These times~ haven’t helped, either; I’m not one of those people who became suddenly filled with urge to create something once I found myself with more time at home. And I'm still working up to a moment when I feel that I'm qualified to tackle subjects of more depth, with a possibility to create actual change, to really be worth sometime's time, because there is too much damn #content out there and if you're going to spend your precious time reading, it better be worth it. (And I know that this "moment of feeling qualified" is also a sham; that's the imposter in me, telling me to stay quiet because what do I really know?)
So here’s the deal with this newsletter: I’ll still provide recipes, because I still want you to cook. Recipes will frequently include substitution ideas because I still think that’s a valuable skill to learn. But I don’t want this to be food as an escape, recipes as a distraction, locally sourced as an aesthetic. Food can be something fun and entertaining, and that’s fine to a point. But if you pay attention and look a little closer to ask *where* your food comes from and *who* exactly is responsible for getting that food to your plate, then the veneer and glam of a pretty food photo will probably begin to dull. I’m not going to be all doom and gloom, but neither will I pretend like everything is fine. I’m not going to be perfect and I reallyreallyreally don’t want this to read as someone swooping into your inbox to shame your eating choices. (Also who is perfect? Absolutely no one, that’s who.)
I’d like to get back to writing this once a week, but I’m a ssslloooowww writer, so I’ll forgive myself if I miss a week in between sometimes. Hope you will, too.
This week’s recipe, pictured up top, is simple, refreshing, and very green. It’s a take on a celery agua fresca my mom made back in the days of she, my sister, and I having a food blog (!); she in turn adapted it from Cocina y Comparte (which, as it happens, also has a similar recipe to the one I’m sharing). It’s tasty as is, but also quite good spiked with white or amber rum, or tequila or mezcal. I call it “green drink” or “cucumber celery agua fresca” because calling it “agua de apio y pepino” feels a smidge performative to me, a person of white and Mexican heritage who didn’t grow up speaking Spanish and is only now learning the language. Identities are tricky, no?
1 or 2 big cucumbers (or 3 or so smaller ones)
2 stalks celery
pinch of salt
~ 1/4 to 1/2 cup water
juice from 4 to 6 limes
juice from 2 lemons
simple syrup or agave nectar, to taste
Tajín, for serving
Chop the cucumbers and celery into large chunks (don't bother peeling) and blend them with the pinch of salt and 1/4 cup water. If you need more water to get the blender going, then add about 1/4 cup more. If it won't all fit at once, do this in batches. If you have a big blender then you can go ahead and blend the citrus juice now too, but you can stir it in later if your blender is smaller. Either way, strain the solids through a sieve (or use a nut milk bag for maximum strainage), then mix the resulting juice with simple syrup or agave nectar to taste. I would avoid using other sweeteners like maple syrup or honey here, because those might overpower the somewhat delicate flavor of the vegetables.
As always, taste and adjust with more lemon or lime juice if it needs it.
Yield: about 2 to 3 servings
Whether or not you spike with alcohol, highly recommend that you add a little sprinkle of Tajín on top. This is one rare instance of extreme brand loyalty from yours truly: it has to be Tajín. Do not settle for other brands.
What to do with leftover vegetable solids and citrus scraps? The vegetable solids, says my mom, are tasty on top of cream cheese and crackers, especially if you top that with a candied or pickled jalapeño slice. With the lemon peels: I was inspired by the spent lemons in Number 1 Son’s Sunny Dills and made a salt brine solution to cure lemon peel slices. No regrets!!! It’s basically preserved lemons, but with less lemon juice. I haven’t tried this with lime peels. I’m not really sure what to do with lime peels, other than infuse into a simple syrup (which is good and all, but I want more!) or compost. If you have thoughts (on lime peels or otherwise) please feel free to reply to this email.
Things I’ve written since the last newsletter, in case you’re interested:
On DC chef Robbie Tutlewski, and his grandma’s recipe for palacinke, a thin pancake that you absolutely should make all year long. (We made some last night with buckwheat flour. Recommend.)
Tips for going to a farmers market in ~these times~. Even if you think you’re a good customer, which I’m sure you are, please read this. It’s still a pandemic and farmers and market workers put a LOT of work into keeping you and themselves safe and in business. Be nice to them. (And I hope you read “these times” in a booming and sort of self-mocking tone, because that is exactly how I say it.)
On the Farm at Sunnyside, their farming practices, their direct effect on the environment, and why you, the consumer, should care and pay for their work + the work of other operations who take time and energy to be similarly transparent.
A little history of squash and squash blossoms, plus a few ideas for cooking them.
How to shuck oysters (this one even includes a video!)
Until next time,
Kara