Culinary Queries
The sensual and universal essence of our lives and how can we use that in our writing
An Open Mic response to a writer and with a prompt on meal preparation where the significance of food-related writing can serve an an icebreaker that connects individuals.
A couple posts back, when I started this Summer of You with Office Hours, I asked you guys to tell me what you ate for dinner:
Well, I attended a wedding for my goddaughter; her second marriage and a happy event. It was outdoors in their yard and we had barbecue. Delicious!! ~ Susan
Roasted chicken, new baby potatoes, fresh carrots and coleslaw. ~ Laurel
Homemade vegan Thai food. ~ Doug
It’s a great question because it goes right to the heart of your immediate impulse as a writer.
Susan starts with an event, which part of her family it was for, and then is general: “BBQ” and then reaction. Yum.
Laurel is list specific, and direct. Like reading a menu.
Doug gives a general answer, too. Thai food. But it’s also telling us something about that Thai food—that it is vegan and homemade.
All of these are fine, I know you weren’t asked to write scenes, but you can see that what you have each written is more an extension of your thoughts about the food than then food itself, right? But, they are also totally unique to the writer as well.
Making Dinner: A Prompt
Since you guys were asking for “inspiration,” let me nudge you to go back to that question, only let’s shift it to: Making Dinner. Write a scene of the above meals or another. Confine yourself to 500 words and post in the comment section (or email to me).
Example:
Making Dinner by J. Lauck
“I’m thinking Thai,” she says. “Should we order in?”
“Too expensive,” he says. “I’ve got some tofu in the fridge.”
They are out on the deck, the light fading in the western sky. Adirondack chairs, side by side. The couples’ old collie, Ginger, sleeps curled under the man’s slippered feet. Long snout, twitching paws.
The wife looks at her husband a long moment, though he can’t see her eyes behind her mirrored sunglasses. She’s lovely still, he thinks, though graying around the temples and soft around the jowls. Other places, too.
“What?” he asks.
She pushes out of her chair. Her mouth set. Her shoulders stiff. Into the house she goes, the hard sound of the screen opens and then closes. Ginger’s head lifts, and she blinks. Bemused. The thump, thump of her tail.
He sits and holds to the arms of the chair. Cooking means taking time from this rest, means cleaning dishes later, he knows, he knows, and almost calls out, “Wait, let’s order in,” but doesn’t because of the cost. Why order fifty bucks of food that they can make for five?
🛑
This took me ten minutes and is about 170 words. That means I have 330 left for the actual cooking of the vegan Thai and what is certainly a fight brewing between this long married couple.
If you’re packing your house and moving, 📦📦📦, you might be able to fit that into your busy schedule.
Here’s what I suggest: Set a timer and go. Write something that is a moment in time. This was fiction, BTW. I grabbed Doug’s open and took off with my fictional couple. You can do the same.
One more thing about the question: What did you eat?
I kind of love this question. It’s what’s called an ice breaker, like asking you the make and model of your first car, or the name of your first crush, or the title of your favorite song.
A food question also gets you into your body.
When we think about food, it’s a sensual thing—flavorful, fulfilling (or not), and comforting (or not).
Food is the common denominator of all living creatures. We all eat, and do so several times a day, unless we are fasting. Which, I do, a lot. I’m actually fasting as I write this, and yes, it’s rather painful because I want to put my face into a bowl of buttery popcorn, but I know know that I eat too much. (I think we all probably eat too much, honestly).
Fasting reminds me how blessed I am for the food I have, helps me appreciate how abundant food is in my part of the world (because a lot of people have nothing). and it keeps me from using food for emotional comfort.
This is my favorite book on the topic, which has taught me that fasting is good for my body and longevity, too.
That’s a great question future prompt: When have you stopped eating and why? Remember your scenes!
~ Jennifer
“Oh no, Saturday morning shopping,” I ponder to myself. “This is always a struggle because I don’t know what food I want. Do I request something new or something tried and true?”
Sitting at the edge of the kitchen island counter on a barstool, I make a list. Sipping my coffee and killing the last gulps of banana bread flavored Oats OverNight. Pandora plays New Age Instrumental in the background, Om Mani Padma Hum.
“I wanna Snack!” Taz yells from her cage by the window.
“Look in your food bowl, silly bird,” I respond to our precocious African Grey parrot. “I just fed you.”
Taz climbs dexterously to the perch where her food bowls are and chooses a piece of cheese.
“Good morning, coffee smells good,” Teresa says as she enters the kitchen, a sleepy aura around her, holding a bag of food from the fridge in the garage.
“Good morning,” I say as she empties the bag on the counter under the large window overlooking the trees and houses in our neighborhood.
“How about Thai food?” I ask, then regretting it because she’s in better spirits after coffee.
“Ok, whatever. Make a list of what we need,” she says, opening a bag of potatoes, expressing the burden of cooking all day.
Taz whistles the first stanza of Take Me Out to The Ballgame, happy that Teresa is nearby, her favorite human.
“I’ll see you in a little while,” as I don my baseball cap and head out shopping.
Taz lets out a moaning chirp, her way of saying goodbye.
“See you later,” Teresa says.
In half an hour, I’m standing in the Safeway checkout line, unloading my groceries onto the belt. My friend Francis monitors the Self-checkout people and comes over to talk.
“Hi, Doug. How are you and your wife doing?”
“Hi Francis, we’re good, thanks. Teresa still cooks every Saturday for her two grandchildren and her disabled daughter. She squeezes cooking for me in there somehow,” I respond, but before I can ask how she’s doing, she runs to help someone in crisis at Self-checkout.
Back home, I park at the counter to peel the skin off a knob of ginger. Teresa removes the paper-like covering from the shallots and slices them thinly. There’s no vacancy on the four-burner stove. I changed Pandora to a livelier station.
Caramelizing sliced shallots in ghee for a while in a medium size pot, she adds Cuisinarted jalapeno and ginger. Then the Thai Mussaman curry paste. Once they simmer a few minutes, she stirs in two cans of Coconut milk.
In the meantime, I cut up a head of cauliflower and one red bell pepper. I dice a package of Teriyaki tofu. She combines all this in the pot with a handful of cashews, a can of unsweetened pineapple chunks, and a blast of sweet chili sauce. Thai basil leaves, salt, and pepper are added when everything is cooked.
Taz sits on her perch with a cauliflower core in her talon, loving Saturdays with action in the kitchen and sampling everything.
Jennifer I will be emailing 500 words called Erica's Wedding. Sue