I get a raft of foodie magazines in the mail. I have not been reading them much lately. And by lately I mean a very long time. I cook partly by googling -- and by imagination -- and I have to say that I have not been inspired by much these days. Indeed, one might say I am depressed. There are reasons; my work world is complicated, my personal life complicated, and well, life is complicated. I had hoped that glee would characterize this time in my life. But, I have rarely been completely gleeful and now is not the time. (I suspect this may be true even though now as writer and now as reader is separated by weeks if not months these days as I binge blog).
Time. Is of the essence. Always. And as we age. And, it drags some times and is much too speedy other times. I suspect that Hegel and Heidegger, Arendt and . . . all those authors reflecting on time and more . . . were also reflecting on their lives. We pretend that life and intellect are distant cousins if related at all. And yet. And yet. Much of what I have written -- about secularization and mourning and hope -- can be fairly readily linked to who and how I am. You too?
In any case, this is an essay written in April about a magazine that is labeled March 2017 but arrived in the mail in February and you may read in May or June or thereafter. (The blogosphere is eternal?)
The magazine? A fairly traditional food magazine: Bon Appetite -- to which I have subscribed for. . . ages. I occasionally still mourn the demise of Gourmet, I sometimes purchase Lucky Peach, and I also subscribe or subscribed to Food & Wine, Saveur, and . . . yes, I am a food magazine hound. Though, less so these days as noted. It is partly the matter of not feeling drawn to much of anything and partly the distractibility of life and partly. . . well, I admit it, I use the internet a lot to inspire my cooking.
I am used to occasionally coming across something I know in such places. Once in a while the Finger Lakes wine and food scene, once in a while Chicago trends (I found an old magazine with Fat Rice restaurant featured sitting by my bedside in Geneva and did not even know Fat Rice when I first perused that now old magazine. It is taking all my self control not to buy their cookbook. I loved eating there.) So, it was kind of nice -- and a little startling how wonderful I found it -- to come upon several touchpoint in the March 2017 Bon Appetit.
First: Jason Vincent of Giant was referenced in a short bit -- and yes, I have met him, been very amazed by Nightwood where I first ate his food, and am anticipating eventually eating at Giant. NIghtwood's donuts still linger in my memory and I was sad when I discovered it had closed. (And yes, I met Jason's mother before I met Jason as she is a higher education professional.) For a longer encounter with Jason, click right here. (Or here.)
Second: So, I was primed to see a bit of Chicago after encountering Jason Vincent in the pages of the magazine. Lo and behold, there it was, in the various pages devoted to refugees whose cooking is changing (or has changed) the country. There alongside others from around the nation was a full page on a South Side wonder, a place that loads of people where I work spend time, a Bridgeport meets Pilsen kind of wonder: Maria's which now comes along with Kimski. The piece appeared in a section of Bon Appetit focused on refugees &/or immigrants and their current contributions to the US food scene -- something with which I am politically in sympathy. In this Chicago-esque case, Maria's is a product of Korean and polish immigrants -- kim chi + polish food = Kimski. The tale is also of generational change -- as Maria's children have joined in on the making of this wonder, adding craft beers and food to the longstanding Maria's traditions.
Does my joy at seeing these things -- even though I have never eaten at Giant and only once graced Maria's with my presence (well before it added Kimski on to its wonderfulness) -- seem odd to you? It does to me. We all, I suppose, can make things about ourselves that are not really about us. But, perhaps, also, there is just a joy to the familiar in a landscape that feels so unfamiliar itself.
