Finding the Through Line
I have a deep and abiding love of food: enjoying, preparing, and sharing it with others. This has permeated my life story, is part of my being. During the pandemic, I felt inspired to write a personal work about food – what I had learned, what I loved, and why food was so profoundly important.
The journey has been a bit of a struggle which felt illogical but it had everything to do with the isolation and fears that surfaced during the scourge of Covid. Evocative words from my memoir Bowing to Elephants danced in my head:
“… Elda, in the house, and she served us our dinner in the giant living room by candlelight, of course: a big white tureen of soup and platters of steaming eggy fettuccini, crusty scaloppine alla Milanese, and a perfect green salad. “Ecco, il pranzo! Buon appetito!” she’d announce proudly as she beamed at my mother and the rest of us.”
With those words dancing I still had a difficult time finding my larger vision. Yes, I had written and published a successful travel memoir and received great reviews... I knew how to write a book... And yet...
With about 100 pages written, I hit what felt like a creative wall or perhaps more like a swamp of distractions. This last September I decided to join a writer’s masterclass, believing it would not only keep me focused during my time of lengthy recuperation from leg surgery, but it would also give me a solid reason to build on the food book I envisioned back in the time of illness and isolation when food was such a poignant subject. The timing seemed right now because of course I had plenty of time!
I had accumulated numerous what I called “mini chapters” at the beginning of this project, putting them to rest later when I allowed that “wall” to get in my way. When I returned in September 2022 to all these bits and pieces of what I liked to consider my unique food wisdom, I had the sense I was looking at the scattered (sometimes charming) character of my mind and still wasn’t finding it easy to see the through-line.
Since the beginning of this course, I have been scribbling here and there, trying all the while to not be derailed by my monkey mind, yet continuing to feel less than focused. Then after writing a short piece about my volunteer work at St. Anthony’s soup kitchen in San Francisco and sharing that with a smart writer friend, I began to understand where the root of my book’s vision was.
It was rooted in that direct experience of standing on my feet for many hours each week feeding hundreds and hundreds of street people who flocked to St. Anthony’s every day for perhaps the only meal of their day. I stood there amongst fellow volunteers and offered warm healthy food to desperate men and women who generally led invisible lives... I was helping to save those lives. The joy I felt in this generous work taught me that when you give to the world you create happiness for others, AND you receive way more than you have given.
Bingo. My throughline!
I’m writing not only about the beauty of artichokes, oysters, olive oil, roast chicken, and pears, and just why Twinkies do not qualify as food, but about: service, community, changing lives, and love. As I have reflected on the giving and receiving, I realized that food has always equaled love, and if loving others can change their lives, so can feeding them. It turns out that for much of my life I had been moving toward being of service, and right now when I give my time to feeding the hungry I am transforming my urban world through kindness.
I hope that this intimate collection of food knowledge, including a call to action for my readers to become more involved in their world, will bring pleasure, bountiful awareness, and perhaps an insatiable curiosity about all the food we have the privilege to eat.
With gratitude,
Mag