Category: food

Baking the Novel

First, decide you’re going to bake a cake (write a novel). To start, make a cup of coffee to drink while you conceptualize what you’re going to bake (write).

Come up with a story idea from your concept. Collect some ingredients – characters, setting, initial incident. Start mixing them together (writing).

Realize that you’re missing some ingredients (like motivation, background, and other characters). Make some coffee and hunt for the missing ingredients.

Coming up with the missing ingredients, you add them in, and then decide to make something different (a variation of the concept that just blows your mind with excitement). 

Find and add more ingredients (setting, characters, motivation, story twists).

Realize that you forgot to turn the stove on (yeah, you overlooked some huge aspect and now have a gap in the story).

Go to turn on the stove but then stop to pet the cat, and then feed the cat. Smell the kitty litter, and clean it. Also notice that the floor is dirty. Turn on the robot vacuum.

Monitor the robot vacuum, cursing it as it goes around and around a piece of dirt you want it to pick up that you refuse to pick up because that’s why you have a robot sweeper. 

Decide to check the mail to get away from the madness. Come back and make coffee, go through the mail (why do they keep sending you this junk?) and also look for something to eat because you’re hungry (even though you just ate, like, three hours ago, but, hey, writing is a strenuous mental activity that drains energy (something that non-writers will never understand!)).

Discover that there’s nothing in the house that you want to eat. Decide to make a shopping list, and then go to the store. (While you’re out, you’ll also stop and fill the car’s gas tank and do any other errands (because you’re efficient).)

Because you’re now too hungry to return home and make something with the stuff bought at the store, go somewhere and buy something to eat right now.

Return home, put away the groceries. Make and drink coffee while thinking about your cake (the novel), nosh on a snack item that you purchased, pick up the stuff that the robot vacuum missed,  pet the cat (because he’s following you around and underfoot), give the cat treats (to buy him off), and then —

Brainstorm! Make the frosting because this cake with that frosting would be fantastic (in other words, write an ending because you think it’s the perfect ending).

Remember, you never did turn on the oven, damn it. You missed a huge step. 

Realize, this is a layer cake. And you can’t put the frosting on because there’s nothing to put it on.

But you really like that frosting, so you go ahead and make it (write it up) and set it aside for use later, and then — epiphany! — decide every layer will be a different flavor of cake, with a different icing. It’s not really a cake, but a torte, you decide, and then go off to the computer to jump on the Internet to research tortes and cakes.

Check your email. Catch up on Facebook (like, post, and share), Pinterest and other social media, blogs, the news (he said what?) and sports (or fashion). Play some games (because, without acknowledging it, you feel stressed, and games — going for a new high score, or beating others on an online game — gives you instant gratification and validates you).

Turn on the television. Surf channels. Shake your head at the things on television these days. Wonder if some of the actors you’re seeing in the re-runs are still alive. Turn the television off.

Then, oh, it’s late. You’re tired. Another cup of coffee is needed but you’re too tired for that, and it’s too late (where’d the time go?). The rest of the family will be home soon, and there are the things you’re supposed to do with friends and family, going to movies, dinner, cut grass, wash car, clothes, dishes —

Well, you’ll continue tomorrow, you tell yourself. This cake (or torte) is going to be a masterpiece. It’ll blow people’s minds. It’s just so exciting, but there’s so much to do. There are more ingredients to collect, and then it all must be baked, frosted, and put together —

It’s so real, you can see, smell, and taste it. You sit for a while, absorbing the wonder of the cake (or torte) that you imagine.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, tomorrow will be different. You don’t want any half-baked cake.

Right, you’ll begin by making coffee and listing all the ingredients, and maybe brainstorming all the steps that you need to do to complete this masterpiece, like turning on the oven. Yes, that’ll be the first thing that you do.

Tomorrow.

3

The Food Dream

I awoke hungry from last night’s dream.

It was a simple thing. My wife and I were with many other people. I knew them all, but she’s the only one I recognize from my actual life.

After walking on a cement walk, we entered a hall or reception area. I smelled food as soon as I walked in. Huge, the place bustled with people hurrying about. I realized most were servers. Long tables of food were set up along the walls on either side.

My wife and I were confused, asking one another, are we supposed to be here? Neither of us knew. We were looking around. The people we’d been with were not with us. We couldn’t see them. We saw a lot of other people, but not anyone we knew. I decided, “We must be in the wrong place. We took a wrong turn. We’re not supposed to be here.”

She agreed with me. We were turning to leave when a young serving woman in dress in black, with a white apron, approached and said, “Let me show you to your table.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I said. “Is this a wedding or reception?”

The young woman looked confused. “No. This is where everyone eats.”

I was confused. “Who is everyone?”

“Everybody.”

“So this food is for everyone?”

“Yes.”

We went back and forth talking about it because I was sure there was something yet to be revealed about what included everybody, but it was a circular dialogue, with the answer being that we’re supposed to be here. The food was for us.

My wife and I looked at one another. “I guess we’re supposed to be here,” I said.

“You are,” the woman said. “Follow me to your table.”

We followed her but I remained highly doubtful. She took us to a table, one of those big, round ones, set with flatware and glasses for ten. A young man came up, asking if what we wanted to drink. He could get us anything that we wanted. We chose our drinks. He went off. We then realized it was a buffet and went off to one side. There was table after table with food parallel to the wall, with servers waiting behind the tables. I think I saw everything – turkeys, hams, steaks, and fish, along with bowls of vegetables, and potatoes prepared in different ways, like scalloped, boiled new with butter and parsley, and mashed. I saw an omelet bar, a huge salad bar, and pies, cakes, and cookies at a another table, and an ice cream sundae bar.

The sight of so much food floored me. I still didn’t think I was supposed to be there. I was certain there was a misunderstanding. Nevertheless, I ordered food, which is where the dream ended.

Writing this up today, I realize I’ve had similar dreams to this before. I derive a meaning from it that makes me grit my teeth, that I continue to doubt myself, believing that I’m not worthy, that I don’t belong to wherever I’m going.

4

Food Suggestions

Have you ever been reading something, and the characters are eating, and you find yourself wanting what they were eating?

In a book I was reading, the main character had oatmeal and avocado. Now I want to try oatmeal and avocado.

I also enjoyed the many times in the book where the hero showed up and handed others coffee, and they were all, “Coffee!” It was instant, but still.

2

A Scavenger Dream

I’d just begun new employment. I wasn’t the age I now am, but I was middle-aged and experienced in office environments.

The office building was one of those old San Mateo buildings used by start-ups. It was dark and cramped inside. I don’t know what the company was doing or what my position was.  Those things were being explained but a haze covers that part of the dream. Then my boss, a director, said, “Here comes the CEO.” All present, except for me, started gravitating around the CEO and his words.

Beginning to sort the situation, I discovered a huge collection of parts. Looking at them, I realized it was a stockroom of one part. I don’t know what the part was. Taking one apart, I found batteries inside. Then I found and read paperwork, and spoke to others. The gist of what I understood about the company was that it was struggling and going through a re-organization. Resources were scarce. Investigating, I learned that the parts were old stock. They’d set it aside to get rid of it. I decided I’d remove the batteries, test them to see if they worked, or recycle them. Then I go find something to do with the parts.

The CEO came along while I was in the middle of doing this. “What are you doing?” he asked. I explained my plan.

My initiative impressed him. “This is the kind of thing we need to be doing until we get on our feet,” he told the others in a little speech.

I shrugged all of that off and kept going about my business. In another room, I discovered food being thrown away. I couldn’t understand that at all. Like the parts and batteries, I decided that wasn’t appropriate, so I began going through the food, checking the dates and packaging, and organizing it by its food group. Others entered while I was doing that. Many asked, “What are you doing?”

I explained myself each time. People most often replied, “That’s too much work.”

I didn’t argue with them or explain myself. I was settling in and had the time. It was a unique time and exercise; once it was done, it wouldn’t be needed to be done again.

I knew that, so I kept at it. As I worked, the food, battery and parts disappeared, as though I was seeing it through a time-lapsed recording. The office became brighter.

In the end, I paused. I was holding an armful of food containers. Looking around, I thought, I’m scavenging energy for re-use.

Understanding that, I went on, and the dream ended.

0

Influenced

When you start chasing butterflies, stalking spiders, and trying to catch house flies, you may have been around cats too much, and might need to take a break from their presence.

This is also true if you get excited when you hear food being opened, or if you try to get into a room when someone else is in there and have closed the door.

0

The List

“I love hot showers,” he said. “They’re my second most favorite thing, right behind pizza, cold beer, hot coffee, lemon meringue pie, watermelon, grilled steak, the beach, and the fourth of July.”

His wife said, “Where am I on that list?”

He said, “I’ll get back to you.”

1

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Ever get a craving, and the craving stays with you, getting larger and more intense, demanding that you address it? I have one of those going on right now. It’s all about cheeseburgers.

Love a good cheeseburger. The ones that Miss Lee made in Osan City were pretty good for a dollar, when you’ve been out on the town and are heading back to the base to crash. Better were the ones we had at the original Fuddruckers. My grandmother was visiting, and we decided to take her. Once we got there, we were a bit hesitant because the place looked like a dive. But Grandma insisted, so we ate there, even though the burgers were pricier than what we were used to. They were revealed to be amazing burgers.

Next on my list of burgers that I enjoyed was at a place called Clark’s Mountain Broiler in Mountain View, California. They were most excellent. At almost three hundred miles, it’s a little far to drive for one today. So is the In ‘n Out Burger in Medford. Besides that, the lines there are ridiculous. If I were to drive to get a burger, I’d probably go to the Next Level Burger in Bend. The drive is shorter, easier, and more relaxing than the one to Clarke’s. NLB’s burger is plant-based, but it’s astonishingly good, and their fries were awesome.

But I’m not driving for a burger. Louie’s in downtown Ashland has a good burger, as does Flips, both of which can be changed into a cheeseburger (it’s almost magic!). That craving, though, drives me to share a song that’s been rolling around in my head for the last few days.

Hit it, Jimmy.

0

A Writing Problem

I have a new problem to relate to my writing process, something so fucking stupid that it’s monumentally irritating. It’s one of those things that make me go, “Grrrr.”

Lately, hunger is interrupting my writing process.

Hunger, as in, “I’m hungry, my stomach is rumbling, and I want to eat.” It’s not like I’m starving to death.

I know, as living and writing goes, it’s not an impressive problem. I imagine many people reading this will think, “What a whiner. I wish being hungry was my writing problem.”

Yeah, I know. It’s definitely a first world complaint, right? Who else but a white American male can complain like this?

Yes, I know.

Let’s back up a moment and add some exposition. I write in a coffee shop. I usually leave the house around 10:30, a few hours after eating breakfast. I like that process. I need to escape the house (and the cats and distractions) to write. Plus, the walking I do prior to writing helps me settle into the writing groove. Right, wrong, indifferent, this is my process, and I like it.

It used to work great. Eat, dress, walk, arrive, buy coffee, set up, work for a few hours. I generally begin by reviewing news and other blogs. I then make a few brief posts. I consider them to be clearing my throat. Then, off to work. I usually achieve ninety minutes of writing and editing punctuated by a couple breaks, and feel satisfied by the process and progress. But since returning to the writing process after going east across America to visit with family, I start getting hungry about a quarter of my way into the writing session.

The first time it happened, I wrote through my hunger. I figured it was isolated because it was rare. The next day, when the same thing happened, I bought a cookie at the coffee shop. The third day, I ate a tangelo before leaving to write, and the fourth day, I brought a Larabar with me and ate it as I walked. Then, the next time, I cut my time short again, and again the subsequent time. By now, I recognized a problem.

All these actions of eating something bought me a little time. Today, though, I had to leave later for my writing. This was due to a cat. One of our cats, Tucker, decided to re-arrange his litter box. (Oi, the mess.) An hour of clean up was demanded. Since that put me behind, I figured that I’d eat lunch before leaving. That was okay; I’d eaten breakfast (waffles) at eight, and then ate lunch at eleven fifteen, departing to write at eleven thirty. I should be good. Yet, here I am, hungry by one, dreaming of sandwiches, salads, wraps, and burritos.

I considered, of course, buying lunch here at the coffee shop. That doesn’t fit in with my budget or dietary plans. I have the money but can’t stomach the idea of paying five to ten dollars a day for something to eat here. The food offered is standard sort of fare, and while generally tasty, it isn’t particularly healthy for more than a once in a while thing.

What it all seems to be pointing to is that I need to leave earlier to write, closer to when I finish eating breakfast. That provides a different problem. The coffee shop is busier earlier in the day. That makes it harder to get a good writing location. I define a good writing location as a table or counter space with an outlet and sufficient room to not hot or be hit whenever someone moves. Further, it’s not just during my writing time, either, plagued by hunger. I’m hungry after dinner. I’m hungry in the evening. I wake up hungry.

I don’t understand why I’m so hungry. I’ve been eating normally. Yes, I’ve kicked up my walking again. Yes, I’ve lost some weight. (Hurrah!) Yes, I’ve reduced the sugar and fat in my diet. Yes, I feel great, other than being hungry.

I guess I’m done for the day. I feel like I’m cheating myself because the writing was going well, and I have more to write. I also feel like I’m weak, giving up writing for eating. That’s silly, of course. (Right? RIGHT?)

Worse, I try to walk two to three miles after writing. It helps my writing process and it’s good exercise. Today, I’m so hungry, I’m heading straight home.

So, calling it a day on writing like crazy. Time to go eat. It’s Pi Day. Maybe I’ll go have some pie.

Damn it.

 

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