Just the other night, I sat across from a poet and tried to figure him out. We talked about writing, both the craft and the urge to do it. For him, writing is a personal endeavor, his intention being primarily to get the words out of his head and onto paper. He is a writer who writes for himself. This strikes me as mysterious and I ponder the conversation while cooking a few days later. As I peel and chop vegetables, my mind wanders and I begin thinking about my friend, Valerie, who shared her tomato soup recipe with me recently. It occurs to me that sharing recipes and cooking for others is much like writing a poem for a lover or reading a story to a child, the common denominator a desire to impart something earnest and special. … [Read more...]
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