Thursday, September 13, 2012

Reading Response One


Upon reading, “The Reporter’s Kitchen,” by Jane Kramer I began to evaluate my own life through the foods I have eaten, the people I have eaten with as well as the places I have eaten. She begins by comparing her kitchen to a sort of keeper for her memory, “The memory I ‘see’ is a kind of kitchen. Where the thoughts and character I bring home go straight into a stockpot on my big stove.” This quote supports one of the most important themes throughout her reflection. The kitchen is the stronghold of her memory, and although memory is not all she sees in food (she watches as it helps her writing, represents different cultures, etc.) the aspect of food as memory is the most striking observation within the text to me.
I begin to think of my own stockpot of memories that make me into the person that I am today, but for me it is not so much a stock; it is my mom’s Italian salad dressing. Growing up my mom made her own dressing and while this doesn’t sound like such a feat, up until that age I had only ever seen most of my friends’ mothers squeeze things out of bottles onto their lettuce. She blended these oils and spices together letting me smell the garlic while holding the whisk.
This is the way I see my memory. Occasionally, memories resurface and sometimes they’re blended so far together I can’t separate their distinct flavors. It is interesting that within her article she also discusses the repressing of certain food and the memories that those tastes represent.  She forgets about the cauliflower soup that was served as a terrorist’s bomb exploded. Even in different situations, for these same reasons I begin to taste bacon on my tongue even though breakfast passed hours ago. The idea of repressing food memories quickly reminds me of the breakfast for dinner meals we had for weeks in a row when my dad wouldn’t come home during my parents’ divorce. It is almost as if someone is cooking pancakes in the suite next to me. It is the same way when I think of hazelnut coffee with two spoons of sugar, and I am reminded of an old house on Minor Street in Kalamazoo where I tried to cope with my boyfriend deploying to Afghanistan. I have since started drinking my coffee black.
Aside from memory I find it interesting how she compares good writing to good cooking. I see the measured out steps, and the importance of pacing. Even as I sit here now I am eating semi-sweet chocolate chips pacing out each bite between sentences. Kramer writes, “Dishes like these become invocations, little rituals you invent for yourself, in the hope that your life and your work will eventually taste the same.” This I wonder about, as you are reading this do you taste the semi-sweet chocolate chips? Is it strange that there is a double-edged sword in remembering as well as there is in tasting food? 

7 comments:

  1. I love the line: "Occasionally, memories resurface and sometimes they’re blended so far together I can’t separate their distinct flavors." It just reminds me when you think of a memory, and then it slips away before you actually realize what it was(Happens to me all of the time). It also evokes a kind of taste without place which would also revolutionize the way that people could interpret food and memory.

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    1. Thanks Taylor! I hate that feeling. Smell always does that to me, it drives me crazy! I can never completely grasp it.

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  2. You are such a lovely writer! I really can empathize with repressing memories that you and Kramer mention. I think memory and food can be closely linked because of the rich sense that food evokes. The fact that you smell it, taste it, and consume it really beats the memory down from many directions. It makes sense to avoid the foods that bring back bad memories, especially because they can be so strong. I often do just the same thing.

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    1. Thanks Katherine! It's curious isn't it? Is there a food you used to eat but don't anymore?

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  3. Hey Kate,

    I like the part when you said "I have since started drinking my coffee black." It just felt very apt. Like it symbolizes new directions. It also reminds me that memory is funny thing. Memory seems adhesive, and that it's not in a solid state. It can change form after a while. Maybe it's like the honey that I drip on my black coffee or grapefruits.

    Do you feel that good writing and good cooking are connected? It may be even more than that; it might spread to music, taste in films, and how one spends their free time. For instance, you can take the neighbors from Stealing Buddha's Dinner with the Dutch neighbors who cook "bland" foods, while they spend their time fixing up their lawn and driveway. On the flipside, the friends I have here at K who are the most interested in writing tend to have the most curious palette of tastes. They will make a point to try something new on the menu at Food Dance or Crow's Nest or some entirely new restaurant. They will listen to older music like Jefferson Airplane, or the latest Grizzly Bear song. They are not afraid of trying a foreign cousine.

    Tastes, in anything, are so interconnected. That is why one of my favorite questions to ask people is to name the last record(s) they listened to. It reveals so much.

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    1. Thank you Colin. I appreciate that. I do believe that good writing and good cooking are in a way connected, but I don't believe that in order to do one well you automatically can do the other well. I think that it has something to do with the creation of something new out of building blocks (ingredients, words). I find people's tastes curious as well. Although, like you said it can also apply to music or film. I find it interesting how you are able to connect so many things to music! Fascinating. The last record I listened to was Rumors by Fleetwood Mac. What did you listen to last?

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  4. The last thing I listened to was a mashup of songs I was loading onto my ipod shuffle for running. Man, it's tough going through 32 days worth of music finding upbeat stuff to run to! That doesn't reveal much at all, does it?

    Kate, this is a beautiful bit of writing--I loved the salad dressing metaphor (and how lucky you are to have not been raised on bottled stuff) and your coffee and breakfast for dinner details were so excruciatingly telling they were like thumps in the chest.

    I'm interested too in what Colin is arguing about taste. What does it mean to be open to the world and what does it have to do with what we'll try and explore? What does it say about us and our relationship to that which is "Other"?

    Great thread, y'all!

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