Ladies and Gentlemen, readers of the blog, it’s official: like a long, drowsy and dreamless siesta after a big meal, the Baker is going on a hiatus from this Book.
Wait…what? Girl, you wrote your last post a month ago! How is that not already a hiatus?
Okay, yes, I see your point. But now, like I said, it’s official. I don’t like leaving things hanging, which is probably why I’ve never repeated that Creole cream cheese recipe I made with the Paj years ago—the image of watery-white whey, dripping, just dripping out of cheese cloth is still seared into my head when I fall asleep at night.
Before I leave, I’ve taken the time to provide you, dear readers, with some good old Q & A:
Q: Why are you going on an official hiatus?
A: First of all, I’ve been in a fairly life-sized transition phase for the past few months. In April, a year after The Book and the Baker’s hatching, I finished teaching English in Noisy-le-Grand. I spent two more months travelling throughout Provence and the Vallée de la Loire in France, Bavaria in Germany, and northern Denmark/southern Sweden. I ate a lot of great food and read a lot of great books, and I felt full and empty at the same time. I felt a great, terrible confusion about leaving, even though I knew I couldn’t stay, and sitting on the bank of the Frederiksholms Kanal next to my two closest homepups in the entire world on Midsummer’s eve against a copper sunset, a savage, ripping loneliness washed over me. I’ve said it here before, but I do terrible with transitions, and I’m tired of saying goodbye.
Anyway, (get on with it!), I finally made it out to San Francisco, and I’m so happy I did. I love this place, I do. But I needed to justify leaving Paris behind, so I spent the next two months looking for even more fulfilling work than my last job. And I found it (woot!). But along with now having 2 jobs, a distant, looming GRE, plans to attend grad school in a few more years, and even more friends to keep in touch with, I don’t have the time I want to spend on this Book. So it shall have to wait, patiently, on this vast bookshelf called the Web. It might get lost forever, I’m not really sure, to be honest. But if not, a little accumulation of dust adds character, I think.
Q: What are these so-called fulfilling jobs?
A: The first involves pouring, mixing, and scooping made-to-order ice cream with liquid nitrogen machines. The second is writing Arts and Culture previews and blog posts for the San Francisco Bay Guardian. You can read my first online article here, or search “Baker” for other previews and upcoming stories. I shouldn’t give too much away, but pretty soon I’m hoping to tell you about a really great charcuterie cookbook, as well as a chocolate-making class in the Mesoamerican cloud forest of SF’s botanical garden. So yes, food and words still make up a great part of my work life!
Q: Who even read your blog anyway? Besides your mom, I mean?
A: Hey! Okay, fair enough. Actually, I might as well take this time to give a shout-out to my readers: Maj, Paj, sistahs, Ramona, Olivia, Don and Yilan, my French filles (I highly recommend checking out Rebekah and Lisa’s blogs), those few stranger bloggers who started following me (you rock!), and the three or four random internet junkies, even the spam comments. Thanks for wasting a little bit of your time here!
Q: Will you miss it?
A: Duh. I love being my own writer, publisher, and editor. It means I can say things like “homepups” here.
Q: Can you leave us with one last food quote?
A: You read my mind. Here you go, from Molly Wizenberg’s A Homemade Life. (I picked this quote, you’ll see, because it’s about spending a year eating alone, thinking about food, and gazing out the window. Which in some ways, has been my experience blogging.)
I learned so much that year, and I don’t only mean that a dinner knife, no matter how dull, can cut your tongue. I learned that I love to cook for one…It is one of the few moments when I can be perfectly selfish without feeling guilty. No one is going to tell me that blanched green beans, three slices of fresh mozzarella doused in olive oil, and two pieces of chocolate cake are not an acceptable dinner. (They are, I promise). What’s more, if I want to, I can just sit and stare out the window. Just tra la la, stare out the window. I don’t have to say a word. I can sink into my seat, slow down, and zone out…Food is, of course, a social thing, one of the most positive, primal ways of spending time with people, but eating alone is also an affirmation. It’s a way of enjoying me.