An Act of Defiance
I read something the other night, at the end of this great book I've been reading--Heat by Bill Buford. He said that things made by hand are an act of defiance, to go out and seek them, make them, eat them, and they'll be gone.
Actually, this was it.
(page 301, first real paragraph)
I know this from making bread and cookies and any yummy little thing I make. Defiant, in that damned-if-I'm-gonna-use-that-bread-machine-to-make-my-life-"easier" way. This was the book that got me all fired up about making my own tortellini. And hand-rolling pasta. Tortellini I think I've sorta got down now, but the hand rolling--well, that looks suspiciously like a trip to Italy. Darn.
And I was thinking about it this morning, that I miss all that bakery work that just walks away. I miss making people happy when the blueberry or Craizy (insert Heart's "Crazy on you") scones come out. And I miss being able to snag half a chocolate-chip cookie, or better yet a whole ranger cookie, for my breakfast. (My hips don't miss it, mind, but the taste buds do.) I miss being around all those young kids and watching them learn how to be defiant too. I miss smelling a giant whomp of bread in the ovens, when they do artisan breads in the second semester. Nothin' like it.
But I also thought that I do a similar thing with this insane writing on the machine--even though it's all way higher-tech than it used to be, we still train ourselves to write verbatim on a machine. Maybe there are even still pen writers working out there somewhere. But it all harkens back to them olden days of yore. Maybe they'll automate the procedure of taking people's words down verbatim, figure out a system that doesn't require a breathing, thinking human to distinguish between "there" and "their," figure out how to discern accents. Maybe that system will actually know that an apostrophe should go in that word, and where it should go(unlike some of my fellow breathing, thinking humans, omg).
But basically, till then, I'm being defiant. And I have a starter warming on the counter--I'm baking bread today, the three-hour-rise kind. Neener. Neener.
Actually, this was it.
"How long will that taste memory last? The Maestro will die. Dario will die. I will die. The memroy will die. Food made by hand is an act of defiance and runs contrary to everything in our modernity. Find it; eat it; it will go. It has been around for millennia. Now it is evanescent, like a season."
(page 301, first real paragraph)
I know this from making bread and cookies and any yummy little thing I make. Defiant, in that damned-if-I'm-gonna-use-that-bread-machine-to-make-my-life-"easier" way. This was the book that got me all fired up about making my own tortellini. And hand-rolling pasta. Tortellini I think I've sorta got down now, but the hand rolling--well, that looks suspiciously like a trip to Italy. Darn.
And I was thinking about it this morning, that I miss all that bakery work that just walks away. I miss making people happy when the blueberry or Craizy (insert Heart's "Crazy on you") scones come out. And I miss being able to snag half a chocolate-chip cookie, or better yet a whole ranger cookie, for my breakfast. (My hips don't miss it, mind, but the taste buds do.) I miss being around all those young kids and watching them learn how to be defiant too. I miss smelling a giant whomp of bread in the ovens, when they do artisan breads in the second semester. Nothin' like it.
But I also thought that I do a similar thing with this insane writing on the machine--even though it's all way higher-tech than it used to be, we still train ourselves to write verbatim on a machine. Maybe there are even still pen writers working out there somewhere. But it all harkens back to them olden days of yore. Maybe they'll automate the procedure of taking people's words down verbatim, figure out a system that doesn't require a breathing, thinking human to distinguish between "there" and "their," figure out how to discern accents. Maybe that system will actually know that an apostrophe should go in that word, and where it should go(unlike some of my fellow breathing, thinking humans, omg).
But basically, till then, I'm being defiant. And I have a starter warming on the counter--I'm baking bread today, the three-hour-rise kind. Neener. Neener.
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