SAMPLES
NEWSPAPER COLUMN
Savoring Life's Most Sumptuous Flavors
Special to the St. Petersburg Times/Tampa Bay Times
In the first months after surgery and radiation for mouth cancer, my mother-in-law subsisted on cans of Boost, a drink-in-a-can that promises complete nutrition. I imagine it as a sort of reverse infant-formula, something we might all be forced to drink in our last stage of life.
Clearly, Boost was not enough to maintain her body weight: Though she had to give up her lifelong pleasure of smoking, she did not gain weight, but steadily lost it until none of her clothes fit.
My mother-in-law, Belle—short for the lyrically Southern Lula Belle¬—is tough, however. She had entered no "last stage" but instead rallied enough to realize how lousy she could feel.
While Belle felt lousy, she looked better and better - indeed, close friends and family members repeat that she looks younger and healthier than ever. And this for a woman who already had a cardiac pacemaker.
She tolerated Boost at least: Most food had no taste, except for those odd items that now repelled her. Even pure water might be gut-wrenchingly bitter.
Taste had become a traitor, a false guide: Belle could not be sure what she was eating unless she examined her food like a visitor to some exotic land who has been forced to eat scorpions.
If the food was too spicy, she might suffer from ulcers burned into her gums. A simple dish could sting.
Before, during and after her cancer treatment, Belle navigated the labyrinth of medical insurance and managed care, a maze that required ceaseless wandering through phone calls, letters, bills, corridors and waiting rooms and with her deteriorating knees offering another source of pain.
As with anyone who undergoes prolonged cancer treatment, my mother-in-law endured undignified, nerve-wracking procedures. But one counts particularly as an episode of horror:
To ensure that the radiation doses targeted her mouth correctly, she was fitted with a fine mesh mask. Then she had to lie flat while this mask was bolted down around her head, so that she could not twitch.
This is the essence of enforced helplessness, no matter how kind or well-meaning the nurses and technicians might be. Belle was the cancer patient in the iron mask, and screaming or crying was not permitted.
But she never cracked. She demonstrated resolve and courage at the center of the labyrinth.
Back in her home, though, Belle no longer could find comfort in the food rituals that bind together holidays and birthdays. A Southerner who married into an Italian family, Belle cooked dishes that ranged from New Years' black-eyed peas to Neapolitan clams and macaroni.
Every holiday or party meant heaping platters or heavy casseroles whose contents would be determined by the end of the previous get-together: After the dinner or brunch had wound down and the plates cleared, out would come pens and notepaper, while Belle and her three adult daughters floated possible appetizers, entrees and desserts like baseball trading cards.
Someone always clamored for oyster pie, and Belle would respond dutifully that she would make it once again.
She gradually weaned herself off Boost as she found a few palatable choices. Wendy's milk shakes made at a particular location tasted good enough that she bought extra and froze them. My father-in-law became a grand negotiator, charged with the unenviable task of insisting on a Friday that the restaurant make its milk shake exactly the way it did on Monday.
Belle still hated to eat, and she became frustrated with the doctors' vague prognoses. Maybe, the doctors said, she never would regain her taste.
Sometimes my mother-in-law weeps - very rarely, she weeps all day. Such days seem to be tangles of wistfulness, regret and the overwhelming fear of mortality. She occasionally weeps over the very act of weeping itself, believing that it causes pain in those around her.
Certainly, I have seen the frustration that my wife and her sisters feel when their mother is inconsolable.
But for my part, I do not think that these tears, and even the associated regrets and fears, are evils to be overcome and banished. They might reassure us that Belle is trying still to make sense of her life, as well as the lives of her family, as she faces an affliction that drains her existence of taste and piquancy.
My mother-in-law sometimes cooks dinner, or comes to our house for dinner, forcing herself to eat each time. Occasionally she will comment that she regrets losing one of life's great pleasures, but she always tries the food, and sometimes lately, a familiar taste briefly glimmers through.
Belle keeps cooking dinners for all of us and attending dinner parties, and trying as many of the dishes as possible. She laughs quite a bit more than I would in her place, refusing to wear the cancer patient's iron mask. She always thanks all the cooks.
My mother-in-law's suffering is quite real, but I am reassured when she comes to the table. In our home, we strive to remember that a fine meal is more than a plate of food: It is bright music, illuminated art and literature that one continues to ponder.
There is plenty of time between courses for laughing or weeping, for making sense of life and family, as Belle sees fit. Who are we to say what emotion can be removed from the recipe?
.
REVIEW
Coming Back to the Table
Review of Saltblock Catering event
When I remark to people that I was lucky enough to attend an outstanding pop-up dinner a few weeks ago, the most frequent response is to ask me to explain the term “pop-up.” It is a relatively recent phenomenon, at least when measured against my childhood during which the only pop-ups were campers. No pop-up shows, concerts, restaurants, art installations, and certainly no pop-up dinners.
A pop-up dinner is limited only by the creativity and focus of its organizers, an opportunity to create more than just delicious food, but also an “experience” (and pluck out any cliché from that over-used marketing term). I’ll switch here to the possible pop-up restaurant, a chance for chefs or owners to try out a culinary concept, stretching their creativity in a way that otherwise is blocked by the realities of restaurant economics. The pop-up dinner my wife and I attended in Tampa actually was a fully-realized restaurant—a restaurant many diners, chefs, and owners wished really existed.
For one evening, the owners and executive chef of Saltblock Catering created a restaurant—this was a “Back to the Table” event—in the future space of Foundation Coffee on N. Franklin Street, all exposed bricks and reclaimed warehouse space. The pass-through to where the 6 p.m. seating would be held was dotted with high cocktail tables anchored with a bar that served a signature cocktail mixed by Pistol Pete, or if one preferred, very drinkable white and red wines. A guitarist perched on a chair next to a metal shutter door which eventually would be raised for the dinner service.
Saltblock Catering on its website mentions the importance of sharing food “in the company of others,” of building a tangible community, and that focus was reflected in how the owners, Ryan Conigliaro and Scott Roberts, along with their event coordinator Meghan Wallace and Amber Veatch (of Veatch Designs and Set Event Rentals), worked to engineer the evening. While we eyed the metal door, talked with other couples, and listened in on neighboring conversations, young, energetic, and very polite waiters shuttled around us with a charcuterie plate of cheese, cured olives, creamy, unctuous foie gras, and crostini that was crisp without being hard; a swordfish belly sashimi; and deviled crab lollipops. I drank a Bread and Butter pinot noir, switching later to a sauvignon blanc. The metal door was one drink away from rolling open.
But these are really just surface details, lists of items that fail to get you inside the experience. Of course, if you attend one of these dinners, it will be up to you to take advantage of the camaraderie, to say to yourself this isn’t going to be just about eating—I’m going to enjoy eating in the company and community of others. Then you would enjoy, as we did, walking through into the dining room that was focused on one, beautiful table set with flowers (coral tulips and yellow daffodils, among others), woodgrain chargers, candles in brass holders. The servers stood at attention, ready to pour new wines with each course—beginning with a prosecco—change out plates, whisk the chef’s dishes to us. The details had been attended to.
Before each of the four courses, the chef, Rocco Taliani, stood before us and described each dish. After the dinner, I called Rocco and learned where he was before Tampa (Seattle), how he came to be involved with Saltblock Catering (he had been friends with the owners for many years and they reached out to him to join their company), and his knowledge, experience, and philosophy of cooking and service. He’s neither jaded nor naïve. He made me laugh, too. But I’ve decided that the best way to understand this chef (or any chef?) is to eat his food and watch how he handles service, interacts with diners, and supervises staff.
So here is Rocco on a plate: the first course (all were tasting sizes) was a smoked carrot ravioli with a carrot chip for just a bit of crunch. I’m a vegetarian (my wife is not), and it is a measure of the owners’ and chef’s poise that this was no problem for succeeding courses, but I was delighted that a first course needed no modification.
Dinner proceeded with a curry poached cobia (the most frequent comment was that it was sweet, but not too sweet—just balanced) atop, and I will use the full description, an “herb-soaked sticky rice, crispy collards, and Thai chili”; a sous-vide, perfectly medium-rare hanger steak with root vegetables; and a playful, yet satisfying dessert that riffed on strawberry shortcake but wasn’t. I could have eaten a bowl of the vanilla crème anglaise.
I’ve under-described the dishes on purpose. For example, during the outdoor hors d'oeuvres, the charcuterie and cheese board offered triple crème brie, not just cheese, and salt and pepper crostini, not just crostini. If you go to one of these dinners, you can check for yourself these very careful choices, designed by the chef to elevate the food without stepping over into preciousness. I think you will be able to tell the difference. You will find a chef’s imprint here—and by extension the catering experiences that Saltblock provides—that makes you believe Rocco, as well as Ryan and Scott, when they say that hospitality should be part of every meal.
I had come to know one of the owners of Saltblock Catering, Ryan, before the pop-up dinner. In fact, it’s been a privilege checking in occasionally as he and his partner, Scott built (and continue to build) the business. Since the dinner, I’ve had the pleasure of starting to get to know Scott, too. They are college friends who worked in the financial industry, but then decided that they needed to create a business that represented how they thought about not just food, but the act of sharing meals with others. They are hands-on, involved in every aspect of the business from concept to execution. At the same time, they both understand the financial challenges in any business, let alone any side of the food or event industry. There’s no façade to look beneath: when they ask you what you think or what you did or didn’t like, they listen and act on what you say. Meet them and you will understand immediately what I mean.
At the conclusion of the dinner, Foundation Coffee handed out samples of a Kenyan coffee (really good—there is no doubt that I am a coffee snob, at least). I seemed to be the only person who had several wine glasses lined up, including the Fox Brook chardonnay, served by Nicholas, that was good (and I am no chardonnay drinker!). But that’s the point, really: this—and any experience put together by this young company—will give you something to think about and enjoy, but especially, enjoy.
LANGUAGE BLOGS
Can I Reuse Previously Published Material?
Prospective authors sometimes worry whether by publishing previously any part of a work they thereby ruin the chances of seeing a longer manuscript in print that draws on the same material. In general, it is a truism that publishers always seek fresh writing and ideas. They usually are not interested in obviously recycled work. But in two areas, at least, reusing material is expected.
Writers of academic dissertations, particularly in the humanities, often are encouraged to send out chapters as separate articles, even while the whole dissertation is being finished. If the dissertation ever is published as a book, the author will have to make substantial revisions to get rid of anything that makes it obviously an academic-looking exercise, so the chapters may differ substantially from their previously published form. But the article publications will not count against its chances (the situation in the sciences usually is different since, if the chapters are published as research articles, the whole manuscript may never be published as anything other than a scientific dissertation accessible through various databases).
Previously published work actually increases the chances of getting a whole manuscript accepted in at least one area: a book of poetry. Many reputable poetry publishers are way behind on their publishing schedules or have temporarily suspended publication in order to catch up. And the competition is fierce at the best of times. But you can raise your chances of getting a manuscript accepted if you publish the poems separately in respectable outlets. Of course, that’s another challenge!
Like this Word
Language constantly changes, linguists tell us, remaining in flux no matter how hard self-styled guardians of correctness try to lay barriers against the forces of error. If you engage the services of an editor, you probably expect that the editor will be a guardian, or at least highly proficient in guarding the henhouse from the fox.
The truly proficient editor routinely operates on several levels. For example, an editor might note that, correctness aside, the previous paragraph switches metaphors from a river or flow (“flux”) that can be dammed up (with “barriers”) to the old-fashioned hen-and-fox image.¬¬ But if I write “Nobody edits like he does,” the editor may switch into full guardian mode and insist that the construction should be “Nobody edits as he does.” Indeed, the confusion between “like” and “as” (or “as though”) is at least a century old as are the repeated attempts to correct the confusion.
When I was a child, the famous ad campaign “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should” raised many objections from grammarians, none of which dislodged the campaign in the slightest. The voices did, however, convince me that the distinction was worth maintaining in English, reserving “like” for real comparisons. But editors help writers by bringing more than a knowledge of correctness to the work. For example, if a character in a story or novel uses “like” in a familiar conversational manner, then the editor could mar the work by substituting “as.” Even an essay could comfortably allow such constructions if the tone is personal and casual. And a punctilious use of “as” might be used to create purposely a character or persona who is excessively formal or fussy.
The guardian in me wants to maintain a clear distinction between different words. The editor and writer in me recognizes, however, that context sometimes trumps correctness.
Grammar, Intentional Verbs, and Alien Minds
Writers need to understand grammar, especially if they want their characters to display interesting and rich mental lives. When we understand grammar as correctness, then readers have a right to expect that writers flout rules intentionally in their prose or poetry. Intentional violations of grammatical rules by a writer transmits a message, just as does careful adherence to those same rules (a character who insists on hyper-correctness in speech or thought may be written as inflexible or very proper, as the situation requires). Editors who work with writers must help them figure out the message that the grammar is sending.
But the people who study the structure of language most intensely—linguists—don’t think of grammar as correctness. Instead, linguists generally try to construct a system of rules that can generate all the constructions that native speakers agree are part of the language. One such rule is our ability, at least in English, to embed phrases and clauses. A particularly powerful type of embedding occurs around so-called “intentional” verbs such as “believes,” “feels,” “thinks,” and “hopes.” So we can write, “John thinks that Janice believes that Tom is at home,” without unduly confusing our readers.
These embedded verb constructions are extraordinary: they signal how we are able to imagine other people’s mental states, as well as those people’s mental states about others, and so on. Some linguists, psychologists, and philosophers refer to this ability as a “theory of mind,” suggesting that it is essential to having true consciousness in the human sense (there are lots of arguments about whether any other species have such a theory of mind). These constructions bear on our ability to carry on rich social lives—and it is no accident that gossip sounds a lot like these embedded sentences since gossip really is about keeping track of what others are doing and where we stand in the social hierarchy. Written characters who never gossip are not very familiar creatures.
Grammar in the linguist’s sense tells us that we could embed any number of intentional verbs without limit. But the human memory imposes limits on how many embedded verbs we could follow (“Jim feels that Pam thinks that Joe hopes that Jane believes that. . . .”). Five? Six? Surely there is a limit, yet the limit is not a matter of grammar but psychology. So all this suggests how a writer easily can build an alien mind that nonetheless can be understood on some level (and that’s always a challenge, whether the mind is from another planet or is an Earthling). Any mind that can handle more embedded intentional verbs would be richer and more powerful, and any mind that only can handle one or two would be impoverished.
So are you using grammar to intentionally or unintentionally create real or alien characters?
In the Mood for the Subjunctive
I just returned from Mexico where the spoken Spanish reminded me of a supposed shift in English: the near disappearance of the subjunctive mood. The term “mood” refers to something that cuts across other categories such as tense. For example, the interrogative mood—questions—can be found in present, past, and future versions.
The subjunctive is difficult to define fully (if you Google “the English subjunctive,” you will fall down a rabbit hole of dense detail), but in general it refers to possible situations, including those that are contrary-to-fact. You no doubt have encountered the advice to change “If I was the emperor, all ice cream would be free” to “If I were the emperor, all ice cream would be free”—the verb form “were” is typical of the subjunctive, signaling that I am not the emperor but nonetheless imagining a world in which I would be. Writers often have trouble remembering when to use the correct verb.
If you have studied Spanish, among other languages, you may have encountered a rich and complex employment of the subjunctive that makes the language very challenging for those whose first language is English. The subjunctive is especially important for anyone who wants to read South American fiction in the original, particularly the Magical Realists such as Borges and Márquez. But for English, according to subjunctive critics, the mood will continue to wither away.
The subjunctive does not require “If . . . then” constructions (called “conditionals), though they are increasingly common. Some language watchers claim that the conditionals are bearing the burden of stating hypothetical situations. But there are other constructions left in English, such as “He suggests that a new employee arrive early” (I’m not sure that “He suggests that a new employee arrives early” can be given a definitive meaning, but if so, it is very different from the first version). But even with conditionals, the use of the subjunctive is subtle. For example, should I write “If he brings a dish to the dinner, the hosts will be upset” (non-subjunctive) or “If he were to bring a dish to the dinner, the hosts will be upset” (subjunctive)? The answer is that in the first it is likely that he will bring a dish and in the second it is less likely (or an unknown probability). And only context can determine which is correct.
Whether the outward grammatical distinctions in English change or not, we still engage in the thinking that underlies the subjunctive. To think otherwise is to believe that there is some direct correlation with the grammar of a language and how its speakers and writers think, a view that is now in great decline. English writers still need to pay attention to the subjunctive mood, whether or not others are in the mood to do so.
The Hidden Traps of Plurals
Plurals are no easy matter in English. Though a number of verbs are regular, allowing us to add an “s” to the end as in store/stores and stream/streams, many others are irregular, such as sheep/sheep (where the two forms are spelled the same) or mouse/mice (where the two forms are spelled differently). The plural of mouse even led one cartoon cat, Mr. Jinks, to exclaim amusingly that he hated “meeces to pieces,” which not only created a new plural form, but added an “s” just to be sure.
Mr. Jink’s real genius, however, was in creating a rhyme so that he—and we—could remember the plural form. Some psychologists and linguists, such as Iris Berent and Steven Pinker in their article “The Dislike of Regular Plurals in Compounds: Phonological Familiarity or Morphological Constraint,” claim that irregular forms are not handled the same way by our brains—we do not apply rules, as we do for regular forms, but instead recall them as individual units. In short, they must be memorized separately, a real burden for someone learning a second language, for instance.
All of which brings me to the pluralization of hyphenated compounds, such as brother-in-law and certain non-hyphenated compounds, such as attorney general. The plurals are formed by adding an “s” to the first word which is the “main” word or “head”: brothers-in-law and attorneys general. This class of plurals initially seems well-behaved, as long as we can locate the main word on which the others depend. No wonder that an English teacher recently took issue with my suggestion that the plural of stick-in-the-mud is stick-in-the-muds (not sticks-in-the-mud). No, she insisted, I should know that the “s” attaches to the main word, which becomes “sticks.”
But now we have to think about grammatical categories. All the pluralized words we have been considering are nouns. It is tempting to think that “stick” must be a noun, too—but if so, then the image probably would be of a stick poking out of the mud. But the more reasonable derivation is from stuff that got stuck in mud; thus, “stick” is a verb. And if it is a verb, then the “s” goes at the end of the compound: stick-in-the-muds.
What I’ve been discussing demonstrates the complexity that lies just beneath the surface of our language choices—and I have just scratched the surface of plurals. For example, there are nouns that don’t have any plural form at all, such as the word information, an excellent example of a trap for someone learning English by extending the rules of well-behaved words.
Permission to Punctuate
Punctuation is troublesome for serious writers, especially since the “rules” really are not hard and fast, whatever English teachers may think (and I was an English teacher, too). One helpful way to think of punctuation was provided in a handout I used when I was a teaching assistant, though I couldn’t tell you who designed it originally. Punctuation signs act like road signs, guiding the reader by correctly breaking the syntax/grammar of a sentence. Road signs are conventions: Stop signs mean something because we agree that they do, but not all countries use the same shape or color.
One strong convention I learned as a student was to use commas to separate dependent from independent clauses and semicolons to separate independent clauses (though in the latter case, the clauses need to be “related,” which is another topic entirely). So we write, “Because he was hungry, he ran to the store” or “He was hungry; he ran to the store.” But this “rule” often can, and should, be broken. For short independent clauses, we may use commas for separation, especially if the overall rhythm requires doing so. How short do the clauses need to be, you may ask. There is no rule—that’s why experienced editors are useful. They give writers permission to break so-called rules when the writing benefits from doing so.
How Do Writers Narrow Down Topics?
A frequent problem for any serious writer—including the dissertation or thesis writer—is narrowing down a topic to something not only manageable, but also fresh and potentially insightful. A writer sometimes become blocked at this crucial stage, continuing to read and research without making substantial progress toward producing a concrete proposal and eventually a draft of the thesis or dissertation.
A professional, experienced editor doesn’t just edit already existing text: he or she knows how to ask questions that help a writer figure out what really is driving the research into a topic, what really matters to the writer. I often visualize the process as searching for a crack in a seemingly solid rock wall—the crack is a possible problem, rethinking, or addition that the writer can investigate and master. The project may be to enlarge that crack, demonstrating that what was considered solid previously really isn’t and needs to be revised. Or the project may be to help repair the crack, demonstrating that some theory or approach should be retained.
When writers find that they research endlessly (and indeed there always is something new to be read and digested), the editor may suggest that they write their way out of the impasse. Writing teachers know that when students seem to be blocked, they can work their way through by writing something, whether or not the work has any initial value. Just write, the students are told, and don’t be reluctant to share your rough draft. Dissertation and thesis writers can be guided in the same way, using writing to explore the topic until those cracks clearly appear, as they have for others. And editors don’t care how rough the start is—they are focused only on helping writers finish with something polished and professional.
Language Crusades and Language Shifts
Many writers, editors, and teachers have their personal word crusades. For example, I used to avoid “impact” as a verb, thinking that its recent “verbing” from the noun form sounded unnecessarily pompous. But I found out that the use as a verb is much older than I once believed, so there are no grounds for my rejection of it in the work of other writers (though I still can’t use it as a verb myself!). I am more confident when rejecting “disinterested” (which means fair or impartial) when a writer means “uninterested.” The distinction is important: we want our court judges to be disinterested but not uninterested in the proceedings. But however much I would like to save the distinction, “disinterested” has been used in both senses by writers who claim that context clearly signals the author’s intended meaning. Part of effective writing and editing is becoming sensitive to these language shifts.
Trust and the Grammar Checker
Can you trust a grammar and style checker? The simple answer is no. The one used in Microsoft Word will catch the following error: “However I went to the store.” A comma should be inserted after “However.” But the same program will mark the same word as needing a comma in the following: “However I went to the store I would be late.” The word is functioning differently and does not need a comma, so if you insert one (or let a program insert one for you), your writing will be incorrect. In “However I went to the store but I came home,” the program correctly notes that a comma is needed after “However,” but fails to note the needed comma before “but” (sometimes writers leave out commas when the two independent clauses are very short, yet in this case no matter how long the second clause, Word will not mark the needed comma). If a grammar and style checker has trouble with just one word, imagine how it can hash up a whole manuscript, which is just why human editors often avoid using one.
BOOK
From The Honorable Professional: Communication Lessons from the Strategic Martial Arts
“In using the eyes, do so in a large and encompassing way. There is observation and there is seeing. The eye of observation is strong. The eye of seeing is weak. To see the faraway as nearby, and the nearby as faraway is essential to the martial arts.”
—Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings
TACTICS AND TECHNIQUES
Strategy always involves goals at varying levels. Tactics are maneuvers, techniques, or actions that we learn through repetition and practice—they are employed as part of our strategies. Though the term tactic will not be employed much in this manual, you should be aware of the distinction. When you speak to people with military training or experience, they will appreciate your use of such terms.
Think of techniques as tactics: effective actions that we learn so that we can respond to situations with strength. Technique and style are closely related.
ADAPTING
Adapting successfully requires a balance of confidence and humility. If adapting requires that we sacrifice integrity as professionals, then we may not be able to adapt. Be prepared to confront this difficult choice during your career
Humility may be nothing more than admitting that sometimes you will not prevail. Such an attitude is essential for adapting to circumstances.
LEADERS
Everyone who is committed to getting stronger can lead in some way.
There are many books on leadership currently on the market. But leadership is not so complicated (leadership may be difficult, however). It is a matter of surging ahead of others in some respect. Leading may require fighting, for example, for ideas and projects. But it also may be a matter of not fighting while others insist on conflict.
