Charcuterie Vol. 23
not calming down, stars, morning sunshine, Robert Frost, other poetry, good books & a dinner party recap
March come and gone! And what of it? In some ways, I’m keeping meticulous records, and others, I’m doing a terrible job of keeping track of the things that strike me important from one moment to the next. Winter seems to be holding on, reluctant to depart. But with that one 80º day, the death knell sounded. It was almost ridiculous—in the way that that first day always is. No one could calm down. Each of us was forced to acknowledge that we are no better or worse, no different at all, from every single other person. The outside beckons. We’re essentially babies and dogs, all of us.
Early in the month, there were several days in a row when the night sky was ridiculously clear, and looking up you could see not just the planets but also the stars. Even in New York City! Most particularly, Orion was up there, which moved me to a degree that other people couldn’t seem to understand. It was the belt that did it for me. Three stars in such a straight, undeniable line. Somehow the line didn’t end for me. It fell out of the sky like a threaded needle will drop, and it plunged right through the center of me and flew from there, in a fluttering but direct motion, straight back through time to the 2nd century, where it went through Ptolemy too as he named the constellation Orion. And the line went on to and through all the people who lived in the world then and looked up at the sky and saw those three stars all in a row and felt the impossibility of it. And then the thread stretched back. Back to the Late Bronze Age, where the same constellation is mentioned in the Babylonian star catalogues, though known by a different name.
Betelgeuse, a red supergiant in the constellation, began to dim noticeably in 2019. It is expected to explode into a supernova sometime in the next million years. Until then, since the constellation lies a far distance from the earth, Orion will stay recognizable long after most other constellations are distorted by the proper motion of celestial bodies. And yet, they still try to convince me that the only constant is change. But, Orion, I’ll say!
What else of March? The sun now rises at the right time to slant itself through my windows and project itself in lovely honey squares that creep along the walls. At the right time for me to see it at least, since there’s no wrong time for the sun to rise. Now that I’ve turned my living room around to accommodate the hand-carved mantelpiece, I can sit on the couch while I write my morning pages and watch the light. The light has lost none of its charm for me, and I don’t think it ever will.
I read some really excellent books this month, and am now feeling energized to consume. Hungry, would probably be the normal way to say that. I’m still hungry, but nervous to start anything that won’t be serious. Next up, I’m reading some Sophocles for a seminar I’m taking, and then Brave New World for the podcast (join us!), so I should be safe. But in March:
I read Riders of the Purple Sage, and all that needs to be said on that has been—here and here.
I read Shakespeare Was a Woman and Other Heresies, and much that must be said has not yet been said. Maybe next week or the following.
I read Pink Dust. Fantastic.
I read One or Two, and you guys…………………you’ve got to check out this book. I could not put it down. Published originally in 1907 and revived by Mandylion Press, which I’m obsessed with, as they well know. I’m going to the book club meeting at McNally Jackson on the 14th, and you guys should come. Not if you actually know me in real life though, because I’m using it as my artist date for that week so I have to go alone. But anyone else is welcome :) It might be sold out tho.
I also read two distinct pieces on Robert Frost—both of which made sure to qualify their admiration for the poet by making it clear that like half of his poetry isn’t that good. It’s kind of weird, but also I get it. But also I’m an unqualified lover of Robert Frost and think he was a genius of form and content.
One piece explores a recently discovered poem of his—“Nothing New.” Written during the time that Frost was writing the poems which would appear in his Pulitzer Prize winning collection, New Hampshire, “Nothing New” and can fit in with some of the other “tight, focused” poems of the same period. It sent me back reading those others—“Dust of Snow,” “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” “Fire and Ice”—poems that lose absolutely nothing from being comprehensible on some level to even a small child.
The other piece I read was an interview with Adam Plunkett, who just wrote Love and Need: The Life of Robert Frost’s Poetry. Well, it took him seven years to write, but he just published it. They discuss why it may be that Frost has become “uncool,” why it is that people think he’s “obvious.” Of course, he is obvious, but also not obvious, as Plunkett puts it: “if you have any degree of certainty about it, you don’t really understand the problem.” Nowhere is Frost’s concurrent obviousness and complexity better illustrated than in these short poems, the ones that he published, and even “Nothing New,” which he apparently decided not to.
I want to read Love and Need and also The Irrational Season by Madeline L’Engle, Who Will Run the Frog Hospital by Lorrie Moore (even though I famously, literally hated I Am Homeless If This Is Not My Home), The Morgesons by Elizabeth Stoddard x Mandylion (again, I am obsessed with those girls), and The Little Friend by Donna Tart. which represent only probably 50% of the books I bought this month. Someone stop me, seriously.
Kathryn and I went to The Strand to watch Alex Dimitrov read from his new book of poems, Ecstasy. Technically, this was on April 1st, but I’m including it here. He read quickly and energetically. He spoke about his editing process, and the minutiae of an or the, but or and. He said that he wrote quickly, because you have to let a poem go where it’s going to go. And how to know when it’s over? It’s over when it’s time to go out for a drink.
He didn’t read this one, but I like it a lot.
What else in March? Could I go without telling you that I fed my friends on the occasion of the spring equinox?
On the menu this time—lasagna, a simple arugula salad, last minute garlic bread, and olive oil cake with brown butter buttercream.
After reviewing many, many, many recipes, each one more different from the last and equally vitriolic about all methodologies not therein included, and after falling into the deep hole of lasagna reddit, I lazily (or so I thought) decided to make the NYT cooking’s vaingloriously named “Best Lasagna Recipe.”
And I’ve got to tell you, this recipe was absolutely absurd. If you don’t want to form your meat into meatballs, brown them, then drop them in the sauce to cook, then pull them out, only to break them up into smaller pieces anyway, this recipe is NOT FOR YOU. Additionally, the first step is to cook pancetta, and Regina Schrambling (sorry to call you out girl, but you deserve it) recommends that you do so in 1/2 CUP OF OLIVE OIL. This is patently insane, and I knew it was insane. I used probably half that amount, but I should have used none. I was ladling oil off the top of my sauce before all was said and done. It also took a full hour in the oven, versus the indicated 30 minutes.
All that being said, I will give Regina the credit she deserves when I say that this shit was absolutely delicious. I was so scared, as I imagine many first time lasagna makers are. You start layering it all up and it seems…just not quite right. Is the ricotta supposed to spread? Cause it’s not really spreading. But I had nothing to fear. The edges got so crispy. My Baba said she would never buy lasagna again as long as I had five hours to spend making lasagna for her, which I always will.
The garlic bread was impulsive—at 5 o’clock I decided we had to have it. So I scurried out, and passing the windows of Apartment 4F on my way to Citarella, I peeked in and was lucky enough to acquire three baguettes for the price of two. Is there anywhere better to be than a bakery at the end of the day? I made half cuts across the whole baguette (two of them) and spooned my softened butter mixture (grated garlic, salt, pep, fresh parsley) in between each slice. Parm was sprinkled over the top before it was baked for 10 minutes or something like that. The girls went crazy for it.
And lastly, I made myself sick eating olive oil cake batter and brown butter buttercream icing in the afternoon, only just recovering in time to eat dinner and drink 5 glasses of wine. The olive oil cake alone was delicious and extremely simple to make. The brown butter buttercream was, unbeknownst to me, an exact replica of the buttercream icing from Yura, Upper East Side institution of days gone by. If you know, you know. My New Yorkers at dinner had one taste and were screaming, crying, being spiritually transported back to YURA. YURA, it’s just like YURA! they wailed in ecstasy. Even Westley got a taste, though he has no idea what Yura is at all.
That’s all for March, I think. I love April already. And I love you! Bye!
P.S. I wrote this listening to the Amazing Rhythm Aces, specifically Stacked Deck. I personally don’t love for “Third Rate Romance,” so I skip that one. “Life’s a Railway to Heaven” and “Amazing Grace (Used to Be Her Favorite Song)” slap so hard.
EXCELLENT!!!!!!!! It is a joy to read your writing.