5 second rule

Ripe Party at the Rustic Garden Bistro

Join us.

Outside.

In the garden.

Under the stars.

We will be serving a complete, 5 course meal from Ripe, followed by a potluck dessert buffet. 

We will drink festive libations. Talk about fruit. Commune with vegetables. Discuss life. Get to know each other. Share stories while we share a meal. Then I will do a reading and sign some books with the neatest handwriting I can muster. But please: make sure I don't drink more than one glass of wine. I am a Notorious Lightweight. Note the capital N and capital L. Now imagine them highlighted. And in 34 point.

Many thanks to my friend Kim Burnell, hostess for the evening. She's the owner of a home with what I understand to be a stunning edible garden in Orange County, California. And she's generously opening her garden for this special event on Saturday, July 21. 

If you live in the LA / Orange County area, or know folks who do, please pass along this invitation. While anyone may attend, you get first dibs. Bring a friend, or three.

Click the EventBrite link to get all the details and snag your ticket before they're gone. (Space is limited.) http://ripeinthegarden.eventbrite.com/

And if you don't live in Southern California, but you do like the idea of hosting a Ripe party sometime in the future, please let me know. I'm game to exploring similar parties in other cities. 

Let's talk.

Exactly what I need.

I wake to the sound of Anita's laughter, and a pair of white slippers outside the guestroom door.

But, wait. Let me back up.

This past weekend, I was invited to Seattle's Book Larder, where my friend Dana is the Culinary Director. I was thrilled, as I'd heard such good things about this charming new shop, with its bright blue walls and its cookbooks galore. When I arrive, I want to live here, set up house in the store, and never leave.

But I'm not here to live; I'm here to speak. And I start to doubt. Who will come to this signing? Will five people? Will ten? 

Thirty minutes before the event, the store's staff starts setting out chairs. First, a smattering. Then a few more. Soon, the space is filled with 20, 25 chairs, and with each unfolding of a new one, my heart dips further into its pocket. I don't want that chair to sit empty. Or that one. I don't want them all to sit empty, for god's sake. I don't want to let these folks down.

But then, somehow, the door hinges open, and people arrive. All the chairs fill. Latecomers stand in the back, and on the sides. Who are these people? And why are they here on a sunny spring Sunday?

Thank you for coming, says Lara, the owner.

And so it begins.

...

When it's all over, and we sell out of books (happy!), and I give final thanks, and I say my goodbyes, I arrive at Anita's. She feeds me pie, filled with sweet nectarines, topped with tender pastry stars. Her friend Libby hands me a cocktail, something cool, with gin and berry syrup. I sip it slowly, until the ice clinks alone.

A few hours later, I want to take Anita out. A proper dinner, to thank her for putting me up. But she reads my face; she sees my tired eyes. Sit, she says. So I do, on a tall chair in her kitchen.

She cooks for me, this friend from my past, and my present. Potatoes with hard-cooked egg, a bowl of bright greens, couscous with apple, and roasted mushrooms. 

Exactly what I need.

She makes me exactly what I need.

Lend me your earlobes.

Promoting a book is weird. It's a swirling stew, equal parts thrilling, embarrassing, discomfiting, and wonderful. It's prideful and boasty, narcissistic and ego-y. It's one-tracky and tacky. But, listen, it's also important, not only because it represents the culmination of several years of work, but also because without promotion, books languish and die in warehouses and on store shelves.

And, so, Paulette and I have embraced the task before us and are getting out there -- in our hometowns and yours, at venues small, large, and medium-sized, together and apart. And you know what? Talking with people about colorful fruits and vegetables is fun. Super fun. It's even more fun than talking to computer screens, which is so squarely inside my wheelhouse I often get stuck in there and can't find my way out. Book promotion forces me to speak out loud and swallow big gulps of fresh air. It's good.

Above are some scenes from our early spring events and signings.

In the top row, I'm signing books (hello) at the Blossom Hill Certified Farmers' Market, my go-to market here in San Jose. I'm booked at several other local markets this spring and summer, and I couldn't be prouder to sit beside the farmers that grow my family's food. You can see their gorgeous produce in that basket in the upper right.

In the middle row, you'll see the favas I received from Melissa's Produce, a Southern California-based produce distributor that twice provided juicy pixies tangerines for Ripe parties, and shipped me not only those beautiful beans, but also chioggia beets, fresh edamame, kumquats, fennel, and cucumbers for the launch party at my home. I paid them in invisible money, so consider this a DISCLOSURE, FEDERAL TRADE COMMISSION. The local produce from my area farmers' markets and the generous donations from the Melissa's crew intermingled on plates and in salad bowls. There was no fussing or fighting. Just fruit, vegetables, accompaniments, and libations all getting along in a riotous mash of color until it disappeared into waiting mouths and bellies.

Also in that row, you'll see the Ripe display at Rizzoli Bookstore in New York City, which hosted a wonderful launch for us in late March. There you will also see Paulette with her daughter Cassidy, a little girl so cute I want to nibble her earlobes every time I see her.

The bottom row of photos showcases squares of blueberry-nutmeg cake I served along with several other dishes from the cookbook -- grilled five-spice pineapple, cucumber-halloumi salad, chocolate-dipped strawberries, tarragon-lime green tea, and radish-olive crostini -- at a party my very dear friends Alison and Julia hosted at Alison's home last weekend. It was such a joy to talk about produce with so many interesting women. To all of you who bought 4, 5, even 6 copies of Ripe at Alison's house, I will nibble your earlobes as soon as I'm done nibbling Cassidy's.

And finally, in the lower right corner, a photo Colin took of me just before my event at Omnivore Books in San Francisco. God, I love that shop. I can't wait to get back there and sink into the walls.

Here's a recap of our press to date. 

And here's a list of our upcoming appearances, including events next week in Boston, Maine, Philadelphia, and Idaho.

They're all open to the public.

I invite you and your earlobes to come say hello.

...

One more thing. I read every single comment you left on my Mother's Day post. Every single one. As some of you know, the New York Times even linked to that post. I want to thank you all for sharing your words and thoughts with me. I found myself unable to respond in line, but you moved me deeply, and I am grateful.

Etiquette

My head feels like a tangled necklace, and each time I tease out a little knot, I find another one further down the chain.

I just returned from BlogHer Food, where I met many friendly, kind people, but I'm still trying to figure it all out.  What's real? What's posturing? What's marketing? What's genuine?  The questions fill me up like helium, and soon, I fear, my feet will leave the ground and I'll crack my head on the ceiling. 

It's getting exceedingly difficult for me to figure out where I, and the type of career I'm crafting, fit into this whole swirl of hobnobbing and hoohawing.  I remember back in the day when a writer was someone who enjoyed solitude.  Someone who felt charged by sitting alone at a desk, with nothing more than an idea and a vision, someone who struggled over word choice and sentence formation, rhythm and tempo, syllables and tone.  Someone for whom the process of translating a nugget, or a concept, into a fully realized piece of prose was a genuine form of artistic expression. 

Now, writing is social.  It's a collective.  It's a giant party, with links and shoutouts, with self promotion and promotion of others.  It's about the business and the craft, about advertising and connecting with sponsors, about branding. I struggle with this mightily.  I don't have any answers to this particular angst at the moment.  It's just lingering on my shoulder, and I feel its persistent weight.

And so, since I can't offer you answers, I will instead offer this consolation prize: some wholly unsolicited advice to future conference-goers based on my recent experience. 

A blogger named Brooke Burton (whom I didn't meet, regrettably), wrote up a list of sincere and useful conference-going tips in her aptly-titled post, How to Go to a Food Blogging Conference.  I would like to offer a flip-side companion piece, which I will title:

How *Not* to Go to a Food Blogging Conference, or (subtitle) The 5 Second Rule Guide to Conference Etiquette

1.  When someone sits down next to you at a meal, and you are the only two people at the table, do not keep Tweeting/texting/playing Doodle Jump.  Stop what you're doing, put down your phone, and connect face to face.  You may like her, and she may like you.  One real person in front of you is worth more than 9,000 followers on Twitter. 

2.  Do not introduce yourself with your blog name.  Why?  Because it's incredibly annoying.  Introduce yourself using your real name first, your blog name second.  I can't tell you how weird it is to have someone reach out to shake your hand with the words, "Hi! I'm MelindaCooksBlackBeans!"  Or, "Hi, I'm SexyBakerBunny!" 

3.  Do not hand someone a card before you've exchanged actual, verbal words.  When someone at a conference asks you about your work, or your blog, talk to them using language.  It doesn't even matter what language you use -- Klingon, Swahili, who cares? -- but wait to hand them your card until after you've made an initial connection.  It's more effort, sure, but life's a bitch that way sometimes.

4.  If you see a small group of people chatting quietly with a Very Well Known Writer/ Blogger/ Keynote Speaker, do not physically move your body between the object of your wonderment and the existing group of people talking with her.  Instead, wait politely for a break in the conversation, then do your whole fawny, gushy thing after we've widened the circle.  We will let you in, honest, if you'll just give us the chance.

5.    Do not insult a sponsor.  Mea culpa.  This one was my fault.  One of the sponsors was a yogurt company that had just came out with a new product. I got it in my head that I had a moral imperative to inform them that their divided packaging made me think of baby food trays, and that every time I ate a spoonful of yogurt I felt like I should make airplane noises and feed it to the person next to me.  Brownie points for me?  -25.  Likelihood of my landing a lucrative spokesperson contract? -1,000,000.

So, get out there!  Represent yourself well, meet and greet, and connect with other writers.  And if you've got a safety pin on you, pass it my way.  I've got about 12 remaining kinks in my necklace, and I'm having a hell of a time working them out.

Off-road

No, I will not.  I will not stay on the path.

Sometimes, when the path is rocky, you need to find a new balance point, re-center yourself, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.  That's the mature course of action; that's the safe bet.  But sometimes, frankly, you need to say, "Screw you, path," and start trouncing on the grass.  

Forging  a new path is scary.  There will be slimy snails along the way, and pebbles that sneak into your shoe and wedge in that tender spot between your stinky toes.  And that can hurt like a mother&$#%*, but still, it's your path. 

This is my path.  I've gotten away from it a bit lately, and I want to come back.  I want to bring you pictures, and ideas, and recipes, and discussion points, and sit down with you and jostle.  I want to make fun of things.  I want to tell you what I'm excited about, and hear what you're excited about, too. 

Me, first.  Here are 5 recent things that have pleased me:

1.  This opportunity to write about a new book.

2.  This lovely shout out, as well as this one.

3.  This opportunity to speak about writing.

4.  The chance to write about this amazing woman.

5.  The honor of being profiled here, and here.

My point is not to be all Madame La Braggadocio.  It's to talk about paths, breaking free from what's not working for you, and carving out a new route when the time is right.

Can you name 5 things you're excited about right now, on any topic?  Share below, so we can collectively revel in your success. 

If you can't name 5, perhaps it's time for you to off-road it for a while, rip out some signposts, and chuck them, as high as you can, into the air.

Learn!

There are two kinds of people in the world: 1) those who want to eat the scones in front of them and then go merrily about their very responsible, orderly lives, and 2) those who want to photograph their scones, then write about them, then eat them, then make more, then write about those, then photograph them.  Then make more.

I fall squarely in the first camp.

Kidding!

If you're a food blogger, or someone interested in learning a little more about the craft/art/mania that is food blogging, or food writing in general, or if you want to explore travel writing, or photography, or Northern California, or see what shoes I'll be wearing next weekend, you may want to attend the Book Passage Travel, Food & Photography Conference coming up in Corte Madera.  

I'll be speaking on a food blogging panel with the intelligent and talented Amy Sherman from Cooking with Amy and the sage and knowledgeable Dianne Jacob of Will Write for Food.  (Have you not bought the new version of Dianne's food writing handbook yet?  And why not?)  Our three hour session will cover all aspects of food blogging, and I'll be leading a special hour-long breakout on basic food photography and styling techniques.

Here's the agenda for the three and a half day meeting, and here's the full list of conference faculty who will be speaking and presenting.  The conference website reads: "The faculty includes publishers, magazine editors, photographers, travel essayists, food writers, restaurateurs, guidebook writers, and more. There are hours of informal interaction between faculty and students during lunch and in discussions that often last late into the evening."

Of course, you can always just sit home and eat scones by yourself, and that's cool.  But eating them with me would be fun, too.