today

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White wine vibrates. After dinner reflection. It still does not interest me. I hope that doesn’t bother you.
 
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Fumbling around the internet, I found this tribute to Mimi Sheraton written by Norman Van Aken. I’m late to it, and it’s gorgeous.
 
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A few times, I’ve witnessed a female food writer speak in a manner I recognize as superior. Conveying a fresh depth of character. Self-confident without the gross defence many women, including myself, practice to boredom. It’s attractive.
 
One was a woman on a food panel. She’d won a James Beard award. I think one of the first for this country. Listening to the different perspectives on Canadian food was fascinating — each wrote with a singular voice. Imperative in a small place (or anywhere). As instructive was watching them interact.
 
Sometimes, I miss Gina Mallet. She was forthright, had opinions, rose to a challenge, and looked good asserting authority. I feel the same way about Mimi Sheraton. She was fearless. Both had clear boundaries around likability. They knew themselves.
 
I asked someone about Mallet recently, and they were happy for the reminder.
 
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“…the past with its pains and joys has a place and a voice that the present should and can allow.”
 
I can’t stop thinking about Celia Paul’s Self Portrait. I knew nothing of her and bought the book based on a blurb — finished it in two days on long subway rides. It’s hard not to admire her conviction. Art is central to her life.
 
As a student, she became involved with the artist/painter/teacher Lucian Freud. There’s very little anger in the reading. Is it fair to wonder what would have happened had a powerful man exercised some measure of control over his appetites? Chose not to mess around with a young woman’s discovery and learning. Is that a welcome message?
 
***
 
I can’t stop listening to Yamê. Or Billy Eilish.

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2024

2023