Mary Frances On Going To Restaurants

From "D is for Dining Out," in An Alphabet for Gourmets, by my BFF Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher:

I had a happy beginning in [the] neglected art and much abused privilege [of dining out], one that has sheathed it in unfading pleasure for me when it is done well. When I was no more than five or so my father and mother would begin to prepare my spirits for Easter, or Christmas, or a birthday, and when the festival rolled around, there I would be, waiting to greet it...on the pink velvet seat of the region's best restaurant.

I admit I am prejudiced about it. I seldom dine out, and because of my early conditioning to the sweet illusion of permanent celebration, of "party" and festivity on every such occasion, I feel automatically that any invitation means sure excitement, that it will be an event, whether it brings me a rained-on hamburger in a drive-in or Chicken Jerusalem at Perino's. The trouble is, I'm afraid, that I expect people I dine with to feel the same muted but omnipresent delight that I feel.

Things That Made Me Happy Yesterday

1. Cat pictures:


(from my "Happy" Pinterest board, of course); and
2. This quote from M.F.K. Fisher:

A well-made dry Martini of Gibson, correctly chilled and nicely served, has been more often my true friend than any two-legged creature.

(from the final essay in An Alphabet for Gourmets. It's so true.)

Also: Happy birthday to Virginia Woolf today!

New Things

Tonight I am going to a chamber music concert. By myself. This is the first time I've been brave enough to go solo to an event and I'm proud of myself before the fact.

My BFF M.F.K. Fisher wrote about dining alone, and I like to think I'm channeling the same spirit here--just with a concert instead of dinner:
I came to believe that since nobody else dared to feed me as I wished to be fed, I must do it myself, with as much aplomb as I could muster.

If you need me, I'll be attending a concert with aplomb.

Feeding Myself

I am a few days into a funk of not knowing what to eat--which, if you've met me, is kind of a big deal, because I pretty much get through the days by looking forward to the next meal. It's a problem.

I got home last night and nothing sounded good but then I thought, "Maybe an omelette?" And I made one and it almost hit the spot and reminded me of this quote from M.F.K. Fisher's "A is for Dining Alone" essay:

I treated myself fairly dispassionately as a marketable thing, at least from ten to six daily, in a Hollywood studio story department, and I fed myself to maintain top efficiency...I tried to apply what I knew of proteins and so forth to my own chemical pattern, and I deliberately scrambled two eggs in a little sweet butter when quite often I would have liked a glass of sherry and a hot bath and to hell with food.

Tuesday Vacation Report

I'm back from the beach and, while it was a little chilly and I was fighting a head cold, it was nice to be by the ocean.

It was especially nice to hear it at night. One of my favorite chapters of The Gastronomical Me describes MFK Fisher's visit to the coast of Mexico, and she has this to say about the ocean:
"I slept like a cat all night, dreaming good dreams in my well-being, but hearing the waves when I wanted to through the dreams."

(I brought some vacation knitting, so I'll put up a Project Roundup tomorrow.)

Food I Cook For Myself

Oyster stew is a traditional Christmas Eve or New Year's Eve supper in my mother's family, but only she and I like it. Mr. Isbell doesn't care for it either, but since he was at band practice last night, I made some for a week-before-Christmas-eve dinner for myself. (And Toby. Toby, I discovered, is a big fan of oyster stew.)

I've started reading some M.F.K. Fisher again, to compare her with Laurie Colwin, and in Consider The Oyster I found this about oyster stew: "mildly potent, quietly sustaining, warm as love and welcomer in the winter."

And also very popular with spoiled housecats.

The Delights of M.F.K. Fisher

It's a thinly-disguised fact that I owe most of what I know to the J. Peterman catalog: If I read about it there, I would usually go and find out more--from British colonialism, Lawrence of Arabia, or Elsa Maxwell to Tolstoy.

And now, 12 years after my first historic Peterman, I've discovered M.F.K. Fisher, who was mentioned in a Spring/Summer issue probably around 1996. (Seriously. There was an apron dress you could buy, in pink or blue.) I picked up The Gastronomical Me, and this is what won me over:

Now...the three of us are in some ways even more than twenty-five years older than we were then. And still the warm round peach pie and the cool yellow cream we ate together that August night live in our hearts' palates, succulent, secret, delicious.

"Hearts' palates." Perfect.