sometimes the best secrets aren't secrets

i have a secret that’s not a secret.

it’s more like a constant, startling revelation. 

i have a masters degree. 

how awesome is that?

if you’ve been around here before, you might know that in the end of summer 2011, i quit my full-time job working in marketing and development and moved to boston to be a full-time graduate student in boston university’s gastronomy program. 

it was scary; it was intense; it was amazing.

i took four classes at a time in both the fall and the spring semester, something i’m not sure i would suggest doing. overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover how i felt most of the time.

for me, though, it was financially and mentally the right decision to jump in feet first and continue on full speed; that’s just the kind of person i am.

along the way i took some wonderful classes. 

in the fall, i confirmed my love for anthropology in my anthropology of food class (and, incidentally, received the julia child scholarship for the work i did in that class — how crazy is that?!); i remembered my love of archeology and gained a new appreciation for my new home’s foodways in my culture and cuisine: new england class; i was not only absolutely fascinated by my history of wine class, but i was also able to establish some groundwork for my thesis research with some of the materials we covered; and, perhaps most importantly, i discovered a passion for food policy — a passion that i think will direct my future professional and academic career(s).

in the spring, i mostly took core courses, which included the history of food, theory and methodology, and experiencing food through the senses. i also took a food and film class, which, while out of my academic comfort zone, gave me a great excuse to call my sister, am the elder, more frequently. (it also inspired the creation of the cactus garden’s bloomeria lumiere.)

i also began work on my thesis last spring, a process that took me all the way to this past december, when i successfully defended my thesis. 

the defense, in itself, was an amazing experience. 

i had no clue what i was getting myself into, and saying i was nervous would be a massive understatement.

the truth is, once the defense began, it was actually a lot of fun. 

(even more honestly, if you had asked me beforehand what word i’d use to describe defending my work, “fun” would not have even been on my radar.)

writing my thesis was difficult. it was a large project with some inherent problems that i knew about going into the whole undertaking, but by the time i got to my defense (and even though i doubted myself far more than was probably healthy), i knew my stuff. 

i love academia, and getting to sit and seriously discuss my research with my advisor and reader —both inspiring food anthropologists— was incredible. staggering. spectacular. phenomenal. 

i could go on, but i’m sure you all have access to your own thesauruses.

i’m pretty sure you get the idea, anyway.

that buzz from the defense still hasn’t left me, and that’s why i say i have a secret that isn’t a secret: because every so often when i’m doing something mundane, like making my coffee in the morning or driving or talking with my friends and family, i stop and it hits me.

i have a masters degree. 

how awesome is that?

loss and memory

i’ve been having some difficulties finding words here, mainly because there’s something －someone－ i want to talk about, but i don’t know how.

khayelitsha, the view from vicky's front door

in the end of may 2008, i went to south africa with one of my undergrad university’s anthropology classes. 

it was on that trip that i met kb, our distinguished seeds contributor who just so happens to be one of my best friends.

it was also on that trip that i realized my love of food anthropology and began my first forays into the field. 

in 2009, i posted a few excerpts from the paper that resulted from that trip, “cooking up a new south african identity: an exploration of food, identity, and gender in nine courses,” in the garden.  

this week, i wish i had shared more of that piece. 

in particular, i wish i had shared what i had written about vicky ntozini, the former owner of “vicky’s b&b” in khayelitsha.  

i say former because, as kb and i recently found out, vicky was murdered by a relative in november.  

rb, who was our tour guide on our trip, wrote a beautiful, touching piece about vicky, about her wisdom, integrity, and creativity, and about the importance of her work and the ways in which she enriched her community.

the shock of hearing about vicky was surreal, not just because it’s been so long since i met vicky, but because all this time i’ve lived with the sense that there was this amazing, indomitable woman in the world, a woman who saw problems and dreamed solutions.

hearing of her death inspires a shattering sense of loss and disillusion; another good one is gone. 

with all of the news in the world this past week  － the students and teachers murdered in newtown, the woman gang-raped and brutally beaten in delhi, it goes on － there really are no words for the current state of things.  

the violence of it all is overwhelming. 

at this point, at this time, there isn’t much i can do, not about any of it, and soon it will time for us to move on, to think about what’s next, next, next.

that's the way of the world.

but before we do, i’d like to share with you some of what i had written all those years ago about my stay at vicky’s. 

because even though you likely never met her, i wish you had.   

 vicky, june 2008 

i have never breaded chicken using a plastic bag before, but if a system works, why change it? 

our first, and only, night in khayelitsha and i’m in an anthropological heaven helping vicky make dinner. her kitchen is a microcosm of south africa: a third world country smashed headfirst into a first world country. 

the success of her bread and breakfast has allowed her to build and expand where her neighbors cannot. in the sandy land of one level shacks and lean-tos, vicky’s house is one of the few towering buildings that has two floors. her upstairs, almost complete, has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den. a balcony is still in progress. the whole upper portion of the house looks like it belongs back in cape town rather than khayelitsha. her downstairs is still reminiscent of the area, though. it’s darker and more cluttered. half of vicky’s kitchen has been redone – new fridge, new counters, new cabinets – but the other half still speaks of harder times. 

the rest of my group has gone out on a walking tour of the township, but the kitchen is still crowded. two of vicky’s neighbors, mama africa and beauty, have come over to help prepare the meal. vicky’s two older daughters are also pitching in. it’s clear that this is all routine they’re used to when the b&b is booked. 

vicky’s husband hovers around underfoot. he is obviously uncomfortable in the room – there’s an unspoken acknowledgement that this is a women’s space. i try not to laugh when he explains to me, in lengthy detail, that it is important for xhosa women to be able to cook – and cook well. if they don’t, their husbands will buy prepackaged food to eat, which is just bad. everything must be fresh, all the time.

by the time he’s done talking, it’s almost dinnertime. the group has returned, already talking about plans for the rest of the evening and laughing about the walk. dinner is fried chicken, an apple and carrot coleslaw, creamed and mashed pumpkin, a vegetable chutney medley, and sautéed spinach and onions. for desert, there is a trifle decorated with m&ms. even before anyone serves a piece of the trifle, the color from the m&ms starts to bleed into the pudding.

i am torn between eating with the group and hanging back in the kitchen. i can’t help but notice that vicky and her family don’t eat until they’re sure their guests are finished. i try to help clean up, but all that I’m allowed to do is stack plates. 

happy blogday!

it's been another year here in the cactus garden, which is kind of crazy when you think about it. 

back in 2008, the cactus garden was an awkward little blog that couldn't decide what it wanted to be when it grew up. 

now it's a full website with a kick-ass staff who all got together today to celebrate the blogday by drinking mimosas, putting not enough (because there's never enough) bacon on sandwiches, eating triple boston cream pie cake, and cheers-ing the new blog year with some sweet bubbles. 

so what's coming up in this new year?

am the elder is beginning a new segment, bloomeria lumiere, examining all things culture in film.

her first post will be up tomorrow afternoon, so keep an eye out for it!

nj is joining us as our in-house artist.

her first project will be illustrating our on-going king of the road story.

we'll be reposting the first chapter and a half with her illustrations here in the garden before we continue on.

(yay! no more awkward stock photos!)

to make commenting more user friendly, we've added a page where you can join the cactus garden as a member.

to sign up, visit the become a gardener page.

drunk food book club will be kicking off this year reading alone in the kitchen with an eggplant, which is a fun read even if you don't like eggplant. 

we'll be commenting as we read and drink over on the open forum until about december 20 or so, when we'll pick a new book. 

as always, feel free to drink and read along with us --- the more the merrier! 

books on my parents' shelves will be returning this friday. 

stay tuned for a special post there.

our dear friend, the second lieutenant, is currently m.i.a. (there are fears he may be lost behind enemy cat lines).

am the elder's juliet has volunteered to stand in as stunt double until our humble mascot is found.

juilet also has the honor of posing next to the cactus garden's current actual cactus, oliver. 

normally in these blogday posts we tell you a little about the past year, the stats and all that, but this past year was a quiet year, what with sm up in boston as a full-time grad student, so we don't really have anything too interesting to share there, except...

except...

as in past years, we took a moment to look at the recent past search queries to see what readers were looking for when they found us.

most made sense, but one was mildly baffling and incited riotous laughter.

so we'd like to ask you, our wonderful readers, who went looking for cactus croquet porn?

and more importantly, why???

fess up now.

as for the rest of you, happy blogday.

we're glad you're here.

on food memories

last year, as some of you might remember, i set about a personal project - a 365 day food photo project. 

each day i took pictures of food i encountered and, from the mix, picked one photo to represent the day. 

some of the foods i ate, some i didn't.

some i just marveled at.

by the end of the year (and continuing on well into this year), i had some thousand(s) of food photos.

f.y.i. raw meat looks like brains sometimes

today i deleted just about all of those photos.

except for a handful i truly love, i let them go.

food photography in general has developed a bad rep.

ke, the frau doktor doctor, recently sent me the link to this food photo rant.

some of the irritations expressed in this letter are valid.

it's easy to complain about instagram and facebook newsfeeds filling up with images of calzones and cappuccinos, just as it's easy to complain about the abundance of wedding, baby, and pet photos. 

but what's the real irritation here?

it's not the life events.

we don't sit in our chairs, jealously wishing our co-workers didn't get to have lunch because their tapas looks far better than our squished pb&j — just as we don't sit wishing our best friend didn't get married or that dog didn't get adopted from the pound.

it's not the life events we dislike, it's the copious amounts of milestones and landmarks we are exposed to at any given moment.

with the over-abundance of photography and photo-altering apps, we are losing the significance and the value normally embedded in our photos.

simply put: the stories of our lives are losing meaning and the sheer proliferation has overwhelmed the memory capacity of both our technology and our minds.

also, we might be eating too much sugar. or not enough. one or the other.

over the past several weeks, i've spent a lot of time sitting around, first waiting for medical diagnoses and then waiting for meds to kick in.

for those first several weeks, as i was contemplating the worst — organ failure, epilepsy, even possibly parkinson's disease — i didn't go looking for pictures of that bowl of pad thai or salt and pepper shakers sitting on a restaurant table. 

i went looking for these:

kb and sb at the hunt valley wine festival

photo-ing up food photographers dc, ja, and mk at the fancy food show

ap showing some 3 am diner love

nd's last senses class of the spring taking a boozey turnkicking it up screw it style with mrjs taking a mad swing during epic croquet

all of these photos have something to do with food or drinks (okay, mostly drinks because my friends never seem to sit still long enough at the table), but they're not food photos. 

so, do i miss taking however many gazillion photos photos with kb before each meal?

sometimes.

do i feel a need to go back to it?

no.

but i can still be recursive and take pictures of kb taking food photos.

 

the food doesn't make the photograph, it's the people with you at the time who make the memory.

through the anthroscope

do you yelp?

chronically check-in online everywhere you go?

are you the virtual mayor of a building you drove by?

 

this might be (for) you:

there's been a lot of humor clips like these going around recently.

i've lost count of how often this clip has shown up on my fb news feed:

while the overt intent of these videos is to amuse and entertain, there's a greater underlying message being conveyed.

as our virtual interactions have grown, so, too, have our perceptions of real world experiences and the ways in which we express and comment on these encounters.

these videos are a commentary on the conflicting transient and enduring aspects of online reviews: reviews are snapshots of a singular experience. often they are written and then forgotten. and yet, these stories remain available to the public and can influence future decisions.

food lends itself well to this commentary because food, in its own nature, is both lasting and ephemeral. 

we remember past meals, dishes loved and dishes detested. 

many life events can be recalled or related to what was consumed. (or, alternatively, what was not consumed.)

conversely, eating is an impermanent action: the actual action itself is short-lived and though basic bodily needs require regular consumption, the meals themselves are not necessarily remembered. 

from this, it seems possible to consider that the above clips (and the one below - you've kept reading so far, it only seems fair to give you another) are not just observations of the digital food dialogue, but they are also commentaries on food and remembrance.  

why do we remember certain food experiences and not others?

what inspires us to try (or not) new food experiences?

and, importantly, what compels us to share these experiences with others?

all of this is just me hypothesizing, though.

after all, i don't have a yelp or a chowhound or whatnot account (and i'm too lazy to get one), so all i can give you is an outsider's perspective.

oh, and there's still coffee in my cup.

and now, for listening to me ramble:

that's not really a reward, is it?

i'm sorry.