Making a Poor Man's Feast [recipe]
Elissa, The beauty of your prose always takes me to the people and places that form your subjects. From the cool summer breeze to the hockmesser, my senses are gripped. I appreciate your pieces in the dual meaning of the word “appreciate”. I wish we had known each other in high school. We certainly had much in common. All these years later, I’ve gotten to know you from your writing. I’m grateful for it.
This was so beautifully written it made my heart hurt. Your descriptions of your grandma’s kitchen reminded me of my grandma’s kitchen, the vintage unfussy cookware and juice glasses from childhood(!). I have one of those juice glasses in my house now and every time I use it I have all the feelings of being transported back to grandma’s kitchen.
Why didn’t your grandmother shop on Avenue U? It sounds absolutely glorious. I would also shop there every day like you did.
Your writing is just SO beautiful, Elissa. I don’t have words to match yours (though I wish I did!), so I’ll just say how much I appreciate these essays that make me feel like I’m standing right there with you, braising sausages in wine and grapes, instead of my reality of browning some ground beef, sprinkling it with packaged Ortega seasoning (40% less sodium, though!), and slapping it on some store-bought tortillas. Your words make me want to learn to cook. And write!
Damn, such good writing. The details of the apartment, right on down to the Coffee Nips...! Thank you as always for a great read and your laser attention to detail!
I needed to read this wonderful article tonight. It lifted my spirits so much, and was very humerus in parts.