the sexy pasta award goes to...

oh, spring! knock it off… + wooing readers + death has a minute

Natalie Serber

Apr 25, 2024

I love it when you:

Refer a friend

hey-ho!

I’ve been seduced by spring…

A ridiculous/gorgeous morning walk:

A song:

A poem:

Today

BY BILLY COLLINS

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

A painting:

Woman in Blue, William Johnson. From the Harlem Renaissance exhibit at the Met in NYC

What’s seducing you?

read:

I AM HOMELESS IF THIS IS NOT MY HOME, by Lorrie Moore, won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction. And… it’s so weird. Imagine MY DINNER WITH ANDRE re-done as an ongoing riff between a jilted lover and his beloved’s corpse. So much witty repartee! So many clever insights about loss, grief, and muddling along in pain. So many worms and dark holes, and skin which seems to be slipping off. I mean jeez.. what’s not to love?

Here’s Finn, the jilted man, watching the World Series at the hospice with his dying brother:

“Max, my brother, I am so sorry you are going through this but you’ve been a trouper throughout and I thought you might win, I really did.”
“Jesus, I thought you were here to cheer me up,” said Max. He closed his eyes and they both said nothing for a while. “I thought I’d beat it,” he said hoarsely. “But death is a fucking genius.”
Finn closed his eyes too. “It certainly is an overachiever.” Who was anyone but roadkill in the face of it. “Is Cleveland winning”

Finn is called away from the hospice to find out what’s happened to his suicidal ex-girlfriend, Lily. Alas, she’s drowned herself in the shower. Yet fear not, her reanimated corpse greets him with a mouth full of dirt, ready to road trip! Off they go in Finn’s Honda. Grief is palpable.

I guffawed and scratched my head through this novel. A parallel plot, set just after the Civil War, unfolds through a series of letters from an Inn Keeper to her dead sister. More grief. Plus John Wilkes Booth!? 🤷🏻‍♀️ I know!

THE NEW YORKER reviewer said the book seemed to crumble in her hands for the final third. Lorrie Moore said in an interview, “I’m afraid I’ve written something that has to be read twice.” A second time through would certainly be full of laughter. I found the end, as Finn tries to reconcile his life minus his brother, minus Lily, even minus his cat, to be deeply moving. It seems we do make it through.

Check my read.write.eat. Bookshop Store, where you will find many of the books I've recommended in the newsletter. Buying books from my shop is a way you can be a friend to the newsletter.

write:

When my screen flashes with an unknown number, of course I don’t answer…I’m as jaded as the rest of you. But I do feel a whiff of hope. What if the call is wonderful news?

A committee calling to say I am finally getting the recognition I deserve!
Someone calling to say they’ve been reading my work, my essays, and they want to offer me an advance to gather everything in a collection!
News that I’ve inherited a large sum of money from a stranger!
Someone I admire calling to interview me!

Not joking, these are literally my first thoughts. I imagine my humble gratitude and begin crafting an acceptance speech, all in 4 seconds. Also, I push back the dark wing of worry that someone I love has been harmed. I refuse to catastrophize about something that hasn’t happened. And, then I land on logic, it’s SPAM.

Why am I telling you this? Because that hope and excitement about the unknown caller is the same feeling I have when I open a new book. I’m ready to be wooed.

Who am I going to fall in love with?
Will I laugh until I cry?
What am I going to learn about humanity and myself?
Will there be danger, excitement, love?

I am ready to buckle up for a pleasurable road trip, complete with bad choices, hazards, and vistas.

Three opening paragraphs and sentences which I adore:

1. From Elizabeth McCracken’s memoir, AN EXACT REPLICA OF A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION:

Once upon a time, before I knew anything about the subject, a woman told me I should write a book about the lighter side of losing a child.
(This is not that book.)

Her casual aside, “…before I knew anything about the subject…” grabs you by the throat, suggesting that at some point she will know about the subject.

2. From Michelle Zauner’s memoir, CRYING IN H MART:

Ever since my mom died, I cry in H Mart.
H Mart is a supermarket chain that specializes in Asian food. The H stands for Han ah rum, a Korean phrase that roughly translates to ‘one arm full of groceries.’ H Mart is where parachute kids flock to find the brand of instant noodles the reminds them of home.

Five crushing words start her book, “Ever since my mother died…” Plus, I can’t help but feel close to someone who cries in the grocery store.

From Tessa Hadley’s story collection, AFTER THE FUNERAL:

After the funeral, the two little girls, aged nine and seven, accompanied their grief-stricken mother home. Naturally they were grief-stricken also; but then again, they hadn’t known their father very well, and hadn’t enormously liked him. He was an airline pilot, and they preferred it when he was away working; being alert little girls, they’d picked up intimations that he preferred it too. This was in the nineteen-seventies, when air travel was supposed to be glamorous.

I understand that the subsequent pages will examine the gap between the sensitive girls and their stricken mother. The simple phrase, “but then again…” hooks me.

Why do I like these openings? Because they have stakes. They have distinctive voices. And the stories feel revelatory.

If you’ll indulge me, here is the opening paragraph from my memoir, COMMUNITY CHEST. (Once you read, I think you will see why I chose to share it here):

Shortly after my first book was published, I began to play a game with myself. Every time my cellphone lit up and listed “private caller,” I paused, took a deep breath and imagined my literary fairy godmother, Oprah, calling to tell me how much she loved my book—how she laughed and was moved by my sentences and that reading my book made her feel less alone. Now the game is over. Every time my phone rings and the screen lists “private caller,” I take a deep breath because more than likely it will be the oncologist. I’ve gone from one O to another… from the O every writer yearns to hear from to the O nobody wants to hear from. Crap.

My hope is that a reader feels compelled to follow along in this time of great joy/great concern. Book/Cancer. Whiplash. Irony.

…

Oh wow! I didn’t even realize as I pulled these books off the shelf that each is shadowed by death or possibility of death. Hmmm. Same with the Lorrie Moore above. I guess death is having a minute in this newsletter. The take away? Be certain to write about subjects with stakes, with risk, and about how we humans make it through.

prompt:

Write about:

A pet that ran away—
Selling the family home—
When your heart beat faster—

Choose one, or write about all three. I encourage you to set a timer for seven minutes. Write by hand. Don’t stop.

Once you’ve completed the get-it-down phase, read over your words. Go ahead and make some tweaks. Notice where you feel grabbed by the throat. Notice where you feel the tension of discord. Notice what you’ve hinted at, what the character must grapple with or learn, what will be upcoming in the pages. Does the excitement occur in the third paragraph? Further down the page? Move it to the top. Let those glowing, enticing words begin the piece.

I am a supporter of World Central Kitchen and Chef José Andrés. The death of seven aid workers in Gaza is another atrocity in a region filled with suffering. For all who upgrade to paid this month (just $5 a month, the cost of one cappuccino!) I will donate and match the subscription fee to WCK’s mission to bring food to people who are suffering. UPDATE: Thus far, ten people have upgraded to a paid subscription. Food is a human right. please join in.

It is not a sign of weakness to feed strangers; it is a sign of strength.
~Chef José Andrés

eat:

Back in the before time, in my early twenties, I was seeing a guy with frisky blue eyes. We met in my step aerobics class. (Ah, something you didn’t know about me! I taught aerobics. Of course I did! 😉) As one does, I invited him to my apartment for dinner. He arrived with wine and flowers (good) and then proceeded to stretch out on the couch while I finished cooking a complicated dinner alone in the kitchen (bad). Deep into my Martha Stewart aspirations, I made Chicken Cordon Bleu, which I thought was the height of sophistication. Kneeling before the open oven door, heat blasting my face, I recall wondering why he was in the living room with his feet up? Decidedly not sexy. It was our last date.

Nora Ephron wins the best sexy pasta award. Midnight spaghetti carbonara meant to be eaten in bed from a single bowl as Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson did in HEARTBURN. (OMG, the bed heads, the empty wine bottle by the phone, the satisfied look on Nicholson’s face, the reflection of the television in the art behind the bed… fantastic!)

Here’s something easy, silky, delicious, and always impressive. Extra credit if you eat it in bed!

Penne alla Vodka

¼c good olive oil
2T unsalted butter
2c chopped yellow onions (roughly 2 onions)
3 cloves minced garlic (about 1T)
2t dried oregano
½t red pepper flakes
1c vodka
2 (28-ounce) cans whole peeled plum tomatoes, drained but liquid reserved
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 pound penne, DeCecco is great
2T chopped fresh oregano leaves, plus extra for serving
1c heavy cream
½c freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat the oil and butter in a medium Dutch oven over medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook until the onions are translucent. Add garlic, dried oregano, and red pepper flakes and cook for just another minute. Add the vodka and simmer for 5 to 7 minutes, until the mixture is reduced by half. Using your hands (because sexy!) crush each tomato into the pot. Add 1t salt and black pepper to your taste. Cover the pot with a tight-fitting lid and bake for thirty minutes. Do check at midpoint for moisture, and if necessary add a bit of the saved tomato liquid.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add 2 tablespoons of salt and the pasta and cook according the directions on the package. Drain and set aside.

Using a hand blender, regular blender, or food processor, puree the sauce until smooth, return to pot. Add the fresh oregano, cream, more salt and pepper to taste. Simmer on low, partially covered for 7 minutes or so. Add pasta to the sauce and cook for 2 more minutes. Off heat, stir in ½c of the Parmesan cheese. Serve hot sprinkled with extra Parmesan and fresh oregano.

…

Do you have a go-to recipe for wooing?