Ovaries of steel. That's what I have. Yes, my reproductive system is invulnerable and a choice metaphor for my blazing courage. I write a food blog nearly bereft of photos, without tell-all stories about my life, without delving into my philosophy of life, and even without a background in food production (I'm not even the best cook in my family). What's more, I have the huevos to boast about it.
Frequently I receive this comment: "I love your blog! You need more pictures though."
No I don't! You need more imagination. I love reading cookbooks, especially those classics without many photographs, like Simple Food, the Tassajara Bread Book, the Voluptuous Vegan, and How to Cook Everything Vegetarian. It entices me to imagine for myself how the food looks, smells, and tastes.
I'm one of those nerds who prefers computer games with basic graphics (Super Mario forever!) because they give me the space to invent the majority of the details about the world and characters. I also prefer to play the board game Agricola with cubes of different colors representing cattle (brown cube), wild boar (black cube), and sheep (white cube). I've had the option to upgrade to animal-shaped pieces and firmly refused.
I prefer books to movies. I prefer naps to movies. And I prefer a movie that implies rather than shows every graphic detail about its protagonist's private life. Tell, not show.
Which brings me to the point of this blog. You may scavenge some useful recipes from it but mostly I just want you to enjoy the writing. I am an award-winning writer; in fact, I won two writing awards in junior high and don't you forget it. I write this blog because I wish to practice good writing, although I admit I've always had a soft spot for food—in the latest Serious Eats poll "Food—Yes or No?" I voted yes.
So how do you write a blog? Any way you damn well please. That's my attitude, the attitude of someone with not one, but two ovaries of steel.
The rest - It’s May in Jerusalem and nothing could be more delightful. The days are warm, the evenings are breezy, and our loquat tree is bursting with fruit. The old...