Chapter 10
From the desk of Kate Fair who doesn’t have any bookstore stationery at her apartment
1/28/92
Dear Frida,
Thank you so much for the Wallace Stegner. I know the words are the same in a copy I could get here, but it’s better somehow coming from Paris and you. Double thanks for telling me about anxiety attacks. I tried cutting back to two cups of coffee a night, but they’re getting worse. They’ve turned into this totally nonstop insistent stinging under my skin, and there’s this claustrophobia, like I’m too close to myself. But there’s a sort of distance at the same time, like I’m too far away. The other night I told Roy about it and he laughed so hard I thought he was going to pass out. He said of course I’ve never heard of anxiety attacks. I’m a bottled-up Scandinavian from the Pacific Northwest. He’s from here, too, but he’s African-American. I asked if that’s why he’s heard of them. That made him laugh harder. He said no, it’s because he went to college in New York and everyone there is in therapy. I like Roy a lot. He’s my age, and he’s already lived in Paris. He was reading Gertrude Stein when he was in junior high, but he never makes me feel stupid, not even the time I mispronounced Anna Karenina.
I guess Sven overheard our conversation about anxiety. The next time we were at the front counter together, he told me I should read Soren Kierkegaard (another name I had to look up). Sven says all anxiety is about choice, freedom, and ambiguous feelings. Then he went and bought me a copy of Fear and Trembling . I’m terrified he’s going to ask me what I think about it. When I got back to my apartment, I opened it up, but the second I saw the word panegyric, the bees buzzed like crazy and I shoved it under my love seat.
Sometimes I worry I’ll never understand writers like that. I mean, my mind’s never worked that way before. I’m still wrapping it around MFK. It is definitely a bummer you don’t want to read her. Not just because I like her (I can’t help it, I just do), but because I wanted to pick another book you connected with like I did. It’s hard to explain, but I can tell MFK knew exactly what she was meant to write. Serve It Forth was published when she was only twenty-nine. That means she wrote it when she was even younger. Every line feels like it came naturally to her, even though there’s no way she was born knowing about ancient Egyptian dining customs and purifying escargots.
Time for a quick break to check on my soup (beef, leek, and barley).
I’m back. I’m trying a recipe from Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking , which is a cross between a memoir and a cookbook. She’s kind of like MFK only friendlier. I like her because whenever she’s writing about timbales or leeks or other food I’ve never heard of, she mixes it all in with her ideas about family and friendship and love. Things that don’t seem like they have anything to do with food except she makes me think maybe they do. Laurie’s sure of herself, too. She has no doubt that people want to read her thoughts on soup.
Did you know leeks are giant green onions? I bet you did. Like you know what a Jerusalem artichoke is. I had to look that up in Larousse Gastronomique . If you think Black Lamb is a biggie, it’s a pip-squeak compared to Larousse . For the record, processed food is not my secret food. I’m a Kraft mac and cheese expert, and I ate my fair share of Pillsbury crescent rolls and Chef Boyardee pizza in a box when I was a kid. Not that I’m criticizing my mom or anything. Her pork chops are great, but she’s more into things like water-skiing and horses. She even has trophies for barrel racing. She’s just not a fan of cooking. I think it’s because Bumpa was a bachelor. They ate lots of TV dinners when she was growing up.
Just looked at the clock. Lucky you. I have to run. I need to get to the bank before it closes to deposit my paycheck.
Have a Nice Day,
Kate
P.S. I did it again. I forgot to tell you about the book I’m sending. There’s this awesome excellent used bookshop called Bowie & Company next door to my store. I was hunting around in their basement during my dinner break and found Witness to War . It’s a biography of Marguerite Higgins. Have you heard of her? She’s another War Journo Dame. I hope she makes up for MFK.