by Caroline
This quiet week after Thanksgiving and before the happy rush of Christmas events begins, Lisa and I are collating and copyediting the final manuscript of this anthology to submit to Shambhala. I haven’t read some of the essays in a while, and I love reading them all together, one after the other, and spotting new connections between the stories. We all have so many food stories, and this weekend I acquired a few more, which I will share when I have more time to write.
But for now, since I have so little time for writing (or cooking, actually), I will leave you with someone else’s words on food. Not one of the amazing Cassoulet writers, whose stories I look forward to your reading next year, but a little essay dictated by Ben, years ago when he was five, I was working on my first book, and he asked me what an essay is. I told him, an essay is a piece of writing that tells people what you think about something. And this is what he offered:
Cashews
You can eat them. They taste like salt. Maybe they have salt sprinkled on top of them, like saltines do. When you eat them, they’re not there any more.