“Two into one won’t go.” And whoever coined that phrase (wasn’t it a song?)
may have been right. The new title of this commonplace column is an attempt to say
otherwise, but it may require a bit of explanation for those who don’t recall a
ling lost blog of mine. “Notes from the Rectory Kitchen” which roasted,
grilled, sauteed and burped along for a few years in the late teens of this
century but fell into the kitchen sink somewhere between the pantry and the
ridiculous spice rack.
It was a fun project to
begin with. I was a parish priest in a delightful episcopal church (a rector,
to use the imperious title) on the East End of Long Island, New York (“The Hamptons”)
with a passion for cooking and all subjects associated with food and where it
came from. What better and more entertaining way to share my enthusiasm than a
blog. (I’d thought about a column in the parish newsletter, but my meagre common
sense told me not to.)
I began on Facebook but expanded into a WordPress blog as I learned more and more about editing that sort
of thing. Recipes, experiences, ideas, successes, failures (quite a few,) and
even an occasional history of dishes. (I never wrote restaurant reviews. Trying
that in the Hamptons is to invite death threats.) A few hours here, a few hours
there, and it was a rather enjoyable diversion from the weightier things of
parish life.
Then it accelerated. It
may have been something to do with a local radio interview, or a column in a
local rag (that’s a British term for local newspaper, by the way,) but in the summer
of 2018 things started getting a bit silly. Daily emails, texts, even written notes
sent, started to get just a bit overwhelming. All were positive. Well, nearly all.
The debate over the best way to roast fresh corn did get slightly ugly at one
point, and I was most upset by remarks about my grandmother’s fruit loaf recipe,)
but it was all generally supportive and interesting. The problem was that it
had all become too much. One Monday morning – my day off, whatever that meant –
it dawned on me that I was spending much more time answering cooking correspondence than parish emails
and letters. And so that very day I pulled the plug. The blog, not the kitchen sink. No
more.
There was a gentle sense
of hrumph (how is that spelt?) in various circles, but my personal health challenges
and my departure from that wonderful parish and community poured water on it. And like the thing that sits at the back of
the fridge forever and a day, it quietly moulded away.
Now, years later and in a
different place, I will bring it back. Gently. Occasionally. Let’s see. As part
of my blog “Above the Bow Brook,” a commonplace column that has waned and waxed
for years. I beg your indulgence – for my writing, my ideas, my food, my life.
And yes, please respond. Write by whatever means you choose. Emails are
welcomed. Texts are wonderful. Letters are gratefully received. Carrier pigeons
are marinaded in garlic and gentle sauteed. But one word against my grandmother’s
fruit cake and …
