To tell you the truth, it\u2019s pretty murky sometimes. It\u2019s kind of hard to see where I\u2019m going. It reminds me of a quote I read a while ago, an E.L. Doctorow<\/a> line that goes something like this: \u201cWriting a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.\u201d I\u2019m not writing a novel, mind you, but I know what he means. Most of the time, I just try to write, to follow the headlights, to not think too hard. That\u2019s all I can<\/span> do, anyway, and it\u2019s hard enough, just that. When things are going well, I feel like a million bucks, like I just discovered a new planet, or the cure for AIDS, or a lifetime supply of chocolate hidden under the bed. Then again, sometimes – like, oh, yesterday – I cry a lot, over things like French toast.<\/p>\n (While we\u2019re at it, let me tell you that nothing, nothing<\/span>, is worse than recipe testing on Sunday mornings. Listen: if you ever write a cookbook, or any sort of book with recipes, and if you need to test breakfast foods, DO NOT test them at breakfast time, or on weekend mornings when you should really be sleeping. You and your husband will wind up hungry, and then you\u2019ll give him the silent treatment when he tries to make you feel better, because you desperately need to pout for a while, just to get it out of your system, and so it goes until lunchtime, when you\u2019re too starved to be mad anymore. Like I said, don<\/span>\u2019t<\/span>.)<\/p>\n Writing a book is one of the hardest things I\u2019ve ever done. But when it works, it\u2019s so fun<\/span>. I used to write poetry as a teenager – I know, I know; who didn\u2019t, right? – and one of my teachers, a poet named Peter Fortunato, once told me something that I\u2019ve been thinking about a lot. He was talking about writing, and about how utterly free we are when we write, about the worlds we can imagine and create for ourselves, about how rip-roaring fun it can be. He said, and I wrote in big letters in my spiral notebook: \u201cYou\u2019re riding Pegasus! Isn\u2019t it amazing<\/span>?\u201d He was just trying to cheer us brooding teenage poets, I\u2019m sure, but I still remember it, after all these years. I\u2019m riding Pegasus<\/span>! This is <\/span>amazing<\/span>! Of course, Pegasus ain\u2019t no carousel pony, people. He bucks and skitters all over the place. But some days, I never want to come down.<\/p>\n Speaking of which, before he carries me away again, let me give you a few nitty-gritties.<\/p>\n My book\u2019s tentative title is Orangette: The Stories My Kitchen Tells Me.<\/span> The title may be entirely different by the time it shows up in bookstores next fall, but that\u2019s what I\u2019m working with for now. It\u2019s what feels right. The book grows out of the format and style of this blog, meaning that it\u2019s a collection of recipes and the stories that go with them, sixty-some-odd in all. Roughly two-thirds of the book will be new material. I want to give you as much new writing and as many new recipes as I can, but some old stories and dishes feel like classics now, and they belong in there too. Plus, even the more familiar recipes have been tweaked and retested, made to work better and tastier than before. (Remember this<\/a> banana bread, for example, with chocolate and crystallized ginger? I reworked it, using a different banana bread base, and it\u2019s even better. I can\u2019t wait for you to try it.)<\/p>\n Each recipe will have been tested by a minimum of three people, or four, if you count me. The way it works is this: first I work on a recipe in my own kitchen – often with Brandon\u2019s help; if you like something, be sure to thank him too – and then, when I\u2019ve got a handful of recipes ready, I send them to my team of testers. They have a month to try them, during which time I get the next handful ready, and then we start again. I have 12 testers, all of them volunteers, working for nothing but my gratitude. (There\u2019s lots of that to go around, thank goodness.) Some of them are family (my sister Lisa and my mother, namely, both wonderfully precise cooks), and some are friends. Some live in Texas, and some live in Sweden. Some are readers of this blog, some are bloggers themselves, and some I have never met. I have been stunned by their generosity and energy, and by their willingness to buy expensive vanilla beans, port, and Parmigiano Reggiano on my behalf. You\u2019ll hear a lot about them in the acknowledgments section, which is, so far, my very favorite part of the book to write. When all else fails, I work on the acknowledgments. Thanking people is easy.<\/p>\n I\u2019m learning all the time. Writing is such a strange, mysterious process. I say that even now, as I sit here, doing just that. In writing this book, I\u2019ve remembered some of the weirdest, most wonderful things. Like my first kiss, for example – which, let me tell you, was pretty weird. Or that my mother and her siblings went to school with John Waters<\/a> and Divine<\/a>. (Weird and <\/span>wonderful, right?) Or how much my father loved mayonnaise. I\u2019d forgotten all that. It feels so good to remember. It\u2019s what keeps me going, what keeps me from freaking out entirely, with only eight weeks left to finish this manuscript. December 15 is coming up awfully soon.<\/p>\n Hopefully, next fall, the date when it hits the shelves, will come even faster.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t wait to share it with you.<\/p>\n Fennel-Potato Soup with Dilled Cr\u00e8me Fra\u00eeche<\/span> I didn\u2019t want to leave you without a recipe this week, because heavens knows we all have to eat, even when we\u2019re on a deadline, right? I made this soup last Friday and have been eating it for lunch ever since. It\u2019s a terrifically easy one, just the thing for a filling-but-healthy fall lunch. It\u2019s subtle and soothing, a blend of sweet leeks, perfumed fennel, and rich, earthy potatoes. As flavors go, this one is utterly reassuring. And with a dollop of cool, green-flecked cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche on top, it feels a little fancy too.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/orangette.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/4f1a4-home056-11.jpg?w=300\")
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Adapted from Bon App\u00e9tit<\/span>, November 2007<\/p>\n
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