I recently attended a food writing class, taught by Dianne Jacob, author of the books Grilled Pizzas and Piadinas, Will Write for Food, as well as a successful blog by the same name (Will Write for Food). She’s got beaucoup de’ street cred in both the food world and writing world but don’t just take my word for it. Here’s a stellar endorsement:
“Will Write for Food is a concise, illustrative and eminently useful guide to the nuts and bolts of professional food writing. Dianne Jacob gets right to the heart of what it takes not just to write—but to write well— about food. And she’s managed to wrangle a remarkable group of veterans to share their experiences and examples.”
—Anthony Bourdain, author of the New York Times bestseller Kitchen Confidential
COME ON! If Tony is endorsing you, then you gotta be legit, no? Yes, I think so. Anyway, for an early birthday gift, Goose bought me a seat in a food writing class last weekend and it. was. so. great. We started with some fruit, breakfast pastries, and juice and covered techniques and personal essays. We each got time to write our own samples and some were read aloud before breaking for lunch. (Not mine. I’ll share my work from behind the protective walls of a computer screen, thankyouverymuch.)
It was this first exercise that was my favorite. Everyone snacked on something from the bar and then had to write about it using the techniques discussed in the previous two hours. I had a few small pieces of cantaloupe. (YUM!) And here is what I came up with in the 10 minutes allotted….
A ripe piece of cantaloupe large enough for two bites (three if I nibble), is shoved into my mouth with my tiny fingers. My jaw softly crushes the juicy, sweet melon in seconds. Pushing it from one side of my mouth to the other causes drops of sticky juice to ooze down my chin embarrassingly. I don’t wipe it. Not until I eat at least two more crescents down to the crisp, pale green core.
It’s pure bliss. Sticky, juicy, messy, sweet bliss. Now, could you please pass the napkins?