Farm Boys
I bring you the writing of two literary stars in the Planck-Kaufelt family. My father, Chip Planck, farmed vegetables on a large scale with my mother Susan for 35 years, and now has what I call a micro-farm, with teensy quantities of equipment, crops, and chickens. Many of those farm-years, Dad spent on a tractor. Sitting on a tractor for hours is a solitary sport. For the right mind, it’s meditative. Dad spent many of those thousands of tractor-hours writing poems. “Farm Boys,” which I offer today, is one of my favorites.
“Barbie”: the NP Cut
I got a sneaky feeling Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie” movie would be a hit when I bought a ticket on opening weekend. An infrequent movie-goer, I am seldom attracted to mass pop culture, least of all when it’s fresh. This summer I saw four great movies: “The Last Picture Show”, “Five Easy Pieces”, “Goodfellas”, and “Terms of Endearment” – all for the first time. For me, it would have been more in character to watch “Barbie” from my couch in 2043.
Thanksgiving is Bombastic
Thanksgiving is bombastic. There is too much food. There is no thoughtful succession of courses to ease you through the feast; just one bulging buffet. There are too many unique must-have items on the table. Cousin Lucy loves parsnips and Marcy always brings green beans. There is repetition in flavor, texture, and plant-part. (Sweet potatoes, white potatoes, parsnips—three roots. Then, soft stuffing.)
61 Names for Sugar
Agave nectar. Barbados sugar. Barley malt. Barley malt syrup. Beet sugar. Brown sugar. Buttered syrup. Cane juice. Cane juice crystals. Cane sugar. Caramel…
Adolescence: Blessing the Rocky Path to Adulthood and Freedom
Your ten year-old daughter was so sweet: she held your hand and loved your cooking. When she turned 11, she loved to read, wouldn’t look up from her book if her dog sprouted a second tail. At age 12, she still sat on your lap at family parties, with everyone looking.
Little Girl, What’s Your Story?
In the Pisgah National Forest, near Brevard, North Carolina, there is a waterfall overlooking Glass Creek called Sliding Rock, where you can slide down the broad, flat rock into the plunge pool below. One summer day 45 years ago, my brother Charles and I slid down that rock until our jeans were worn through and our bottoms were red. Not long after, our big sister Hilary was hit by a car and died.
My Home Is My Neighborhood
Today we share a Thoreauvian essay, written in 1977, by a talented writer describing her neighborhood. “What I like best about my neighborhood,” she writes, “is the fact that we’re all so close. The land, the people, and the vegetables all depend on each other for their survival. My neighbors are my friends and my life.”
I Pine for John Prine — and Peaches
Every time I open a can of peaches, I pine for John Prine, who died in April. I put on the radio, wash the dishes, and cry. He was the country singer I loved before I knew I loved country music. Prine was not one for the selfie age. He was humble, his face was funny, his voice was funny. It’s a sin he’s dead, and I can’t get him out of my head.
Hidden Roots: Finding comfort and community in the ancient practice of talk circles
Join us for storytelling.
Intergenerational Storytelling for Women: Hot Trend
For a friendship to flourish, Shasta Nelson, the author of “Frientimacy,” says three things are needed: one, it’s positive. You feel good! Two, there’s consistency. You see her regularly. Three, there’s vulnerability – you feel safe when you’re with her. At Hidden Roots, we have all three. Read all about it in the New York Times, or visit Hidden-Roots.com to learn more about NYC circles for quiet, authentic storytelling.
Sobriety in Moderation and Stories in Spades
God willing, I’ll be sober today. Tomorrow? We’ll see. I decide one day at a time. In the last couple of years, I’ve decided that I don’t identify as an alcoholic, but I do know that for me alcohol is habit-forming and a downer, so I treat it with respect and take it in small doses. Mindful drinking has been good for me. But I could not do it on willpower alone. I pray to stay sober.
Sobriety in Moderation
At forty-two years old, I lost my mind and soul. With three young children, a wonderful husband, and work I loved, I lacked for nothing. But I was a slave to my daily drink and I knew it.
Goodbye Friday
At eleven weeks pregnant, I had a miscarriage. I began bleeding on Good Friday and on Easter Monday I lost our baby. This was fitting, as our son Jacob had named the baby Jesus. Though I’d felt the sense of an ending over the previous four days, the actual event — I was standing in the cold rain, buying an ivory ostrich egg — was pitilessly clear in its finality and meaning. Our little baby could not stay with us in this life.
A Nice Review of the Real Food Cookbook
I loved this review of my cookbook from the San Francisco Book Review.
My Changing Palate
Your palate, like that of your children, may be changing. Don’t consider it a fixed entity. Find The Real Food Cookbook at Murray’s on Bleecker Street and all over the country, in fine bookstores, and on-line. Eat well.
Bee Pollen and Bit Man Invent Cooking
Scene: Qesem Cave, Central Israel
Middle Pleistocene, 400,000-200,000 years ago
Bee Pollen and Bit Man sit around the fire
Milk Methods: Raw, Cooked or Zapped
Modern pasteurization takes three main forms: batch or low-temperature, High Temperature Short Time (HTST), and ultra-high temperature (UHT).
Fat Skeptics
Remember the general rule: If your great-grandmother ate it, it's probably okay.
Your Right to Real Food
I believe that traditional foods are good for you, that farmers ought to have the right to sell them conveniently and hygienically, and that you ought have the right to buy and eat them.