Okay, I get it. Enough with the witty whining about the pandemic. It’s endless and though we’re all still dealing with the re-entry part of it, it’s more than time for a new point of view. Certainly, there are other interesting topics to share.

First of all, this week is the third anniversary of the publication of my debut novel The Fourteenth of September and I’m celebrating with an ebook sale. So, if you haven’t already checked it out, it’s a great time to get or gift this coming-of-age in wartime story of a young woman who makes a fateful choice.

I have a massive approach/avoidance attitude about how relevant the Vietnam-era time frame of the novel is to what we’re seeing today in Afghanistan. And yet, I look forward to a parallel story in the future by an Afghani girl, who like Judy in my book, will also be making choices of conscience in a world that no longer makes sense.

Second, now that I’m past my BLOCK, it’s exciting to share more about the novel I’m working on now—the one that was stuck for the full pandemic year+ at the halfway point—and is now chugging forward, flowing and even, on some days, starting to “sing” a bit.

I know it’s supposed to be bad luck to be too specific about a work in progress. Maybe not quite as bad as calling The Scottish Play, MacBeth, but still. I’m knocking wood as I write this, hoping I don’t curse it.

In its simplest description, the novel is about a group of expats, each of whom have come to beautiful San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, with their last dream, the one that really has to come true.

My writing journey with this story has taken me to some unfamiliar places, involving among other things, food and larceny. Allow me to share a bit.

There are two occupations I always swore I wouldn’t give any of my female characters, certainly not a protagonist. That of a writer (too obvious), or that of the owner of a restaurant/bakery/little gourmet shop or anything centered around food (too cliché). And, though I admit that such stories can be more juicy than, say, the life of a corporate executive, it has always seemed to me not enough of a leap. Just too close to the kitchen I’ve personally always tried to stay away from, you know?  I’ve felt that part of my responsibility, as a woman writer, is that I should be offering my admirably independent characters more surprising/breakthrough occupations.

I know this isn’t an absolute (so don’t ridicule me in the comments section), but you have to admit that women and food— well, it’s a well-trod trend.

And yet, here I am in my own next novel, “feeding” that trend. Somehow, against my original intention, my main character has become a former business woman, who, in “retirement” is an entrepreneur running a bar that serves food. And not just any food, mind you, but innovative, crowd-pleasing aperitivos. So, it’s cooking and Spanish: two languages I do not speak.  I’m having quite a wonderful yet frightening time trying to manage that in my tale.

It is true. I will not give the old “I can’t boil water” description, but I actually did start a fire in my broiler so bad that part of the controls melted (in a stove, really?) and the soot permanently stained the finish to the point where I had to do a complete appliance redo. Fortunately, this was mid-pandemic and I got a deal when no one else was buying.

Cooking is simply not my skill or calling. I mean, all that work and then it’s gone…nothing to show for it. And, I’m just not all that interested in food. I’m a picky eater, comfortable with my limited range of choices, who always orders the same thing at restaurants. This was very disappointing to an ex-boyfriend who was a super foodie. But what can I say?

It does become a challenge when you’re creating a story set in one of the gastronomic centers of Mexico and your character needs to know what she’s talking about. So I had to fake it, in the first draft, including having a ball one afternoon “cooking up” an appetizer menu featuring—are you ready for it?

Polenta-crusted sweet potato quarters with “grass skirts” of bright-green edible moss, white squares of sea bass with black caviar arranged to resemble pairs of dice, and mini “sunflowers” with petals of mango and avocado slices circling a pistil of steak tartare.

I have no idea how these would taste or if the ingredients are even available in San Miguel. It was fun but did fully tax my limited resources.

To continue further, I had to turn to larceny.

The food at my character’s bar had to fit within the competitive culinary environment of San Miguel. To pat myself on the back, I did “invent” the idea of a Mexican/French infusion, at least in my own head. I think now it was in a dream where I assimilated something I’d heard of, like a would-be composer who hums a tune only to find out it was written by Bach.

At around this time I was fortunately introduced to an incredible venue offering just such a fusion— Tzuco, a wonderful Chicago restaurant where Carlos Gaytan (the only Mexican chef to have won a Michelin star) combines Mexican food with French techniques. Bingo!

I took the advice of Austin Kleon, in his bestselling, Steal Like an Artist: “Nothing is completely original” and “Everything is up for grabs.”  Whew, I no longer had to invent. While writing up the details for a fictional tasting menu, I just stole from the Tzuco website. I could only pilfer the items I could understand (versus those too mystifying. I mean, “blue corn masa, black bean puree, haricots verts, salsa cruda, queso fresco?” What is that, really, a soup? Something served on top of a tortilla?)

In a bold move, I asked for a printed menu, stuck it in my purse and filched liberally.  Traditional French onion soup with poblano peppers and Gruyere cheese! And that was just the first appetizer. How could I resist?  On a subsequent visit I pushed it a bit far, admitting to the waiter I was a writer, peppering him with questions. Is there a Mexican “version” of a light, Campari-like drink?  He gave me a taste of Raicilla, (a tequila), and was disappointed I was asking more than ordering.

But I persist.  And I have ordered the masa mixture noted above—it was indescribable but delicious and will be served in my character’s bar.  At some point, I’m looking forward to meeting Chef Gaytan.  I will confess to the theft, throw myself on his mercy, hope he’ll be flattered and ask him to serve as my culinary consultant for the novel. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Next blog, I’ll tell you about my bullfighting consultant.

Meanwhile, send me any menu suggestions, and by all means let me know if you try to make the sweet potatoes with grass skirts, and if you had to be hospitalized. ❤️