The Author and the Wonderful, Horrible, No Fun, Very Good Day

Portuguese Sweet Lemon and Black Olive Wafers by David Leite

The worst moment in a writer’s life is the day he receives his first rejection slip. The second worst is the day his first book is published.

The former because it only takes one person—one person—to prevent what would have been a remarkable and brilliant early debut. One person, whom the writer is sure was a summer intern from Barnard with a fondness for capri pants and a smug conviction in her ability to assess genius, to deep-six his career. One skinny, privileged-enough-to-survive-being underpaid assistant, who now most likely was a spinning instructor with an eating disorder, to reject him. Read more »

Tomato Harvest, Kind of

Tomato Harvest

Yesterday, before a crackingly good thunderstorm knocked out power in Roxbury, CT, for more than three hours, The One went out into the garden (well, the euphemistic garden because its no bigger than a toddler’s wadding pool) and gathered our first tomato harvest. A total of 18 cherry tomatoes; 20 if you count the two we ate. This is the fruits of our labor after weeks of carefully plucking off suckers; talking to the plants, telling them as Marlo Thomas told all of us, that they, too, were “free to be you and me”;  staking them; and generally doting on them as much as we do our two cats?

I know they’ll be more, but I remember when I was a kid and my father would bring in bushels of globe tomatoes every few days from the garden. (Not to mention corn, potatoes, peppers, kale, cabbage, peach, pears, and three kinds of apples.) There were so many tomatoes, I was instantly dispatched to bring bagfuls to my aunts and uncles, our neighbors—anyone, in fact, in a 10-mile radius who liked them. Read more »

Where Do I Sign?

New Portuguese Table by David Leite

After Clarkson Potter approached me several years ago to write The New Portuguese Table (yes, publishers do approach writers unbidden, so don’t give up hope), I remember running around the apartment screaming and suddenly slamming into the side of an opened closet door. No matter, this was Clarkson Potter, home to some of my favorite authors. Facial bruises disappear, but colophons are forever.

But that T-bone collision with the door turned out to be just the beginning of my own personal Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events that, at times, made me almost throw up my hands, return my advance, and become a dog walker. At least I knew how to handle that kind of crap. Read more »

Daily Subscription

Enter your email address and get all of our updates sent to your inbox the moment they're posted. Be the first on your block to be in the know.

Preview daily e-mail

Weekly Subscription

Hate tons of emails? Do you prefer info delivered in a neat, easy-to-digest (pun intended) form? Then enter your email address for our weekly newsletter.

Preview weekly e-mail

The David Blahg Subscription

Enter your email address and get all of the The David Blahg updates sent to your inbox the moment they're posted. Be the envy of knowledgeable, savvy cooks everywhere. Sassy!

Preview