food for thought

On Friday, WNYC did a segment on your most memorable meal.  I was recovering from a migraine and somehow this discussion got me down—I’ve traveled a bit, but I can’t recall a particular meal I had abroad that would count as “most memorable.”  Then, when I thought about it some more, I couldn’t actually recall *any* meal that was truly memorable.  And, of course, it’s not just the food that matters—it’s the company, the atmosphere, the occasion.  Still, I couldn’t come up with a really standout meal.  I am a recluse and I do eat too much takeout; I grew up eating Hamburger Helper and Kraft Dinner with hot dogs, so haute cuisine‘s never been my thing.  Food should be tasty, but also filling—and if it’s prepared by someone else and affordable, then I’m good.  Can you remember your most memorable meal?  Migraines make me moody, so I’m sure my reaction was irrational; I certainly don’t lead a joyless life, but memories of painful or awkward moments seem more likely to find a permanent place in my mind (such a Scorpio).  All the other memories—birthdays, holidays, graduations, weddings—seem to settle into a kind of vague recollection of “happy times.”  I think that’s why I blog—it’s a hedge against nostalgia and other distortions (or deletions) of the past.  Once the migraine cleared, I went downtown and enjoyed an aromatherapy massage gifted to me by a friend; we then walked toward Union Square, bought a cup of hot cider at the farmer’s market, and talked about the trouble with memory.  We had a spectacular meal at Spice (will I remember what I ate a year from now?) and, as it often does, our conversation turned to art.  Rosa urged me to read Howardena Pindell‘s first book, and then a day later I watched Pindell talk about racism in the art industry in this film: Colored Frames — an impressive, hour-long documentary about black artists here in the US.  You can watch the whole film here.  I never made it up to the Neue Galerie to see that Klimt exhibit, but will try to go this week.  Helping my friends paint their apartments just isn’t doing it for me anymore.  I need to have a brush in my hand and some gold paint…this is the painting I want a closer look at (Adele Bloch-Bauer I):

Texture, patterns, illumination…insert a figure of a black woman and that’s the painting I want to make.  Art is a form of memory…