My book club met to discuss The Gastronomical Me by MFK Fisher recently. I last read Mrs. Fisher when I was quite young, and while I fell in love with her, and all the places she had lived and the food she had eaten, I don’t think I ever really understood her. Or at least I didn’t quite pick up on her subtleties and deeper explorations, and how adept she was at hiding in plain sight.
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People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating and drinking? Why don’t you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way others do?