How to Spill Your Guts

Today I’m doing something I’ve never done before in my life. Today, I’m publishing a memoir.

This, obviously, couldn’t have happened without you all, without Flynn, without this newsletter. Maybe it would’ve eventually, but it wouldn’t have been the same, since “Someone Else’s Oyster Stew” was the letter that made my publisher (Patrick Davis at Unbound Edition Press) ask me if I had a whole book of them in me. So firstly, thank you so much for reading along with Flynn and I over these often terrible, frequently joyful years. And if you liked this, you’re going to love Simmering: A Kitchen Memoir.

In truth, this is the kind of writing I’ve always gravitated toward, both for writing and reading. A lot of people have a hard time imagining spilling their guts out for the public to hold in their hands and have opinions about, and I’m sure it will be a complicated combination of fascinating and terrible when all is said and done. My body, quite honestly, is braced for criticism (the nerds have already, correctly seized upon a typo in the jacket copy — restaurateur is an idiotic word, y’all), and I, QUITE EXPECTEDLY, am having a very hard time absorbing the wonderful words of praise that people I love have started to badger me with. Most especially so far, that I am “an irreverent, bisexual, snickering pal who talks about ass while pouring the wine,” (everyone go read Alexander Cheves’ book My Love Is A Beast immediately), and that “no one should read this on an empty stomach,” (everyone go read Casey Dienel’s newsletter ‘Notes from Lantern House’ immediately), and that Flynn already pre-ordered ten copies and gave it five stars on Goodreads before she’d even read it. Also OH MY GOD IT’S ON GOODREADS.

It turns out that the two hardest parts of writing this book were: 1) getting the acknowledgments exactly right, which I am 100% certain I failed at, and 2) knowing when to stop and call it finished.

It’s in this spirit that I’d like to share with you, in no particular order, the Notes app reminders I made for myself that didn’t get their time in the memoir sun. At least, not the first one.

• “I have learned so many things in my own home kitchen, and most of them have been about the appetites of men.”

• “Sick Food — the absolute vice grip of Campbell’s Chicken and Stars soup.”

• How to Live at the Beach: Cards, sandwich, wine, blanket, tonic, dominos

• How to Roast Chicken Thighs While the World Ends

• A Note on Intrusive Thoughts in the Walk-In

• “Mayonnaise Sounds”

• The Spectator’s Row at Dion’s Pizza (Jason, this one’s for you)

• “Dune salt and the importance of tinned fish”

• “If we’re jumping off the bridge, we might as well hold hands.” — Kelly Fields

• “Did you know that tomatoes love to be tucked in?”

• “Isn’t it just one of the most torturous feelings in the world to be filled with so many different kinds of love for someone, and to only be able to express it in limited ways?”

• “Honestly, beets are crazy.” — Dori Santos

• “Do you love me today, or do you not need me?”

• Why You Should Eat the Garnish Before the End of the Cocktail

• “Creature comforts: Marc’s broiled tomatoes”

• “Okay, but like, did you know — for example — that you can just treat anything you want like shepherd’s pie and broil mashed potatoes on top of it?”

• Grist for the Mill: Anxiety on Vacation

• What Even Is A Skittle?

This little book is the story of how I learned to feed and fed, love and be loved, thirst and be thirsted for. I hope you love it. Or that if you hate it, it’s for a good reason. Mostly I hope it makes you hungry and reminds you of how many kinds of love you’ve gotten to experience — in the kitchen and otherwise.

You can order Simmering: A Kitchen Memoir right here. 

You’re reading “Soup and Despair,” an occasionally weekly newsletter by Sarah Flynn and Rebecca Orchant. It’s about food, feelings, and surviving the dark times. If someone forwarded you this email, it’s because they love you and they want you to eat. You can subscribe to it too!