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I started writing about Arkansas food in 2007. It has become a mission in my life, but it started out as an act of desperation. I honestly thought writing about food meant I'd never starve. I was 33 years old, had been a TV producer for 12 years, and started over from scratch.
I had spent eight years before building an affiliate morning news program, made my contacts, worked hard, and written two hour morning shows every weekday I worked the entire time.
There were many reasons I decided I could not do that any more.
There were many reasons I decided I could not do that any more.
I had put my heart and soul into that show. I couldn't read any more stories about how people were awful to each other. I was exhausted by politics. And I had come to the knowledge that no matter how hard I worked, the benefit to myself and my family was minimal.
One of the sticking points in the programming I scheduled, the interviews brought in, the liveshots and community outreach - was my decision to include food in our shows.
I was told outright, repeatedly, that no one was interested in food as a morning show TV topic.
I was told outright, repeatedly, that no one was interested in food as a morning show TV topic.
I left as the senior producer for a show that we'd taken to the top. I was one of the best paid producers in Little Rock, and I walked away from it with no plan. The writing was going to be a hobby on the side of whatever I did.
I had some extraordinary mentors - in particular, Max Brantley of the @ArkansasBlog and Arkansas Times - who urged me on and threw what beans there were to throw my way.
Past that, my path was one not trod quite before.
Past that, my path was one not trod quite before.
There have been some great food writers in our state, and continue to be. What I chose, though, after a decade of the fight to put Arkansas cuisine on the map, was different. I was and still am independent, pushing hard to make every single word count for Arkansas food.
These past three and a half months have yanked down all the cards in my castle. I've watched progress stripped away, at the same time my heart has broken for restaurateurs, food producers and chefs who have had to shutter doors and seek work in other fields.
Our food scene will never return as it was.
It is horrifying to those who have built their lives around it.
It is crushing to those of us who have found ourselves part of a greater food community.
It is horrifying to those who have built their lives around it.
It is crushing to those of us who have found ourselves part of a greater food community.
This pandemic means many things.
It means it's time to re-envision "food culture" as it relates to a place.
I honestly believe we need to rebuild our food story, by sharing the real stories rather than the glossy press releases and paid ads.
It means it's time to re-envision "food culture" as it relates to a place.
I honestly believe we need to rebuild our food story, by sharing the real stories rather than the glossy press releases and paid ads.
It's going to require more storytelling - and I am guilty of not contributing to those stories. I got the wind knocked out of me and buried my head in the sand when the pandemic came.
I retreated to a tiny kitchen and my cookbooks and tried to figure out a direction to go.
I retreated to a tiny kitchen and my cookbooks and tried to figure out a direction to go.
For the past three months, I have cooked. Just cooked. I mean, there was a TV special - about cooking.
All in this kitchen.
All in this kitchen.
See, I got so busy sharing what other people were doing with food, I let go of the way I really connected to it.
My partner had taken over my kitchen. My daughter had forgotten I could cook. And, I think, so did I.
My partner had taken over my kitchen. My daughter had forgotten I could cook. And, I think, so did I.
An unexpectedly quiet spring let memories roll back through my head and heart.
I think... I think I might have started channeling my grandmother.
I think... I think I might have started channeling my grandmother.
The flavors have come back into my nose and mouth and I've teared up over their nostalgic familiarity.
I've been trying so hard to keep afloat sharing the food stories and trends and restaurants and dishes and everything else, I forgot the food stories I should share.
My own.
I've been trying so hard to keep afloat sharing the food stories and trends and restaurants and dishes and everything else, I forgot the food stories I should share.
My own.
All this long ramble to say...
I don't know when I'll get out on the road again. The still wheels in my carport are an ache. I just don't think it's safe for me to pass through county after county, looking for stories while I might unknowingly spread the virus.
I don't know when I'll get out on the road again. The still wheels in my carport are an ache. I just don't think it's safe for me to pass through county after county, looking for stories while I might unknowingly spread the virus.
But I do know I have some stories to share from my own lineage, memories of a garden and a grandmother and the essence that remains of her impact on me.
I'm going to cook. I'm going to share. I'm going to add to the story of Arkansas food.
It's personal.
I'm going to cook. I'm going to share. I'm going to add to the story of Arkansas food.
It's personal.
