The Newsletter Thingy
The Sybarite Newsletter: Themes Emerge
Sometimes things just show up and suddenly you have a theme.
I’ve written and deleted this newsletter five times now, because I have both too much to say and not enough. This paralyzes my writing, so I have to go back to basics: what is actually happening? And what has happened?
Here’s what’s happened: Sybarite published this beautifully written piece about Iraq by someone who was actually there, Roman Newell. I knew he had served in the military and asked for this piece because, again, the goal of Sybarite is to share stories that are anchored in something real: a place, food, fashion, whatever.
You have to able to touch it, travel to it, or do it to write about it for Sybarite. No musings, no listicles, no advice, unless it’s how to dress or cook, or what’s the best hotel in a certain city. I don’t have to say this again, I’ve said it so many times.
When he first submitted it, I’ll cop to the fact that I wanted him to take out the italicized poetic portions of it, because I still see Sybarite as sort of a writing jail, or bootcamp. I don’t like the rules of grammar to be broken, I want the writing process to hurt. I want you to end a sentence with a preposition, want to kill yourself, and then pick yourself up off the floor and rewrite it. I want something beautiful that comes out of being boxed in.
But then he told me that he was “writing the same location in two parallel time dimensions. Obviously, Iraq being the cradle of civilization and the potential site of Eden, I wanted to paint this picture of the original Eden and its beauty leading into man’s fall. Simultaneously I wanted to show the same site as it is today, filled with violence, and humanity and all that leaked into the world.”
And so I backed down. I mean who am I, the writing police? I encourage you to check it out, because it’s special and also because most of us will never be in Iraq, and this is what writing is, or should be, about: transporting the rest of us to places we will never go.
Here’s another thing that happened: I went to Thanksgiving at my cousin’s house, and Penina S. Finger was there. I’ve known Penina for decades, and we are related, I think. Penina’s mother is Julie. My dad’s brother Ross married Rachel. Julie and Rachel are sisters. So I think Penina is a cousin? (If anyone knows what Penina and I are to each other, pop off in the comments).
No matter, she’s family. Penina and I share memories of huge dinner parties, spanning decades, at both Aunt Rachel’s and Julie’s. Whoever was cooking — it rotated — would serve up huge Indian feasts, and integral to those feasts was this magical green chutney.
Why are Jews serving up Indian feasts, you might be wondering? Glad you asked. Both Julie and Rachel were born in India, their family part of the Mizrahi Jews who emigrated from Baghdad to India in the 18th and 19th century. When we sat down for turkey, Penina explained that she had been learning a lot about the Mizrahi Jews and their migration, and the green chutney came up.
“Please write about that,” I asked her as we sat across from each other. I wanted the green chutney recipe — I have memories of dipping mountains of potato and onion bhaji in it, while Aunt Rachel looked on in both horror and admiration. “She really eats, doesn’t she?” Rachel said, turning to my mother while puffing on a Virginia Slims.
But I also wanted to hear more about the Mizrahi Jews and their migration. I always knew that Aunt Rachel was Iraqi, and I was vaguely confused why she grew up in India. I just knew that Indian food at Rachel’s house consistently gave me the cozy feeling, the opposite of the empty feeling.
Thankfully, Penina obliged, and wrote about both the chutney and the Mizrahi Jews here. And as I was driving home, sleepy from the tryptophan, I realized: Sybarite is going to have two stories about Iraq, and not because I tried to make it that way. Just happened. How cool is that? Answer: extremely cool.
Speaking of themes, I have an idea. Recently I wrote what can only be described as a hit piece on men. And look, I stand by it. But I also know that this equation is pretty solid: my attitude about men + my bad decision making (story upcoming on this!) + the state of modern men (see hit piece referenced above) = I’m gonna be alone for a long time, maybe forever.
Then I remembered this piece I wrote, ages ago, before I could write at all, really, about what to eat when you’re alone. I haven’t re-read it because I know I’ll be mortified by the writing and will understandably want to kill myself. But I still think it’s a cool idea to ponder what people eat when they’re alone.
For instance, last night I microwaved a frozen spaghetti meatballs dish, then ate cheese and crackers, then two bites of a chocolate bar. Am I proud of this? No. Am I proud that I can honestly share it with you? Yes. Are you wondering why I had such a sad dinner? Probably. Would it be cool to tell you the story behind it? Yes. And this is the formula I’m looking for: what do you eat when you’re alone, and why? So send in your stories. Are you wolfing down a frozen burrito over the kitchen sink? Or are you roasting a whole chicken all for yourself?
Tell me by sending your draft to adeline.dimond@gmail.com, or if you’re already a Sybarite writer, you know the drill.
Until next time,
Your Sybarite-in-Chief
If you want to spend your one wild and precious life reading unlimited Medium articles, you can sign up here.
If you want to submit to Sybarite, here are some tips.
