Dear friends of the unreal — In my latest Medium piece, I wax eloquent about my history with a famous foodstuff and how it works in my new novel.
Food is love, my husband once told me and food is crucial in my forthcoming novel, Pretend Plumber.
I love food. No, seriously, I LOVE food. I’m always hungry, and I always want to eat.
In particular I love food that is easy to prepare because I come from a long line of women who cannot cook, and men who cannot help them — I never saw any man in my family don an apron or fix anything to drink that wasn’t on the rocks with a twist of lime. Now, the Norwegian side of my family — the 3 Gaustad sisters — they could cook, but I didn’t live near them. I lived near the useless but decorative 2 Manhattanites — my mother, Barbé and her mother, Stephanya. They were book reading, lipstick wearing, dog-walking, designer dress strutting non-housewives, who could not cook worth a damn.
Read the rest of my piece here:
Stephanie Barbé Hammer Writing (Un) Real 