Dear Tima,It’s the day before my birthday and I’m thinking about food. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re thinking about food, too. It’s our favorite pastime here in Misterworld: dreaming about it, talking about it, planning for it, making it, sharing it. I’ve been lucky to spend many evenings in the kitchen with you. At its best, making Mister – making any passion project, really – reminds me of those nights. Bickering over recipes. Measuring in handfuls and not cups. You passing me the good knife just as I start to ask where it is. Offering our roommates little glimpses, stolen bites. And, when it’s finally plated or printed and sitting on the kitchen table for the first time, digging in, side-by-side, in happy silence. I would be remiss to not mention Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, a book we shared like a secret recipe while making Issue III: “When I'm dead worn out, in a reverie, I often think that when it comes time to die, I want to breathe my last in a kitchen. Whether it's cold and I'm all alone, or somebody's there and it's warm, I'll stare death fearlessly in the eye. If it's a kitchen, I'll think, How good.” (p.6) When Yoshimoto writes about food, she’s also writing about grief, about love. As you’ve pointed out before, her grief and her love are not separate, and they’re not scary. They’re waxing things, accumulative, built up like the grime that greys the bottom of your slippers, the seasoning that breathes life into a cast iron pan. To our readers: I hope you don’t mind that I ignored you in this letter. It felt only right to address it to my favorite chef. Maybe you’ll consider sending us a favorite recipe or food memory – maybe you’ll even submit it to mr.web? In any case, I wish you good reading and good eating. Love, PJ
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