And Now There’s A Song In My Heart

I’ve begun work on the book about the race wars of the 1930s, after a hiatus related to Back of the House, and it seems possible that, to paraphrase Klee, a way out has been discovered, namely the identification of jazz as a solace for the century and, more specifically, both for the reader and the characters in the book.  This may prove to be wrong, but for now it allows a fluidity that was absent.

Then, last night, watched the Michel Bras movie, translated as, “Step Up to the Plate,” which was more interesting for what it left out than what it included.  The father-son, chef to chef, three star Michelin legacy was presented as sort of a saga of silences and long, pensive walks, and while undoubtedly that was all true, what was utterly unclear were what other choices were possible in either man’s life, how they resolved conflicts, and what constitutes a palate.

Meanwhile, locally, stoner cuisine is having its day.  High fat, heavily salted, preferably fried, and with lots of organ meat?  Played with cocktails and IPAs, and they’ll be lined up around the block.

On the other hand: Morels are in season.

And on the other, other hand?  At the peak of the race wars, in 1938, Duke Ellington had a hit with this song:

I let a song go out of my heart
It was the sweetest melody
I know I lost heaven
‘Cause you were the song

Since you and I had drifted apart
Life doesn’t mean a thing to me
Please come back sweet music
I know I was wrong

Am I too late
To make amends
You know that we were meant to be
More than just friends, just friends

I let a song go out of my heart
Believe me darling when I say
I won’t know sweet music
Until you return someday

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