Plugs

You’d think with a pandemic going on, it would be easier than in past years to make contact with the current cohort of Astounding Award nominees and invite them here to EATING AUTHORS — as I have done for years and years. However, the past month has demonstrated quite the opposite.

This year the nominees are Lindsay Ellis, Simon Jimenez, Micaiah Johnson, A.K. Larkwood, Jenn Lyons, and Emily Tesh. As you can see by the link, Jenn has been a previous guest here. Of the remaining five, I’ve only successfully made contact with three, but I remain ever hopeful. And in that spirit, it’s my pleasure to present the first of this year’s nominees, A.K. Larkwood.

She’s landed her nomination on the strength of her debut novel, The Unspoken Name, Book One of The Serpent Gates (Book Two, The Thousand Eyes, is scheduled to be released next February), a fantasy about a young priestess slated for sacrifice, who escapes her fate and becomes an assassin. Or, as Arkady Martine described it in a blurb, “In the vein of Le Guin’s magnificent Tombs of Atuan ― if Arha the Eaten One got to grow up to be a swordswoman mercenary in thrall to her dubious wizard mentor.” Yeah, that’s a “shut up and take my money now!” line, right?

As for A.K. herself, she lives in England with a wife and a cat. Beyond that, it’s worth noting that on the list of things she says she likes to write are “human sacrifice, immortals behaving badly, and fraught banquets where someone gets murdered.” That last one seems like a good place to stop this intro and get on to her meal (though, spoiler, it’s not a banquet and no one gets murdered).

LMS: Welcome, A.K. Congratulations on your Astounding nomination. Now, please tell me about your most memorable meal.

AKL: When I was in my early twenties, my best friend and I decided to go on a trip to shake up our ideas. I hadn’t found my feet after university, didn’t really know what to do with my life, and had no idea how to look after myself or anyone else. We went to Paris as cheaply as we could, and I had some idea of sitting around romantically outside cafes working on my novel.

Due to a series of administrative fuckups on my part we ended up staying in different backpacker hostels on opposite sides of the city, with only one working phone between us. The sun was very hot and Paris was very big and we were both as depressed and adrift as ever, except now also lost in an unfamiliar place. I was very aware of my own hubris, and of how much less of GCSE French I had remembered than I thought I might.

After wandering round in the baking heat for several hours we were also ravenous. We found a supermarket across the road from a tiny park and bought lunch. Bread, soft cheese, grapes, and for some reason a family-sized jar of cornichons.

At the time I couldn’t cook. I’d survived on microwaveable soups through university, and was now living in a room in a bizarre shared house where you had to stand on a chair to reach the stove, so the reign of soup looked set to continue. So it was totally accidental that this meal was in fact perfect. We didn’t have any cutlery so we broke the bread into spoon-shaped pieces to scoop up the cheese. The bread was fresh, the grapes were ripe, everything was beautiful. Elsewhere in the park, a group of childminders had formed up a circle of prams so the kids could sleep while they chatted. Sitting on a bench eating bread and cheese in the sun with somebody I loved, I thought, for the first time in a while: well, maybe life is pretty OK.

The rest of the trip wasn’t great. The jar of cornichons quietly seeped brine into our bags for the rest of the day, I did not write a single word of my novel, and I got home with no better idea of what I wanted to do with my life – but I did feel a little better about taking my time to figure it out.

(Also, about five years later my then best friend and I got married, so that helped too).

#SFWApro

If you’re reading this during the daylight hours on Monday, then the odds are good that I’m off at Jeans Hospital (or, as I believe they’re now branded, the Jeans Campus of Temple University Hospital) playing routine oncology games, most of which involves needles and the extraction or injection of fluids. On my way out, I’ll stop for a bite in the hospital cafeteria, which is the closest I’ve been to sitting in a restaurant since my transplant at the hospital back in January 2020.

But in relativistic terms none of that is important because this week’s EATING AUTHORS guest is one of my all-time favorite writers, and I am beyond excited to have him here. Ideally, I am conveying a frothy, over-the-top level of fanboy exuberance (which I’m happy to do here but would be mortified to do in person) because this week I bring you Steven Brust.

Steven is most known for his Vlad Taltos books, a planned nineteen book series (of which fifteen have been published) concerning a human living in the Dragaeran Empire, making his way in the alien society of long-lived, much taller beings as an assassin. That description does not do it justice. Nope, not even a little bit.

But wait, he has another series set in Dragaera. The books of the Khaavren Romances are a breathtakingly brilliant mashup of classic fantasy and the swashbuckling works of Alexandre Dumas. The deliberate verbosity of the writing style may be an acquired taste, but he has so much fun with it that it’s infectious (and surely influenced a couple characters in one of my own recent books).

I should also mention The Incrementalists, a two volume series co-authored with Skyler White which has a breathtaking underlying concept that is reminiscent of the works of Roger Zelazny, which isn’t surprising when you consider that Zelazny is considered by some to be both Brust’s literary hero and mentor.

Over the years Steven has written numerous stand alone novels and assorted short stories, and you should check them all out. Seriously. Sure, I’m biased, but I told you that at the beginning. Now go check them out.

It’s worth noting his musical talent: He’s also a singer-songwriter and drummer, and was a member of the band Cat’s Laughing (which enjoyed a nice shout-out in X-men comics back in the day) that also included authors Emma Bull and Adam Stemple.

Honestly, I want to gush more, but I’ve probably gone on too long already. I’ve only met Steven a couple times, and the last was twenty-some years ago at some convention where he was holding court at a party in someone’s hotel room, playing guitar and singing, pausing only to toss back shots of alcohol and smoke cigarettes and make sure everyone present was having as good a time as he was.

There is karma, and I like to think the universe has rewarded Steven for all he has given to the world. He recently got a puppy.

LMS: Welcome, Steven. I’m happy to have you here and ask you to talk about your most memorable meal.

SB: There used to be a restaurant in Chicago called The Bakery. Continental cuisine by chef Louis Szathmary. Back in the days of the federally mandated 55 MPH speed limit, it would take us 8 hours to get there from Minneapolis. We’d leave in the morning, drive 8 hours, eat, turn around and drive home. We never regretted the trip.

There’s a name for that style of restaurant, but I don’t know it. There was no menu. If you were there, you were having a 5 course dinner, of which you could pick the entree and the desert. Some of his standards were pork stuffed with Hungarian sausage, an amazing fish stew, and (what I usually got) a perfect Beef Wellington; but what he prepared would vary from day to day. It was never disappointing. Oh, and then there was the pate mason. To die.

The Chef — an immense, fat man, as Hungarian chefs ought to be — would come out a few times during the shift to say hello to the guests, and chat. On one of these occasions, it emerged that we had driven from Minneapolis just to eat there, and would be driving home after. He seemed touched, and offered to cook us a special meal.

Can you imagine us refusing?

It was his version of Hungarian gulyas, and it was a treat for the gods. Toward the end of the meal, he emerged from his cellar with a coffee liqueur the likes of which I’d never experienced. And then there was dessert. Do you know what a palacsinta is? Basically, the Hungarian version of a crepe. Often filled with a fruit, or with cinnamon sugar, or sometimes with meat and vegetables, baked, and served as an entree. I had known about the palacsinta; I hadn’t know they could be layered.

They can be layered.

Like a layer cake, one on top of the other, cut down like you’d cut a cake. A layer of the most amazing chocolate I’ve ever tasted, a layer of strawberry compote, a layer of walnut ground to a powder, I think there was a layer of cinnamon, and I don’t remember the others. I just remember the experience, and it was transcendental.

The Bakery is gone, and Chef Louis has passed away. But if ever food has achieved the level of art, it did on that day.

#SFWApro

Welcome to May, which for me means warmer weather and more mornings spent walking laps in a nearby park as I dictate novels to myself. In celebration of this (and in an effort to work smarter) I recently ordered what I hope will be an even better microphone for my walks. The new mic arrived yesterday, and about the time this posts today I should be looping through the park testing it out. Let’s hope it goes well, as I have a lot of books I need to write.

And speaking of books to write, that’s your segue into this week’s EATING AUTHORS guest, Elly Bangs, whose first novel, Unity, debuted last month. Unity is a post-apocalytic cyberpunk thriller which Elly describes as “evoking the gritty cyberpunk of Mad Max and the fluid idealism of Sense8” to which I can only reply “take my money!”

Elly is based in Seattle and is a graduate of Clarion West. According to bits and pieces on the interwebs she also enjoys tinkering with circuitry, rode a bicycle all the way to the Panama Canal, and likes baking pies. I included that last one on the remote chance that doing so will cause a pie to arrive at my door. Hey, you never know.

LMS: Welcome, Elly. Please tell me about your most memorable meal.

EB: Around the end of 2011, I was pretty fed up with my life, and I hadn’t seen much of the world — so I decided to quit my job, give away or box up everything I owned, and ride my bicycle as far as I possibly could. I left Seattle heading south, and three or four months later I passed through the beautiful city of Morelia, Mexico. It had been a long day, and now I was dog tired and extremely hungry, but there was a problem: the sun had just set, and the city, at least the part of it that I was in, completely shut down at dusk. Nobody on the street, no open storefronts, nothing. I went out looking for street food, a chain, a corner store with bags of chips, literally anything. I had nearly given up all hope when it emerged suddenly from the darkness: a great yellow neon sign. The last open restaurant for kilometers.

I went up to the counter, practically salivating, and examined the big chalkboard menu on the wall… only to become confused. I couldn’t figure out what they were serving. My Spanish was okay, but each item on the menu was just a list of ingredients (sausage, pepper, onion; onion, vegetables, tomato; etc.) without saying what kind of thing they would be used to create. The guy behind the counter was giving me a weird look. But what did it matter? I figured nothing with sausage and pepper and onions could be bad, so I chose that one. Then I sat down and waited with a mixture of curiosity, mild worry, and ravenous hunger.

Even when they brought it out to me, at first I couldn’t figure out what I’d ordered. It looked kind of like an omelet, but there was something weird about the eggs. Only when I took a bite did I realize: they weren’t eggs at all, they were cheese! They’d taken a bunch of delicious ingredients and wrapped them up in a great big blanket of fried mozzarella, or something like it. It was the most delicious thing that had ever met my tongue, and it may still be to this day. I couldn’t hope to describe the symphony of flavors, the rich dance of fat and salt, herbs and spices, toasty crust and hot gooey interior. It filled my belly, lifted my spirits, and fortified my soul. I stayed in a hostel down the street for a few days, and each night I told myself I’d go exploring and discover something new — only to be drawn irresistibly back to the same yellow neon sign. Had I stayed any longer, I wouldn’t have been able to leave at all. To this day I don’t know what the dish is called, and I don’t know if I’ll ever taste its like again — and maybe that’s for the best, for the sake of my arteries.

#SFWApro

The deadline for getting your federal tax return was back on April 15th, though as we are living in pandemic times that was bumped a month to May 15th. The same courtesy did not necessarily extend to state tax returns, each state apparently having the option to extend more time or not (hint: PA did not).

I mention this because I’ve been spending the last few days finally pulling my papers together and double-checking spreadsheets. 2020 was a tumultuous year for such things, owing in large part to my medical adventures. But yesterday I finished my number crunching and sent the whole thing off to my accountant. That leads to the next stage of the quest, as I wait to hear back with her anguished complaints about how the stuff I sent doesn’t make sense in various spots. Twas ever thus.

It was shortly after I emailed my accountant, my brain still buzzing, that I realized I’d been so consume by tax work that I hadn’t prepped this week’s EATING AUTHORS post. There was not a moment to lose! Except, I needed to clear my head a bit, so my wife and I took the dog for a short walk in the afternoon air. It helped, and now here I am, a bit later on that same Sunday afternoon, to tell you about Genevieve Iseult Eldredge.

I haven’t seen Genevieve in years, which isn’t saying much because I haven’t seen anyone in almost two years. But there was a time when our orbits were similar on the convention circuit. Arisia, Ravencon, Lunacon (I’m less sure of that last one). It’s a nice problem to have, attending so many conventions that the panels and the parties all start to blur. I’d like to have that problem again. Maybe next year.

Genevieve describes her Circuit Fae series as “angsty lesbian urban fantasy YA.” and herself as a demisexual sword lesbian martial artist, an intersectional feminist, and a radical empathizer. I really hope she has all that on a business card. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather attend a high tea with at the Seelie Court.

LMS: Welcome, Genevieve. Please talk to me about your most memorable meal.

GIE: My wife and I sometimes lovingly refer to Prague as the Land of Meat and Beer because I must’ve consumed my weight in both when we stayed there a few years ago.

One of the things I remember most about Prague (aside from its sheer beauty) was the food — street vendors selling chocolate-dipped trdelník, grilled sausages, deep-fried cheeses. Most restaurants served house beers called simply “light” or “dark.” They were all delicious.

But of all the meals I had in Prague, there was one that stood out.

It wasn’t just a feast for the body but for the mind and spirit too.

We were staying in Old Town, a very lovely and historic area with sweeping medieval architecture and cobblestone streets. Everywhere you look, there are breathtaking sights to behold: the Charles Bridge in all its statuesque glory, St. Vitus Cathedral with its heavy, dark architecture.

At night, Old Town Square comes to life with lively crowds, fire spinners, musicians, people gathering, talking, and eating. Everyone just out, enjoying life.

I remember the intoxicating energy of those crowds. You’re in a place with all these strangers, but you’re connected by the music, the food, the experience, all against the backdrop of a beautiful medieval city (and the Astronomical Clock).

On our last night in Old Town, we went to a small outdoor restaurant on the edge of that crowd.

We started with champagne and a variety of deep-fried, savory cheeses, and then a main course of goulash and dumplings (and of course, beer). The beef was so tender you could cut it with your spoon, and the gravy was the perfect savoriness and mopped up perfectly with the dumplings.

The servers kept bringing us beer, and we kept obligingly drinking it.

We sat outdoors and ate and drank and people-watched as the sun set and night came down on the Square. For me — a super introvert who loves being in a crowd but not the center of the crowd — the night was pure heaven.

In pandemic times, I think of this meal and this night a lot and the amazing energy of it.

#SFWApro

Yesterday was a delightful spring day and today is promising more of the same. I anticipate finishing the rough draft of a novel by noon and then moving on to the polishing stage over the next several days before being able to send it to my Typo Team. It’s a day for relaxing in the afternoon upon my hammock with my faithful dog snoozing at my side. And it’s a perfect day to bring you a great treat for this week’s EATING AUTHORS guest, a novelist and screenwriter whose work I have enjoyed for as long as I’ve known about science fiction. I refer, of course, to David Gerrold, who in addition to taking home the Hugo and Nebula award for “The Martian Child,” is known far and wide for his contribution of tribbles (or as we say in Klingon, yIH) to Star Trek, and the Sleestak to Land of the Lost.

But David’s contribution to the field is far more than these bits of popular culture. He is responsible for some truly incredible SF series including The War Against the Chtorr, Star Wolf, and The Dingilliad. He’s written more than a dozen standalone novels (a quick shout out for my personal favorite, The Man Who Folded Himself) and short collections, edited several anthologies, and don’t get me started on his nonfiction works including multiple volumes of an insider’s view of the sausage-making of Star Trek.

A few year’s back, David was the GoH at a convention in northern California, and I’d managed to convince the concom to bring me in as a special “Language GoH.” I mention this because I had the privilege of hanging out with David for several hours. He was kind and welcoming and generous. I like to think I played it cool and managed to avoid going all fanboy in his presence, though I probably did note that he and I had graduated from the same university in the San Fernando Valley.

David still lives in the Valley, and nowadays the focus of much of his delight is a beautiful grandson. Fortunately, the child has to sleep sometime and I like to think it was one during one of these naps that David sent me this meal.

LMS: Welcome, David. When I asked you to share your most memorable meal, you shorted among several before arriving on this perfect choice. I’m delighted to have you sharing it now.

DG: Sean moved in with me when he was only a few months past his eighth birthday. Because he’d been moved around so much as a foster child, he was uncertain about this placement. As happy as he was to finally have a dad, it was hard for him to believe this was real and permanent.

But that changed quickly. By the time he was approaching his eleventh birthday, he had turned into a bright and enthusiastic boy, with a very playful attitude — and a deliberately impish streak.

Early in the summer, we had a visitor from New York. I’ll call him Ron. He was auditioning to be a more permanent part of our lives, so we had him come over for a spaghetti dinner. As I set out the plates, Sean asked if he could demonstrate his special way of eating spaghetti. I said, “Yes,” and proceeded to set up the video camera, because I knew what was coming.

I started the camera and said, “Action.” Sean buried himself face first into a plate of spaghetti and growled his way through it like a hungry puppy. He laughed. I laughed. Ron did not laugh. He wasn’t prepared for that level of outrageous silliness. He was appalled in that way that only a very proper New Yorker can be. He got up and left.

That was the night that Sean and I realized that Ron didn’t get slapstick comedy. He didn’t get silliness. And without that level of stooge-ness, he couldn’t be a closer part of our lives. Later on, he did find a partner better suited for him and we wished him happiness. Sean hasn’t gone plate-diving since then, but spaghetti night is still a silly adventure.

A few years from now, I will be showing that video to Sean’s son. I expect him to laugh like crazy — and imitate his dad.

#SFWApro

I confess, I have been loving the spring weather, in large part because I have used it as a goad to get out and walk most every day (except when it rained or the temperature did a backslide into the 30s, but that was only a couple times), which has also meant more dictating, and so my productivity has been running high.

Having proved to myself that I could manage five miles a day several days in a row, last Thursday I decided to mix things up a bit. As I wrote in one of the Barsk novels, just because a thing can be done doesn’t mean it should be done. Five miles a day left me feeling tired, mentally and physically, for the rest of the day, and though my body bounced back by the next morning, I decided I could try stepping it down to just four miles a day for a while — and that doing so was not any kind of “quitting” and I wouldn’t beat myself up about it. The experiment has been going for a few days now and there’re still data points to gather, but cutting back seems to be working.

But what I’m not cutting back on are these weekly EATING AUTHORS posts (ooh, nice segue!). This week’s guest is T.S. Valmond, an indie author who is equally at home writing both fantasy and science fiction. Last year she began lending her space opera talents to the Cadicle universe, teaming up with Amy DuBoff to create the stand alone series, Verity Chronicles (a great point to jump into the larger universe, by the way).

Shelina lives in Alberta, Canada with a husband and a dog and amazingly successfully divides her loyalties between Star Trek, Star Wars, and Firefly. I would offer to teach her some Klingon, but I’d hate to upset a delicate balance. She’s been a professional sign language interpreter, a missionary in Central America, and an actress all over the state of Minnesota (where she grew up and went to school). She tends to work in that venue common to many writers, the coffeeshop, but if you hope to catch her in her natural habit don’t plan on sleeping in. She’s an early riser and has finished before many have even started their day. Fortunately, you’ll be able to get some coffee.

LMS: Welcome, Shelina. So tell me, what’s your most memorable meal?

TSV: My most memorable meal?

That’s like asking someone which one child is their favorite. Or in my case: which chocolate is my favorite. Answer: the kind I get to eat.

Well, if I have to choose, I’m going to need a little help, so I called up my bestie and asked her if my favorite meal happened with her.

All of my favorite meals have a memory attached, so it’s difficult to choose just one. However, just like a pleasant memory, meals are meant to be shared, so when I asked her, here’s the one we both remember.

Back in 2005, I had such a wonderful trip to Italy on my own that my bestie decided she wanted to join me and we set off trying to recreate the marvel that was my first trip.

It didn’t happen. I mean, nothing was the same. It’s so different traveling with another person. Not just the agenda, but the things that interest you change when you have someone to help you choose which path to take.

One thing that didn’t happen on my first trip was a visit to Tuscany. Traveling alone has its benefits, but it can be lonely, especially in small towns where you don’t know anyone. Besides that, I didn’t have enough time to see everything on the first visit.

My best friend had ideas of her own, and Tuscany made the list. She did all the research and found an amazing villa where we could stay, and every night they had a special dinner menu they prepared using produce from their vineyard.

Here’s what our first night at the vineyard looked like:

“Would you like to order a wine?”

“Yes please, Two.”

“Two?”

“Yes, two.”

Out comes two full bottles of wine.

“Oops, did I mention my Italian is a little rusty We’ll have just the one bottle then.”

Next, come the bread and cheese. They offered us a pesto spread for our bread that made everything taste good. Or was it the wine, I’m not sure.

After that they served us the next course. This particular evening was a ravioli stuffed with more cheese and I think a little potato. The sauce was amazing and we’re already getting full.

My friend: “How many more plates are there?”

Me: “I’m pretty sure there’s going to be at least two more.”

My friend: “Oh my!”

The main course arrives and we’re barely able to fit in a couple of bites, but the meat course was an herb chicken seasoned to perfection. How can we say no? It’s hard after getting through half a bottle of wine already.

Then the salad course comes, and they brought us a bowl of fruit with it as if there’s any room for healthy at this point.

When we’re about as full as we can be, they offer us a shot glass of dessert wine. We’re at the bottom of our bottle, but it’s not done yet.

But it’s included with the meal, so we agree. There’s a choice of a clear grappa-like wine that hits you hard like a punch to the face. There’s a rich dark sweet that’s like a shot of cold medicine. Then there was the sweet rose-colored blush that was just right. We chose that one once we learned the difference.

Though the two of us ate until we had to loosen our pants, at the table next to us was a family of four from Scotland who were eating us under the table. They were friendly and invited us up for a visit if we were ever in the neighborhood.

The best thing about that place was we finished a meal and bottle of wine every night we were there and never woke up sick or hungover. That’s a win-win if there ever was one.

If you ever get the chance to visit Tuscany, Italy, there’s a little B&B in a city with an abandoned castle. Don’t worry about how many trains it takes to get there. Take a tour of the town and walk up to the local castle before you check-in. You’ll want to work up an appetite for the meal you’ve got coming.

If you get there and you find me working on a book, don’t be afraid to come up and say hello. I’m the one sitting outside with the laptop.

#SFWApro

The previous week got away from me, and it’s Sunday afternoon as I write this, knowing it will post in a mere 16 hours or so. I somewhat overdid my activity this morning with a 5.5 mile walk and 4,000 words of dictation on the current work in progress, both good things, but now I’m wiped out and flat on my back. My dog had joined me on the bed and is showing his support by snoring (he may actually be asleep or just faking it).

But the show must go on, or in this case, the blog post. So without any pretense at a segue let me introduce you to this week’s EATING AUTHORS guest, none other than Glynn Stewart, a writer who boldly crosses the line between Science Fiction and Fantasy and then turns arounds and erases that line before moving on. What do I mean by that? Well, as just one example, in his hugely popular Starship’s Mage series (currently at 13 books), FTL is possible, but only because it uses magic! But if you’re looking for more traditional, straight up Space Opera, Glynn has you covered there as well. Some of his other series include Scattered Stars and Duchy of Terra, with more political intrigue and alien armadas, pirates and slavers, than you can aim a blaster at.

Glynn lives in Ontario, Canada, where he traded in a life as an accountant for the glorious existence of a full time author. Nothing against accountants, mind you, but I think he made the right choice.

LMS: Welcome, Glynn. Tell me about your most memorable meal.

GS: The dinner we had just after I proposed to my partner. We were staying at the Chateau Lake Louise in the Rocky Mountains, a beautiful faux castle on a lake in the middle of the mountains. Since I’d just proposed and they’d said yes, we decided to celebrate by having dinner at the top tier restaurant in the hotel — expensive, but it was definitely a celebration!

This restaurant, of course, is positioned to give an absolutely incredible view of both Lake Louise itself — a sheet of ice about to break up at the time — and the Rockies. The view, the ambience, everything about the place and the day is spectacularly memorable.

The menu was priced about as you’d expect, with recommended wine pairings that we decided to skip, but we did have the chef’s specialties. This was venison for me (which previously I’d only had made/ruined by myself) and a vegetarian tart for my partner. From the conversations we had, the tart was even more of a specialty for the chef than the venison steak. The chef was determined that when a vegetarian or vegan came into their restaurant, they would get a real specialty of the house, not just something thrown in to have a vegan option on the menu!

While we had declined to order the wine list, we had told the servers we were celebrating our engagement. So they surprised us between dinner and dessert with a pair of wine glasses with Prosecco and blackcurrant liqueur on the house! While this was delightful and tasty, the most memorable part was that they had, entirely accidentally, perfectly matched the tone and color of the fire opal in the engagement ring!

We’ve moved to the other side of the country since and haven’t managed to make it back to Lake Louise at all, but we still have fond memories of the hotel and especially of that dinner!

#SFWApro