Ask and, eventually, you shall receive

On the endless beauty of revision, as well as bossam, gator sausage and Mickey-free Dole Whips.

Deep in the archives of my old News-Press emails, you’ll find a handful of letters I wrote to Frank Bruni, Sam Sifton, Ligaya Mishan, Jonathan Gold and Tom Sietsema.

These names may not mean much to you, but in the late 2000s I idolized them (Ms. Mishan, to be clear, remains an icon of mine). The first three wrote restaurant reviews for The New York Times. The late and legendary Jonathan Gold was the critic for the Los Angeles Times, while Sietsema was, and still is, the chief restaurant critic for The Washington Post.

Back in the day, I read their columns religiously and thoroughly. I printed them from the all-in-one printer/scanner behind the sports desk. I highlighted key sentences, scribbled notes in the margins (“This!” “!!!!” “Holy scene setting!!!”), and typed out my favorite metaphors and phrases in a file on my iMac G5.

These critics were at the top of the mountain. I was at the base camp. If I hoped to breathe their rarefied air, I had to learn their moves.

Photo by Cathryn Lavery on Unsplash

Looking back, emailing such heavyweights from my little post reviewing Key lime pies and snapper sandwiches in Fort Myers, Florida feels preposterous. I’m not surprised they never responded. But, back then, I wanted so badly to know I was on the right track.

I was a baby critic, desperate for feedback. I wanted more than anything to be edited, to have that red pen baptize my work in its bloody ink. I wanted to learn, improve. That wasn’t, as it turns out, Frank’s or Sam’s or Ligaya’s or Jonathan’s or Tom’s job.

It was one I had to accept as my own.

Two and a half months removed from journalism, and a few years into the world of literary writing, it’s interesting to compare and contrast the two. They feel so similar — Here’s a topic! Write about it! — and yet, they are so incredibly different.

Journalism is about speed and basic accuracy. Did you spell the names right? Did you get the facts right? Can we post it now? How about now? How about now?

Literary writing, be it a poem, essay or full-blown book, is about revision.

Slow.

Painstaking.

Repeated.

Revision. Revision. Revision.

You write with the intent of revising. You spill words onto a page, then go back to fatten those words like a foie-gras goose (sorry PETA). You must imbue them with intent, jam them with meaning. Fill them till they overflow.

I finished my first draft of “The Mango Tree” in September 2020. It weighed in at a bloated 115,000 words. I’ve spent the 2 1/2 years since revising and revising and revising some more. First with my writing group (shout out to Sarah, Asmaa, Seth and Shannon!), then with my writing teachers (Minda, Natalie, Kiese, thank you!), then with my agent (Kayla, you are brilliant), and now I’ve gone through three rounds of revisions with my genius editor, Vivian Lee.

All that feedback I craved in my 18 years of journalism? I’ve gotten it and more in my four years working on this book.

The universe is funny that way. Ask and, eventually, you shall receive.

And revise.

Restaurants of the week

Her Name is Han; New York, New York

Speaking of Vivian, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting my editor in person earlier this month. I was in New York attending the PEN Literary Awards, and she and I lunched at Her Name is Han, a fantastic Korean restaurant on the edge of Koreatown in Manhattan.

You know how you wonder if you’re going to click with someone? The moment Vivian suggested corn-cream croquettes and slow-cooked bossam, I knew we’d be good. Three hours later, as we abandoned the dregs of our shared budae jjigae and tucked into scoops of black-sesame ice cream perched atop crumbled green-tea biscuits, I knew we’d be very, very good.

Tropical Smokehouse, West Palm Beach, Florida

We’re still not in Southwest Florida, but we’re closer. And this West Palm spot is well worth the drive. Chef-owner Rick Mace worked alongside the acclaimed Chef Daniel Boulud for more than a decade before striking out on his own with what he terms “Florida barbecue.”

Tropical Smokehouse pays homage to the Sunshine State’s many Caribbean influences, from jerk-style seasonings to flaky, brisket-filled empanadas to a smoked wahoo dip I could not stop eating.

Mace’s simple, rum-fueled daiquiris hail from Cuba, as does the inspiration for his mojo pulled pork. He crafts some seriously snappy sausage from “wild Everglades gator,” balancing its chew with juicy Duroc pork. And he has a helluva knack for carbs: the hot & sweet hush puppies! the crisply caramelized plantains! the soft, almost-spoonbready lushness of the cornbread!!

This is the kind of place where you could grab a quick lunch or spend a leisurely afternoon. Sip another daiquiri, a flight of Barbados rums, a Mangolandia wheat ale from Veza Sur. Grab a house-made Dole Whip for dessert and enjoy every soothing bite without having to battle the Mickey Mouse throngs.

I’m not sure I buy this as “Florida barbecue,” but I’ll buy it as delicious, creative and worth a trip across the peninsula.