Terroir, twilight
Lately I've been thinking about the French concept of terroir. It's that ineffable quality of locality that makes a Médoc Cabernet Sauvignon different from one from Graves. It's why Japanese whiskies don't taste the same as Scottish ones, even when they're aged in the same rooms. Closer to home, it's why a peanut-fed pig from North Carolina can't produce a ham as lovely as one from Smithfield.
It's in the land—some magical combination of water and soil ingredients, a palpable impalpability.
Lately I've been trying to come up with something that makes Richmond special. I have some ideas, but they're unbearably cynical and I can't bring myself to type them out. So I'm throwing it to anyone who's interested and can use the comments field: What's so great about this place? It could be something negative, like that we're mired in mediocrity as pure as honey from the sun-washed praries of British Columbia. Or, you know, positive. I haven't had much luck with the latter.
It's in the land—some magical combination of water and soil ingredients, a palpable impalpability.
Lately I've been trying to come up with something that makes Richmond special. I have some ideas, but they're unbearably cynical and I can't bring myself to type them out. So I'm throwing it to anyone who's interested and can use the comments field: What's so great about this place? It could be something negative, like that we're mired in mediocrity as pure as honey from the sun-washed praries of British Columbia. Or, you know, positive. I haven't had much luck with the latter.
posted by Andrew Beaujon at 21:12
4 Comments:
going to try to address some - but not all - of your concerns.
Richmond? was there once in the Spring of '85, again in the Fall of '92 and a handful of times in the 21st century. conclusion? a Haunted City (no shit).
Scotch? i'll quote Mike Ives (columnist fired from The Roanoke Times justintime for Reagan) quoting somebody else: "You hear people say that you've got to 'cultivate a taste for Scotch,' but as far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon cultivate a taste for motor oil and dirt!"
Pork? it has its place, sure (check out the Burroughs routine at the end of this post).
That man was apparently fired for a good reason. There's no need to develop a taste for the good stuff. Same advice as with shirts: stay away from blends, my man.
I'm a bit mystified by the ham hostility.
This may sound a little middle schoolish (consider the source), but I think its the people that give a location its essence. I recognize that Richmond is an unjust city. I empathize with the folks under foot. I find the odd smells that waft through our front door a bit disconcerting. The blindness and self-censoring that people exhibit before me is infuriating. But, shit, the winters were a bitch in Michigan, the unjust were fucking up the cities in Michigan, and the smells were equally mystifying in Michigan. But the people I surrounded myself with were alright.
What I appreciate about Richmond is pretty standard: The sun rises each morning, and I can hope for a decent day. The sun sets each night, and I can hope for a better tomorrow. When the day shits on me, I call on a friend for a drink and a respite. When the day is gracious, I gloat. Oh, and I expect the same from others!
Mike Ives (born Dec 1940 in Washington DC) was fired a couple years after the Local Fishwrap passed from the hands of the (local) Fishburn family to Landmark Communications (Weather Channel, etc). and *good* Scotch prolly costs substantially more than, say, Southern Comfort, so it's not something i can personally comment on (Ives was likely having a what-you-call "jape").
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