Carrie Rollwagen

“It’s not an obsessive food story. I don’t care about food that much.” — Gabrielle Hamilton

I read a multitude of articles and often times the information that I garner ends up somewhere in that dark pit of my brain labeled: useless information/potential trivia. However, every now and again, I read about someone that invokes intrigue. Gabrielle Hamilton fell into this category after I read about her restaurant, Prune, and memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef. Anyone who knows me is keenly aware that, while I enjoy fabulous food, I am not at all inclined to cook it, so, upon seeing the title of her memoir, my immediate inclination was to suggest it to a dear friend who loves all things culinary. Gabrielle was placed on that mental shelf of intriguing people and her memoir was passed on to someone who could possibly benefit from its reading.

My memory would be retrieved though, when a weekend visit to Oxford, Mississippi to introduce my eldest child to Ole Miss led to a chance meeting. Girlfriends joined me in Oxford for an annual art show and we decided to grab dinner at City Grocery. Feeling a bit under dressed, we chose a seat at the downstairs bar, located in the back of the restaurant. It was perfect: Our bartender was delightful and the food was amazing. Mid-way through our dinner, a woman and man walked in and took the two remaining seats at the bar. The drink order captured my attention and sent that wheel in my mind spinning (she ordered a Negroni). Information retrieved, we connected, and, long story short, Gabrielle Hamilton had taken the seat next to me. It was as if we had planned to have dinner together all along. Granted, I was a bit star-struck; I had read enough to know that she was James Beard’s best chef in New York in 2011 and that her book was being held in high regard by industry people and critics alike. However, there was something else: She wasn’t a chef that night, nor was she a writer. She was a woman and a mother, not unlike myself. There was a genuine interest on her behalf about the college visit, my daughter’s non-profit, parenting and the task of figuring out how to send a kid to college. My intrigue had been warranted and, by the end of our dinner, I was certain I had found a friend.

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