I credit dk with getting me thinking about community kitchens through a conversation in September 2018 and an introduction to Berkeley's Three Stone Hearth.
I'm a minimalist when it comes to cooking, and I mean that in the worst way possible: I'm a very utilitarian eater. It's only a result of friendships with people who have more nuanced and attentive relationships to food (or college dinner parties with Adriana and company) that I do anything but shovel food in my mouth. This is starting to change, but I always found the kitchen more of a bother than a creative place.
So, when I read, back in 2015 or so, the Soylent founder's post on getting rid of all AC current in his home—effectively removing the kitchen, which he felt was "the greediest consumer of power, water, and labor" in addition to producing "the most noise and garbage of any room"—I resonated with it.
The eyeroll of his argument is that here are more important things at stake: I am not seeking an "optimized" lifestyle, I'm seeking a rich one. And the kitchen is a site of creation, of warmth, and of sharing—it remains one of the most important ubiquitous community spaces we have.
I've mentioned the importance of community spaces a few times in this newsletter, and I will continue to do so, because I believe they are a natural and necessary reaction to the splintered nature of American society (through demographic stratification, individual-centric metrics of success, and urban planning that punishes public spaces and promotes the car). They can serve as a critical piece in the search for meaningful social context.
The communal kitchen is such a simple, elegant, and resilient form of providing and creating social infrastructure. Anywhere from a potluck in your cramped apartment to something revolutionary or state-supported. Removing the kitchen from the home on the basis of avoiding cooking seems deeply lonely; it is interesting that one might remove a personal kitchen out of a lively, daily use of a communal space instead.
A permeable space is rare and difficult to nurture equitably, no doubt. I loved Joanne McNeil's recent newsletter on her relationship with Brazenhead books because it speaks to the joy and unfolding nature of a relationship with a place that seemed to find success in its open door. To be able to wander in and find what you might not have at home: a cross-section of people, extra physical space, a pile of new ideas and things to try.
It's been three months (!) since I wrote about "my next big decision"—where do I go after grad school? Countless conversations with friends, family, and myself have helped me feel out my priorities a bit further. I've been taking stock of how all I really want to do, on earth, is spend time doing things with my friends. It can start as simple as calling someone over and turning on the oven.
Out for a bite,
Lukas
I'm a minimalist when it comes to cooking, and I mean that in the worst way possible: I'm a very utilitarian eater. It's only a result of friendships with people who have more nuanced and attentive relationships to food (or college dinner parties with Adriana and company) that I do anything but shovel food in my mouth. This is starting to change, but I always found the kitchen more of a bother than a creative place.
So, when I read, back in 2015 or so, the Soylent founder's post on getting rid of all AC current in his home—effectively removing the kitchen, which he felt was "the greediest consumer of power, water, and labor" in addition to producing "the most noise and garbage of any room"—I resonated with it.
The eyeroll of his argument is that here are more important things at stake: I am not seeking an "optimized" lifestyle, I'm seeking a rich one. And the kitchen is a site of creation, of warmth, and of sharing—it remains one of the most important ubiquitous community spaces we have.
I've mentioned the importance of community spaces a few times in this newsletter, and I will continue to do so, because I believe they are a natural and necessary reaction to the splintered nature of American society (through demographic stratification, individual-centric metrics of success, and urban planning that punishes public spaces and promotes the car). They can serve as a critical piece in the search for meaningful social context.
The communal kitchen is such a simple, elegant, and resilient form of providing and creating social infrastructure. Anywhere from a potluck in your cramped apartment to something revolutionary or state-supported. Removing the kitchen from the home on the basis of avoiding cooking seems deeply lonely; it is interesting that one might remove a personal kitchen out of a lively, daily use of a communal space instead.
A permeable space is rare and difficult to nurture equitably, no doubt. I loved Joanne McNeil's recent newsletter on her relationship with Brazenhead books because it speaks to the joy and unfolding nature of a relationship with a place that seemed to find success in its open door. To be able to wander in and find what you might not have at home: a cross-section of people, extra physical space, a pile of new ideas and things to try.
It's been three months (!) since I wrote about "my next big decision"—where do I go after grad school? Countless conversations with friends, family, and myself have helped me feel out my priorities a bit further. I've been taking stock of how all I really want to do, on earth, is spend time doing things with my friends. It can start as simple as calling someone over and turning on the oven.
Out for a bite,
Lukas