So I have a confession: I’m something of a snob. I scorn popular literature. I refuse to read best sellers like
Water for Elephants or the latest novel by Tom Clancy. I have nothing against Clancy or popular literature in general, they just don't jive with my inner snob. I like to think that my bedroom bookshelves, now brimming with works by such esteemed authors like Dickins, Austen, and Faulkner, distinguish me as a reader with great taste and class. Further, I like to pretend that I am not easily swayed by popular trends; that I am above reading a book because it tops
The New York Times’ list of bestsellers or because it will soon be a movie starring Robert Pattinson.
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| Last week's Carrot Cake Muffins |
This is, of course, mostly my own personal delusion. Not only do I deign to read popular literature, but I just finished a novel whose front cover informs me that it spent some time at the top of the bestsellers lists. Furthermore--I liked it. I have thoroughly enjoyed each of the novels I’ve read for this project, delighting in the beautiful prose and intricate plots, but I must confess that I do derive some pleasure from being able to pick up a novel and speed through it with an ease that is not possible when reading Dickens or Faulkner. And one of my greatest secrets is that I am a true, dyed in the wool, sincere fan of Harry Potter. I’ve read all the books, seen all the movies, and when the film opens on July 15, I intend to be in line waiting for the midnight showing. I try to muster a bit of dignity when I admit this fact by clinging to the fact that I liked Potter before he was famous. As an avid reader in the eighth grade, I was recommended an obscure but charming novel called
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Naturally I was delighted when, months later, the rest of the world discovered the irresistible charm of J.K. Rowling’s magical world of wizarding. When, years later, the world was obsessed and anxiously awaiting the release of the next book, I returned to my snobbish tendencies to brag that I loved Potter
before everyone else loved Potter.
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| Tonight's chocolate cake |
As I return this week to my list of great novels (and, in particular, to
The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford) I am also eagerly awaiting the premier of the final Harry Potter film. To prepare, my friends and I have been watching a Potter film a week, slowly counting down to the grand finale. Each week we gather at my house, drinks in hand and a sampling of culinary delights in front of us, and we watch/critique the week’s film. Each week the films get longer and darker and each week I get bolder with my baking. I started with homemade pizza, then moved to fresh mojitos and homemade blueberry muffins, and last week I baked carrot cake muffins. This week I served Ste. Chapelle’s Special Harvest Reisling (a wine for which I have quite a soft spot) and I made chocolate cake topped with granache. I like to think that classy treats and good company make up for the fact that I dedicate a night each week to watching a badly adapted version of a much-loved novel. I also like to (secretly) think that the good company and a keen sense of humor and wit will allow me to maintain my much-loved snobbery. And if nothing else, at least I have cake and sarcasm to keep me warm as I work my way through
The Pursuit of Love.
