Greetings from Carrboro,
It’s a personal struggle. I like to think that it’s possibly genetic. Though admittedly, my foray into 23&Me didn’t flag such hereditary hallmarks. But blaming parents is such an easy solution compared to wading into the hows and whys of my professional failings. Fate is such an enticing scapegoat.
The truth is that I can’t take a good photo to save my life. It’s just sad. My selfie skills are on par with a blind platypus. And let’s not even discuss my repeated face-plants into food photography. This prerequisite for modern chef-ery eludes me like a shimmering Saharan mirage. The library of images on my iPhone reads like a photo montage of a one decade-long cringe. So, needless to say, Siri, no. I don’t want to see a “memory” from three years ago. Leave me alone.
But you see, I have shoeboxes full of childhood photos that have the same dispiriting arc. That’s why I can work the genetic flaw angle. From our Olan Mills familial portraits with the inexplicable Tudor library backdrop to an absolute litany of pictures of various people out of focus on sofas with demon-red eyes. I would be remiss not to also note the holiday-centric “indigestion through the decades” dinner table documentation that seems to have been a singular narrative my parents followed. The pictures are not pretty. But remarkably consistent; I’ll give them that.
Of course I’d like to believe that my family preferred to live in the moment. Zen-like, Charlotte-style. That my family eschewed photography and instead eruditely debated the idea of whether or not you could capture the essence of “now” with a camera. But the truth is that it’s far from easy to take a good photograph when you’re either animatedly talking or eating or both. And those were the singular traits where my family truly excelled. That and cooking. Which is ultimately why we were good at eating. Or, well, vice versa. And all of that is probably one helluva clue as to why I love to do what I do.
Luckily, the Acme gene pool extends well beyond my hapless family. Well beyond me. There are artists and musicians and craftsmen. People with a plan and several without. A few who can finish my sentences and others who can make my sentences better. Everyday is a cavalcade. And this business requires every single one of their strengths and talents. At some point this week, I will task Martha with making 500+ individual pumpkin pies for Saturday’s 7th annual Salt & Smoke Festival; that’s certainly something that I would struggle doing. But you know the best part? After she’s done, Zoë and Danielle will be there to take a great pic. And, well, amen to that.
Tonight is Tuesday and you know what that means. Every entrée. Every Tuesday. $13.95. It’s an Acme tradition. What better way to celebrate voting than a delicious dinner on the town. Or to celebrate whatever you like. Because you deserve it. And because Tuesdays are just better here. Show us your “I VOTED” sticker for a special $5 cocktail, tonight only.
Well, that’s all the news from Carrboro. The staff at Acme look forward to serving you soon.
The Staff at Acme