My dinner guest series is a theoretical dinner table discussion that I have with one special, and often deceased or fictional, guest. It’s a place for reflection, a place to talk through the challenges in our lives and the desires of our hearts. Our dinner tables, both those we inhabit in our homes and this one, which I simply inhabit in my mind, are spaces for real, heartfelt dialogue. The dinner table is a personal and intimate forum where we can and should allow things to get messy.
This essay is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Cathy Caesar
Dr. Caesar was my undergraduate art history professor at the University of Dallas. She passed away almost exactly a year ago on November 19, 2022. She was young, and I did not anticipate losing her as soon as I did. I was six months pregnant with the twins at the time of her passing and already on the no-fly list. As such, I wasn’t able to attend her funeral, so I want to dedicate this essay to her and her memory. I wrote this essay back in July 2023. I didn’t write it with Dr. Caesar explicitly in mind nor did I plan to release it this week, but for several reasons I think it’s the appropriate moment to share it.
Not only did I learn everything I know about Vincent van Gogh from Dr. Caesar, but in her kind and inspiring way she introduced me to the world of art history, which has forever changed the trajectory of my life for the better. I can’t really articulate how much she impacted my life without writing an entire second essay, so all I will say is that I’ve spent a lot of time pursuing graduate degrees in art history for many reasons but, more than anything else, because I wanted to be Dr. Caesar. She was that fantastic.
I also think this week, the week of Thanksgiving, is the right time to share this essay because this Dinner Guest Series is about the community and conversations that emerge around the dinner table. It’s less about food - and I do not recommend suggesting the Salmon Niçoise Salad for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow (people will think you’re crazy!). It’s more about the people we have the privilege of knowing, dining, and conversing with.
I hope you all enjoy your Thanksgiving tomorrow!
“I realize more and more that work goes infinitely better when you feed yourself well, when you have your paint, when you have your studio, and all that.”
- Vincent van Gogh
Tonight I’m having my favorite artist, Vincent van Gogh, over for dinner, and I’m making Defined Dish’s simple and colorful Sheet Pan Salmon Niçoise Salad. Even though he isn’t French, I think he’d appreciate the homage to his creative homeland. In both execution and result, the sheet pan Niçoise is the perfect gastronomic complement to his beautiful, approachable, and uplifting paintings. I’m going to pair it with either a Ghia mocktail or a bottle of French rosé. I’m honestly not certain if Van Gogh would be sober or not in 2023, so I plan to be prepared.
Normally I see myself trapping my fictive dinner guests with long twenty-course meals because I don’t want them to leave. I want to force feed them chorizo-stuffed potatoes until they realize we were destined to be best friends. But, with Van Gogh, I don’t think much, if any, persuasion will be necessary. I think I could just start talking about art and cooking and what it means to find something worth living for, even if no one notices you, and Van Gogh would listen. In fact, I know he would. I’d serve some macarons from a local bakery for dessert (because they look simple, but they are complicated, my friends. I’m not even going to try). We’d part as kindred spirits, each aware that the other hoped to make a difference simply by doing something that uplifted others and ourselves.
“I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.”
- Vincent van Gogh
The thing I have always wanted to ask Van Gogh is how he found the strength, the resolve, to keep painting, even when very few people cared. I’ve heard some people say he didn’t sell a single painting in his lifetime and others say he only sold one. But, he painted around 900 works – that we know of – in a period of approximately 10 years, so either way, he was a commercial failure when he was alive. Reading the many letters he wrote to his art dealer and brother, Theo, you get a sense of the anxiety that Van Gogh felt for himself and for his brother, for the material sacrifices and losses that were being made in an attempt to share his creative vision with the world. In one letter, Van Gogh asks his brother for money to hire a model to paint:
I must tell you now that materially speaking, these days are extremely hard….If I have models, then I suffer considerably as a result. Doesn’t matter. And so I’ll go on ….So I assure you that if by chance you sometimes sent me a little more money, that would benefit the paintings, but not me. Myself, I only have the choice between being a good painter or a bad one. I choose the former. But the things needed for painting are like those of a ruinous mistress; you can do nothing without money, and you never have enough of it.
…We [artists] should keep quiet once again, because nobody is forcing us to work, indifference towards painting being, inevitably, fairly general, fairly eternal.1
Van Gogh’s commitment to his craft, to art, is so great, so sacrificial that he is willing to go without the bare necessities to allow himself the tools to paint, even, as he acknowledges, when no one is forcing him to continue doing so. Translation: he could stop at any moment, but he doesn't. Aren’t we all the better for it?
When lately I very often think that all the costs of painting weigh on you, you couldn’t imagine what anxiety I have about it…. I believe that the day will come when people will want the work — well — but perhaps that’s still far away.2
It’s a little shocking to read these words now because you’d be hard-pressed to find a living soul who doesn’t recognize a Van Gogh painting, let alone know his name. I am, to be perfectly blunt, in awe of his commitment to his craft, his calling, I would say. Who hasn’t seen a Van Gogh painting and stopped to admire it? People absolutely love him! But, he never lived to see this love and admiration for his work or himself. He died not knowing what his paintings would do for the world, for you, and for me.
I have never really watched the TV show Dr. Who – nor am I also someone who often cries (and rarely, if ever, do I cry in movies or TV shows) – but there is a scene from a 2010 episode of Dr. Who that makes me cry - like really cry. In this episode, Dr. Who transports Vincent van Gogh into the future. Yes, time travel. I don’t want to ruin it, so watch it here. But, even as I write this in a coffee shop in Manhattan in 2023, I am sniffling. It’s so beautiful.
I want to have Van Gogh over for dinner because I aspire to commit myself wholeheartedly to a craft just as he did. I want to hear his encouragement, to listen to his words of wisdom. I have always aspired to Van Gogh’s level of commitment, but have fallen short many times, often, I think, because I fear the anonymity that he experienced. I don’t want to feel invisible, who does? No one, I am guessing. But, I don’t think many of us are encouraged to pursue hobbies or interests for the sake of their inherent worth, regardless of what comes of them. Vincent van Gogh certainly wanted to be admired, as we just read in his letters But he was willing to go without it for the sake of his art. That is what impresses me most.
As I have gotten older, I increasingly take issue with the idea that we become too old to assume a Van Gogh-level of commitment in anything. Even though it’s certainly not too late for me to commit myself to cooking in the way that Van Gogh committed himself to painting, it can be tempting to feel that way.
I don’t want to ask Van Gogh what my thing should be, I already know that. I want to ask him why.
Why does he think so many of us, myself included, starve ourselves of the experiences that give us life? I am not talking about jobs, but hobbies, interests, and activities we can do in our free time. Why do we substitute what we love with things that are less personally fulfilling? Why has it taken me so long to realize that the thing I’ve been dedicating so much time to is, in fact, the thing I should wholeheartedly dedicate my extra time and energy to with abandon?
When I was a young girl, I cycled through approximately 500 “serious” interests all before braces. Tennis was in vogue until I realized that holding a racket came with blisters and then I was out. I wanted to be an Olympic snowboarder and then I remembered I lived in Arizona (although there is a home video of a medal ceremony somewhere in the Hiser household. I won gold, of course). I wanted to take up scrapbooking and then I realized I wasn’t 67. The list goes on, but you get the point. I had a knack for thinking I’d like something, trying it, and then quickly giving up. Maybe this is normal behavior, but I often remember feeling embarrassed and even frustrated that I seemed “so bad” at doing so many things. That’s a lot for a young girl, but I felt it deeply.
The reality, of course, was that I just hadn’t found the thing that make me really tick. I had found interests but nothing that consumed my energy. And even at 8 years old, I yearned to dedicate my time and efforts to something worthwhile. Oddly enough, I have recently found myself in the same cycle of interest/trial/failure/self-doubt. I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say that the list of hobbies and/or careers I have considered in my early thirties is any less embarrassing, any less indicative of someone who has allowed fame and popularity to guide them rather than true interest, happiness, and calling. (In kindergarten I told a fellow classmate I was going to be the first female president. So, yeah, I’d say I have always flirted with the desire for fame in some way shape, or form.) I have even seriously pursued a career in an entirely different sector – one that is associated with prestige – and was relatively successful, if ultimately frustrated. But what has been so interesting and eye-opening recently is that now, same as decades ago, the answer is staring me directly in the face. And, I guess I have been asking why. Why didn’t I see the obvious sooner? Why didn’t I drop everything else to pursue cooking in some way shape or form when I willingly spend hours in the kitchen each week? Did Van Gogh feel the same way? Is this why he was so prolific? Was he suddenly overcome with the urgent need to paint because he finally realized painting was his life's work?
It never occurred to me that cooking was a serious interest when I was 8, nor when I was 28. But, it has always been something that I have desirously, willingly done…all the time.
When I was a young girl, all I knew was that I wanted to be in the kitchen. I cherished the feeling of independence that came with getting a box of mac and cheese down from the pantry. I loved waiting for the water to boil, testing the macaroni noodle to make sure it was done, adding butter, milk and cheese and then tasting the addictive goodness that is Kraft Mac and Cheese. I no longer make mac and cheese from a box – because, you know, I have standards – but as a little girl making mac & cheese brought me the same joy that making a homemade braise does today. Looking back, it seems so obvious. But, as I’ve just alluded to, sometimes we miss the things right in front of us.
I, more than most, have been guilty of striving for fame, for popularity, for financial success, to win the esteem and respect of anyone and everyone. I’ve done this rather than focus on the things that I feel called to do. Because, to be honest, sometimes those things feel small. Cooking dinner can feel small.
You might accuse me of still falling prey to this desire for fame with this Substack. Fair. Maybe. But, for the first time in a long time, I feel so thrilled to be pursuing something, not because it’ll give me status of any sort, but because it flows out of me. I can’t contain my love of cooking or my desire to gather people around a table. I can’t stop sharing recipes with friends when they claim to be in a dinner rut. I honestly and truly can’t help but cook.
I’m not pretending to be Van Gogh. It’s just that when I read his words, a part of me understands. I want to make food for people (and it’s ok if they don't appreciate the perfectly al dente pasta), to share the enjoyment of a good meal with friends, and a good recipe with a stranger. If you ask, I will deliver.
I believe we are all made to enrich our lives through an elevated level of commitment to something. It doesn’t have to be how we earn our living. It doesn’t need to be big and flashy but we all need something, something personal, something aside from jobs and parenthood and the demands of our everyday lives.
Despite the pain and suffering he endured, Van Gogh continued to paint. He died poor and unsuccessful, but I bet if I had him over for dinner and asked him, he’d say it was worth it. I sure think it was.
“I am seeking, I am striving. I am in it with all my heart.”
- Vincent van Gogh
The dinner table is my favorite place to discuss anything and everything. If anything in this piece resonates with you, I encourage you to think about it and discuss, preferably over a yummy meal (maybe even the one you’re going to be enjoying tomorrow ;-))
Tips for Defined Dish’s Sheet Pan Salmon Niçoise Salad:
Make dressing ahead of time and refrigerate
Use center cut salmon
Salt salmon well with kosher salt (preferably Diamond Crystal) 15 minutes before cooking
For the first 20 minutes of cooking, when you are only cooking the potatoes, place the halved potatoes cut-side down for extra crisp.
If you accidentally get olives that aren’t pitted, use a meat mallet to gently smash and remove the pit. You’ll have scrunchy olives, it’s ok!
Don’t forget the capers…like I did!
See you in the kitchen, and Happy Thanksgiving!
Xo,
Rach
Letter 66
Letter 702
Van Gogh the goat!
You are a gifted writer! You have so much passion and talent. Thank you for sharing your heart with the world.❤️🙏🏽