{"id":144404,"date":"2020-04-17T17:08:47","date_gmt":"2020-04-17T21:08:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=144404"},"modified":"2020-04-17T17:30:28","modified_gmt":"2020-04-17T21:30:28","slug":"staff-picks-creations-croissants-and-crutchfields","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/04\/17\/staff-picks-creations-croissants-and-crutchfields\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Creations, Croissants, and Crutchfields"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_144435\" style=\"width: 1010px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/cropped-alialq2.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-144435\" class=\"wp-image-144435 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/cropped-alialq2.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"750\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/cropped-alialq2.jpg 1000w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/cropped-alialq2-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/cropped-alialq2-768x576.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-144435\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Alia Volz.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>California is rife with personal histories of various sorts\u2014so many that one wonders if there\u2019s anything yet to be discovered about the Golden State. Enter Alia Volz\u2019s new memoir <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1531\/9780358006091\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><em>Home Baked: My Mom, Marijuana, and the Stoning of San Francisco<\/em><\/a>, a beautiful evocation of the Bay Area in the years before tech bros and big money changed the city. During the wild and woolly seventies, Volz\u2019s mother founded Sticky Fingers Brownies, a company responsible for delivering upward of ten thousand illegal cannabis edibles per month to San Francisco consumers. Like Stefan Zweig\u2019s <em>The World of Yesterday<\/em>, this is a narrative about a time that is now gone: San Francisco as circus, where pot was both ubiquitous and as illegal as heroin. Under Volz\u2019s careful attention, all of it\u2014the era, the place, and her own parents\u2014is rendered clear, bright, and beautiful. <strong>\u2014Christian Kiefer\u00a0<\/strong><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>During the past three weeks, one new album has never been far from my turntable: <a href=\"https:\/\/waxahatchee.bandcamp.com\/album\/saint-cloud-2\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><em>Saint Cloud<\/em><\/a>, the fifth full-length from Waxahatchee, a.k.a Katie Crutchfield. Crutchfield began her musical career in the late aughts, playing a kind of melodic punk with her twin sister, Allison, in the band P.S. Eliot. She started Waxahatchee to evolve a mellower, more folk-inspired sound. Her previous record, the break-up album <em>Out in the Storm<\/em>, is about as noisy and hard as she was willing to get, and <em>Saint Cloud<\/em>, which was written in the aftermath of her giving up drinking, is willfully mellow, countrified in the manner of Crutchfield\u2019s hero Lucinda Williams. It took me a few listens to like it, and then I fell in love. These songs engage in a sustained self-reckoning, taking stock, owning regrets, and setting mistakes to music: \u201cI\u2019ll keep lying to myself\u2009\/\u2009I\u2019m not that untrue\u2009\/\u2009I\u2019m in a war with myself\u2009\/\u2009It\u2019s got nothing to do with you,\u201d she sings in \u201cWar,\u201d an upbeat rocker. Crutchfield\u2019s voice is inflected with a quiet Southern lilt; it\u2019s not that her voice is unique, but you can always tell it\u2019s hers. You feel her whole self\u2014disappointed, humbled, but not without excitement or hope\u2014in every syllable. You\u2019d know what these songs are about even if you didn\u2019t speak English. This may be her best record\u2014it\u2019s certainly her most grown-up\u2014and it\u2019s great company in lonely, yet not unhopeful, hours that seem to be turning into days, weeks, months. <strong>\u2014Craig Morgan Teicher<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_144436\" style=\"width: 1010px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/haim.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-144436\" class=\"wp-image-144436 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/haim.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"750\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/haim.jpg 1000w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/haim-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/haim-768x576.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-144436\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Haim.<\/p><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Leslie Jamison, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/daily\/2020\/03\/26\/since-i-became-symptomatic\/\">from the depths of a trying quarantine<\/a>, puts into new words the most familiar of platitudes: \u201cthe grass is always greener\u201d suddenly has become \u201csure, I sometimes wish my quarantine was another quarantine.\u201d The turn had me musing about the equalizing aspects of coronavirus (this is happening to all of us), which are as boggling in their novelty as the inequalities are in their painful familiarity (the happening is harder for some). Through my quarantine, I\u2019ve been listening to Haim. Although the sisters who make up the band are roughly my age, until recently I\u2019ve thought of their music as being for younger, more carefree listeners. <a href=\"https:\/\/open.spotify.com\/album\/2wVHs4o9ZIsZ7WAGvHMb7h\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><em>The Steps<\/em><\/a>, their newest effort, is a damn good EP that serves as a prelude to their third studio album, their first in three years. In the time of internet attention spans, such a delay could have easily dimmed the buzz of a less confident group. But Haim are as dominant as they are infectious. Their sound is a little Fleetwood Mac and later Paul Simon meets Warpaint and something a little sweeter. There are as many music videos as tracks on the EP, and the limitless talents of Paul Thomas Anderson and Danielle Haim make the video for the title track smart, puzzling, and rewatchable. The Muses\u2014and now I mean those other sisters\u2014tempt us in part because of their storytelling power. The strong California vibes given off Haim\u2019s music made me feel oddly eligible to wear the snake-print slingbacks that have been waiting for their moment in the sun\u2014just in my own living room. And for a moment I could imagine that my biggest problem was that the pool couldn\u2019t be serviced, so that when ennui drove me back in, past nightfall, a few leaves and a moth or two would catch in my hair as they sailed into the lights\u2014someone else\u2019s quarantine. <strong>\u2014Julia Berick<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Although I read Kate Zambreno\u2019s <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1531\/9780593087213\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><em>Drifts<\/em><\/a> (out May 19 from Riverhead Books)\u00a0before the <em>Paris Review<\/em> office started working from home, it&#8217;s a perfect book for the quarantined. In a series of photos and prose fragments, Zambreno\u2019s narrator avoids working on her novel, reads, teaches, plays with her dog, worries about money, looks at art, and eventually, surprisingly, finds herself pregnant. It\u2019s a work that wears its influences on its sleeves\u2014as in all of Zambreno\u2019s books, the references to other artists and their work fly fast and thick\u2014and one that captures the fitful stops, starts, shame, joy, and boredom that go into creating a work of art. <strong>\u2014Rhian Sasseen<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Before we were sent indoors, my fellow intern and I kept a running list of the best croissants in Chelsea. La Colombe boasts a reliable almond, and Bottino serves a utilitarian plain that\u2019s best when toasted. Sullivan Street Bakery, however, rises about the rest. Their croissants are cloaked in a mysterious, sugary glaze, light enough to accentuate the quality of the pastry without overpowering it. With the sudden drop in my croissant intake, however, I\u2019ve turned to my own culinary devices. After weeks of research, I selected a traditional recipe from <a href=\"https:\/\/bookshop.org\/a\/1531\/9781328810786\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><em>Poil\u00e2ne<\/em><\/a>, a cookbook by the pastry chef Apollonia Poil\u00e2ne. She\u2019s an elegant Franco American and the CEO of Poil\u00e2ne Bakery in Paris, where each loaf of sourdough is delicately inscribed with her last initial. She adroitly demonstrates how recipes are a form of storytelling, each page of her book interwoven with personal anecdotes and culinary histories. Poil\u00e2ne\u2019s croissant recipe is a meditative process, its simple steps spanning three days of worthwhile labor. I measured the hours of these endless days by the various stages of laminating, chilling, and proofing the dough. The result: a neat set of fourteen croissants and an aroma of warm yeast and butter filling the house. I even tried to emulate Sullivan Street Bakery\u2019s shiny, sweet exterior, consulting a chef friend who believes the glaze is a wash of egg yolks and heavy cream. I had whole milk, which nearly did the trick. Don\u2019t fear if you have neither the wherewithal nor quantities of flour to replicate these croissants yourself: Poil\u00e2ne Bakery is shipping worldwide. <strong>\u2014Elinor Hitt<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div id=\"attachment_144414\" style=\"width: 1010px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/img_3553.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-144414\" class=\"size-full wp-image-144414\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/img_3553.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"789\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/img_3553.jpg 1000w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/img_3553-300x237.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/img_3553-768x606.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-144414\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Elinor\u2019s croissants. Photo: Elinor Hitt.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 reads Kate Zambreno\u2019s latest novel, spins Waxahatchee\u2019s \u2018Saint Cloud,\u2019 and embarks on a pastry quest.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-144404","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Staff Picks: Creations, Croissants, and Crutchfields by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"The staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 reads Kate Zambreno\u2019s latest novel, spins Waxahatchee\u2019s 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