Lia Huber

Wow has there been a lot of sky-is-falling-gloom-and-doom going on this week in the publishing world. And understandably so. But what I heaven’t heard much of–yet anyway–is what an exciting time this is; impetus for the changes that everyone has been lamenting for years as inevitable. Maybe it’s just that we’re still in the midst of the shockwave, but I do hope that once it crests people will begin to see the opportunity.

I read a marvelous book in business school called Blue Ocean Strategy and with all that’s going on I’m pulling it off the shelf once again. Its premise is that most companies out there fight and fight and fight to stake and hold their claim in overpopulated waters. They produce Widget A and sell it to Market Z along with hundreds of others who are doing exactly the same thing (sound familiar?).

What Blue Ocean Strategy challenges us to do is to draw back to the essence of what we offer and find a way to engineer/produce/market/deliver it that sets it apart from the competition entirely. Their case study on Cirque du Soleil–a company that reinvented the circus experience when the traditional three-ring model was so entrenched as to be unquestionable–continues to inspire me; it alone is worth buying the book.

My hope is that those in the publishing industry–even, maybe especially, those who have found themselves cast into the proverbial sea this week–will come to see that it isn’t about selling books. It hasn’t really ever been about selling books. Those in the publishing industry have a unique gift of plucking from the multitude ideas, thoughts, values and concepts of worth and delivering them to the people who long for them (through the words of the authors they work with, of course). What form they’re delivered in is secondary.

My hope is that in the months ahead people will begin to ask not, “how can we go back to what we had?” but “how can we go about this differently to deliver ideas in a way that’s even better than before?” The people behind Cookstr, I believe, asked themselves that question. Call me an optimist, but I can’t wait to see what the ocean looks like three months, six months, a year from now as others do the same.

As much as I’d love to blog here more often, most of my words are found on Swirling Notions these days. Click here to visit!

It’s kind of wacky living here in Northern California, where one day everyone is lamenting frost in the vineyards and the next I’m fishing out strappy sundresses. Food-wise, it can get a bit disconcerting too. The heat makes me crave tomatoes and eggplant, yet the peas have yet to plump up. No complaining though.

This spring I also feel like several things are ripening in my career. The novel is just about done–really done. And I’m working on a proposal for a cookbook and starting up something online that I’m excited to share with you all. In the meantime, I’m on call to do some television spots for Cooking Light and continue to have a ball writing Swirling Notions and connecting with food, wine and life bloggers all over the world. So many things just starting to blossom and coming to fruition at the same time . . . must be the weather.

I’m off to New Orleans tomorrow for the IACP conference and getting more and more excited to revisit my old stomping grounds (I went to Tulane). I probably won’t have time to wander too far from the riverfront on this trip, but still . . . I’m curious to see what’s changed and what remains post-Katrina. One thing I do know, the chefs and other food professionals in New Orleans have been beacons in keeping the city’s spirit alive, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to thank them in person.

In any case, I’ve brought an old article of mine (my first published article, as a matter of fact) out of the archives for the occasion; a piece on the music clubs of the Uptown neighborhood. I was a musician long before I was a writer, and I played guitar in various bands all throughout college at many of the venues profiled in the piece. Sadly, many of these places are gone now–succumbed to competition from chain venues like House of Blues many years before Katrina blew threw. Who knows, though. I have a feeling that on this trip I may discover something entirely new.

Christopher, Noe, Tally and I waved goodbye to Rex this weekend. Then I went inside and cried. We also said adieu to our fridge on Monday which I also cried about—although those were tears of joy (it’s been busted for a month and we’ve been shuttling food back and forth from our backup fridge in the carport . . . such fun in a robe with a kid on the hip). Crying over the loss of a truck and a fridge may seem like over-reacting, but to me it was a turning point, a milestone carved with—YOUR LIFE HAS CHANGED . . . BIG TIME!

You see, seven years ago, Christopher and I put everything we owned in storage, climbed into Rex and watched the San Francisco skyline recede in the rear view mirror. We first headed East for a night with our brand new God-daughter, Kate, and then to spend the turn of the millennium with our dear friends, the Curtins, in Denver. From there on it was South all the way, over the Texas border, down the spine of Central Mexico with all of its beguiling Colonial cities and then skipping over borders from Guatemala to Costa Rica, where we landed for a three month stay. By the time we arrived back in the US seven months later, after traversing the route back up, we were changed people. Christopher said just after we crossed the border into San Diego (and just after I said I felt like we’d gone from being adventurers to being homeless) that he had a sneaking suspicion our journey had only just begun. And he was right.

The seven years since we pulled up stakes have been made up of one deliberate decision after another regarding where we wanted to put them down again—where, with whom, how. The where turned out to be Healdsburg, a place where we had made soulful connections with many wonderful people and which felt home to us down to our very core. So we bought a house, sunk down roots and put up a white picket fence (literally . . . we still laugh about that).

Yet still, every time we got behind the wheel of Rex there would be a frisson of memory of the thrill of the road. As if the curve of the seat was imprinted with the DNA of heart thumping checkpoints; cervezas after a long day of driving dusty desert roads; volcanoes looming beyond undulating tobacco fields; the thrum of cobblestones beneath the wheels and twisted spires silhouetted in the twilight on entering another Colonial city. Many of these moments—and others that were sparked by these—were captured in the collage of photographs on the front of our fridge.

But now Rex, our beat-up, black, gas-guzzling Ford Explorer, our chariot of freedom, is gone . . . along with the fridge that held the snapshot of our Old Life.

Now we have a brand spanking new, white, Toyota Highlander Hybrid . . . with a car seat. Car seat being the operative word and a little peanut named Noemi de Leon Huber being the operative factor of Our New Life. Yet the concept of her adoption—long before we said yes to it, long before she herself was even conceived—was formed seven years ago, in Antigua Guatemala, during our adventures in Rex. They are—our Old Life and New Life—somehow, connected. Now our brand spanking new white refrigerator—in lieu of shots of cathedrals and beaches, boats and jungle—will hold photos of our adorable little daughter as she grows, be a gallery for her artwork and a landing pad for schedules and kiddo contacts. And what shocks me most is, I couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

Christopher’s comment upon re-entry was right on. The journey had just begun . . . and it continues still.

I got a call from my editor at Prevention a few weeks ago asking me to fly to New York for a photo shoot for a feature I’d written about how my time on Corfu impacted the way I live and eat. At first, I said no. I had just been in New York the previous week and was headed to Mexico the following week. The prospect of another cross country trip did not excite me. But I called back and said yes, and I’m so glad I did.

I love being a writer and recipe developer. But my creative involvement with an article ends after I’ve written the piece and the recipes, tested them in my kitchen and hit “send.” Months and months later, I open the magazine and see my words and recipes transformed into a gorgeous visual spread. Until last week, though, I’d never been involved in that part of the process. What fun to be a part of it all!

I showed up at the studio at 9:30 Thursday morning to get my hair and makeup done and the huge, airy loft space was buzzing with activity. Food stylist, Jee, was cooking some of my recipes on one side of the room. On another side, a huge table was filled with earthen bowls and wooden trenchers and stoneware platters presided over by Robyn, the prop stylist. Over by the windows, Marcus was arranging big, white baffles around a rustic wooden table where the food would eventually be arranged.

What was amazing about this crew was how we all had a similar aesthetic and idea for what the shoot should look like. I had heard stories from food stylists in the past about lacquer and hair spray and foam being used, but Jee believed in letting the food’s natural beauty shine through. Robyn’s props were perfect for it, and Marcus used only natural light and a very minimal, rustic setup. It was perfect. It captured what, to me, is the essence of Greece.

When it came time for me to get in front of the camera, Marcus invoked the feeling of Greece. He’d tease me, telling me to look out at all the fishing boats coming into the harbor (the windows looked out on the Hudson), and even had me constructing one of the salads for the piece to capture me in my element — with food.

I had an absolute blast and really hope to work with that whole crew again in the future (I Land Home cookbook?). Check out the results in the August issue of Prevention!

I was recently writing an article about my experience on Corfu, Greece when I was in my early twenties. Only rather than being about Corfu as a destination, this piece was about how the way I learned to live there has shaped me into a healthier person. Things that at the time I thought were deplorable to my diet—everything was drenched in olive oil!—I’ve now come to realize are tasty components to healthy living.

In putting together the piece, I was checking to see if any of my previous sources on health and lifestyle had released any new studies. And indeed they have. One in particular, by Dr. Antonia Trichopoulou, a professor and researcher at the University of Athens who has spearheaded several large-scale, long-term epidemiological studies around the Mediterranean lifestyle and diet, caught my eye. It was about, of all things, naps.

As anyone who has traveled to the Mediterranean or Latin America knows, siestas are stitched in to the fabric of many cultures. Businesses close, streets quiet, and everyone grabs a bit of shut eye during the mid-day hours, even if only just a few puffs on the couch. Well now Dr. Trichopoulou has proven that naps really are good for our health. 

In a prospective study over several years of 23,681 healthy Greek men and women between the ages of 20 and 86, those who napped for at least 30 minutes a minimum of three times a week had a 37 percent lower risk of dying from heart disease. Those who napped occasionally lowered their risk 12 percent. The correlation was especially strong for working men.

We tend to focus so much on what foods we should eat or shouldn’t eat, what we should drink or shouldn’t drink. But in the end, it’s the little habits that we build into our everyday lives that are going to either contribute to a long, healthy life or become our demise. Just like I learned on Corfu without even knowing it.

If you’d like more information on the siesta study, check out this link to the American Heart Association’s summary: http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=3045773

On that note, I’m going to lay down for a bit . . .

A few weeks ago, I got a call from a friend of mine who said that he was working with Clos du Bois on a campaign to raise money for women’s heart health during the month of May (see www.toasttomom.com or click on the link below to send a virtual e-card. For each card sent, Clos du Bois will give WomenHeart $1), that they were thinking of doing a blog, and that he thought I’d be perfect for it. Could I get it planned, up and launched in a couple of weeks?

Yes, the deadline was brutal. But to help you understand what a kismet deal this seemed to be, I need to give you a bit of background about my own personal connections with Clos du Bois. First of all, their vineyards and winery are landmarks in California’s northern Sonoma County, where I live (yes, it’s gorgeous here). Second, it’s an American winery with a French name—I’m an American who has been a Francophile since I was eight, when I set as one of my life goals to attend the Sorbonne in Paris (yep, I did it). Third, my husband, Christopher, and I spent our first anniversary up here at a friend’s house (we were still living in San Francisco at the time) amidst their vineyards and guess where those grapes were slated to go when they were good and ready? You guessed it, Clos du Bois. So from my perspective, I thought it was a great fit. And it turns out they did too.

What LS from Clos du Bois said was that they were looking for someone who ’sucks the marrow out of life,’ (to quote Thoreau) who travels with a sense of curiosity and is inquisitive about everything, someone for whom food and wine and travel and well-being are all intertwined—just like the people who buy their wines. And they found me, and I’m glad they did.

I’ll be sharing musings each week as life unfolds. It may be about a toast I composed over the weekend (our friend has a BIG birthday coming up on Sunday), or a roast I concocted (did I mention I’m a recipe developer?), or some nutty thing I heard on the radio and wanted to get your input on, or a dispatch upon return from a remote island (leaving this Tuesday, back Saturday). In short, anything life has to offer that makes me stop and go, ‘hmmm’ and leaves me thinking visitors might too.

I’m excited about this blog. I’m excited about raising money for WomenHeart. Stop by, send-an e-toast, and watch the virtual glass fill as we swirl around our notions and towards the goal in the days to come.

Cheers,
Lia

www.swirlingnotions.com

I have a bottle of rose chilling in the refrigerator. That, to me, means summer. Never mind the official date. Never mind the fact that the thermometer just topped 80. It’s the prospect of popping a wine that looks as crisp and cheerful as it tastes that marks the change of season to me.

I became a rose convert in France over a decade ago (ironically, in early January). I was having dinner at a little restaurant on the square in Haute de Cagnes, an inland hill town between Nice and Cannes, and had just ordered a plate of salt and chile roasted shrimp. The proprietor, a man from the area who clearly knew how to cook, suggested a rose to go with my dish. I flatly refused. To me, pink wine meant cloying and sweet, and at that point my taste had moved beyond that. But he insisted. And when he arrived at my table with a platter of hissing shrimp, he was carrying a glass of pale pink wine and wouldn’t leave until I took a bite and a sip.

To say it was a great pairing would be cheapening it. The wine was crisp and dry and yet somehow full of flavor. Against the spice of the shrimp it felt like jumping into a cool, refreshing ocean and then licking your lips. It was heavenly.

But then I came back to the States and the pinks were still sugar-bombs. Not so any more. In the past few years, I’ve been delighted to see a new breed of American roses coming out that are giving that Haute de Cagnes rose a run for its money. Several from right here in Sonoma County.

Today, while I still enjoy a crisp rose with salt and chile shrimp, rose to me now means leisurely dinners with people I love, lingering on the porch or nibbling from the grill, when conversations linger as long as the sunsets. If you haven’t already, check out some roses this season. While it isn’t an exact replica of that first fabulous rose pairing (I’ll work on that recipe though), this recipe should do the trick. Enjoy — and join me in a toast to the promise of summer!

I had intended this blog to be a place to capture ponderings and wandering thoughts as they came to me. But as of late, there hasn’t been much time to let my mind roam. And that’s a very good thing as it turns out.

Three main beacons have been blinking brightly on my horizon these past few months - finishing my first novel, a lot of wonderful work (which you’ll see up on this site as the pieces reach publication) and . . . a baby daughter.

As I type this, my dear friend and novel collaborator, Amy Ziff, is here from New York for the week so we can assist each other in the official ‘birth’ of our novels. Amy and I are old high school friends who reconnected recently and have been supporting, editing, urging and encouraging one another towards the finish line of our respective books. This week, we’re packaging them up to begin shipping to agents. Keep your fingers crossed!

The other big ‘birth’ in my life is the birth of our baby girl, Noemi de Leon Huber, in Guatemala City on November 6. We were officially ‘matched’ with Noe on November 17th and hope to bring her home sometime between April and June. In the meantime, we’ll be going down for a visit next week. As things become more ‘real’ here (crib, nursery, shower . . .) it will be so wonderful to have a three-dimensional image of her to carry in our minds during the long months of waiting ahead - even if she IS adorable in photos.

Henri Nouwen says that waiting “is never a movement from nothing to something. It is always a movement from something to something more.” As I wait to hear responses from agents - a relationship I desire to be integral and long-term - and as Christopher and I wait to bring Noe home, I understand the meaning of these words to a depth that I never have before. And in that sense, what a gift waiting is.

If any of you are interested in following our adoption ‘adventure’, check out my other blog at huberadoption.blogspot.com.