Gmail Inbox: me, Frank (2) Dear Amie

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Frank Bruni. THE Frank Bruni. The person I want to BE when I...err...grow up...e-mailed me.

Okay, he e-mailed me back. Whatever. He still wrote MY NAME...his fingers typed out A-m-i-e...and wrote me a personal response back.

Cue 12-year-old teeny bopper girl squeal combined with uncontrollable jumping up and down and waving of the hands in a spirit-fingers-on-crack manner: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Okay. That's out of my system ("EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"). Now for the story:

In my very sad and distraught state Thursday night I opened up Frank Bruni's website and wallowed in total gin-induced depression. The website has a couple of tabs including biographical information, reviews for "Born Round" and, lo and behold, a link to his blog, complete with an e-mail address.

For some reason, the fact that he has a gmail account made me highlight and copy the address into a new e-mail.

I wrote with fury:

Dear Mr. Frank Bruni

Frank Bruni. Frank Bruni in Portland, at my favorite bookstore. Frank Bruni, the man whose words finally made me realized that I'm actually, indeed, not a total nut job for overcoming years of tormented relationships with food and wanting to be a food critic. I cannot believe you're in Portland right now.

What's worse is that I can't believe I didn't get into Powell's for your reading and book signing.

I'm not typically a person who swoons over celebrities. I wasn't the girly-girl who had posters of the latest heart throb plastered on my bedroom walls and I rarely look up to a famous person and think, "Yes, I want to be exactly like that."

But -- and I apologize that this probably comes across as a bit stalkerish -- you're a little different. As I mentioned before, I had...a less than normal appetite for food (That's the polite wishy-washy way of putting it anyway) for a large portion of my adolescence. Being a cross country runner throughout junior, high school and college, I found myself in an environment ripe with thinness and the pressure to run well. After all, the less you have to carry, the faster you're going to run. For eight years I pushed myself to be thinner, faster and stronger through means that were detrimental to my mind, body and relationship with food. For years I never found pleasure in food.

What changed? I hate to give attribution to a boy -- especially an ex -- but as I was really finding myself, months after rigorous treatment, I was dating a chef whose passion for food fell into me. Instead of fearing food, I took on an almost Anthony Bourdain approach to eating, trying out whatever, whenever I could. Each new food I introduced into my diet assuaged my fears of enjoying food.

I learned to cook -- and cook well.

I learned to discern tastes and flavor profiles. I began to understand why some ingredients work together and why some ingredients don't.

I began to study the cultures of cuisines and the histories of food (The history of sushi is by far my favorite).

And I learned to unite my passion for food with my skill for writing.

And I learned, thanks to your book, that I'm not crazy for loving food and wanting to write about it.

So, thank you. A lot. While not seeing you tonight makes my Top Five Life Disappointments, I'm hoping that by sending you an e-mail (Though your website says you don't stay on top of the inbox very well), missing tonight will somehow be made up for.

Sincerely,

Amie Dahnke

His response:

Dear Amie,

I'm sorry you didn't make it on Thursday but thank you very for this lovely note. I'm glad the book meant something to you. And I'm touched you read and liked it.

Be well, and good luck in all you do.

Frank

PS - The pulled pork sandwich looks great. Keep up the great writing.

Cue adolescent girlyness: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Frank Bruni has read my blog.

Ahhhhhhh.