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some nice tables.

2011-09-30T13:11:00.001-07:00

2011-07-16T15:34:00.000-07:00

a table built with macall moran. on the porch of the casita on the rossi farm. off highway 29. rutherford,ca. not brooklyn. built with a six pack of Victoria. pallets liberated from a bleak future. some old screen doors. paint. saw horses. and a little imagination. oh and by the way, i changed locations. trekked from one coast to the other. the table journey is brewing again. more to come.

come one come all.

2010-11-30T20:54:00.001-08:00

its happening again. friday. come at eight. we'll eat around nine. bring something made by your lovely hands. it doesn't have to be edible. we just want you to share from your heart. a steaming pot of stew made from grains and legumes from cayuga pure organics will await.

AO& more.

2010-11-21T21:40:00.000-08:00

They say good things come to those who wait. I think that's wise and true but I also think that good things come to those who go out an pursue them. So on Tuesday two weeks ago I went to pursue. But more so inquire. I took a walking journey from my home in Brooklyn over the Williamsburg Bridge to 301 Broome Street in the pursuit of four Austrian artists that go by the name AO& (und). I had heard rumors of these lads and their nomadic, artistic pursuits dedicated to the foraging, preparing and serving of foods coming from a 'disclosed' origin. Meaning they had either hunted/foraged the food or they had shaken the hands that had.

These nomad chefs had come to New York for only a few weeks to inhabit a space in the Lower East Side right next to Simon Preston Gallery. They spent a week straight ridding the space of rubbish and building a kitchen and long table. Five days were spent touring Ithaca, the Hudson Valley and New Jersey literally going to the source and seeing the land and people that produced the ingredients they would use to cook twelve courses for twelve evenings. As a builder of tables I could not pass an opportunity up to seek them out.

I walked over the bridge that sunny November afternoon feeling the thrill of a new pursuit ahead of me. The fall air barely chilled my finger tips hinting at the beckoning of a new season. When I arrived at the gallery I slowly pushed open the glass door and gently approached the back where stood a man on a ladder.

"I'm looking for the Austrian artists who have the table next door..."

My tone came more as a question than a statement. The man smiled and signaled to someone in the room behind him. Forward came a tall, stately presence. He welcomed me to come meet his peers and have tea and a chat. So we did just that. I asked questions. As did they. Our conversations were taken then into the space next door. A hollow brick skeleton encapsulated the simple components of hospitality: a long table, warm lights, and few prep tables, ingredients, and the hearth. Oh what a hearth! Such a lovely stove. Phillip who had first welcomed me spoke most lovingly as he introduced us both: Stove and I. His adoration for this six burner beauty mirrored that of a father speaking of his newborn child.

I can hardly describe what then occured other than a fateful end to my wanderlust. I met them on Tuesday. They were only in New York for one more week. And when they left the space would be derelict no longer. As of now construction has begun to transform that room into a swanky fusion restaurant where few will ever know that it was for twelve days a magical manifestation. But when they left, there was certainly no way they could carry their pop-up kitchen with them....

...so almost two weeks later I sit here, flat broke with a fully stocked kitchen and a fire in my belly to feed the world simple, good, clean food. Thank you AO&. See more about them here.

http://www.clayspoon.com/2010/11/15/347/#more-347

http://aound.net/

the TABLE collective.

2010-11-10T21:31:00.000-08:00

the idea is simple. we build a table and we have a meal each fortnight. We gather, seated on long benches, and simply eat together. but we want each hand and each mind to be a participant and contributor to every gathering.

We realize, first of all, the sheer power of the table itself: as an archetype, an object and a social cornerstone. We recognize that the table acts not only as a social platform but also as a symposium and a natural instigator of collaboration. We want our table to be organic, as do we desire for the conversations and interactions around it.

We have noticed that the role of the table in our modern society is diminishing, and we fear the repercussions of allowing this ancient art to become obsolete. The art of eating around the table is steadily declining and we simply want to call this ritual back into being.

The table is where we first learn our manners; how to act within a larger social spectrum. Besides being the place where we feed our bodies, it is a space upon which we nurture both mind and soul. At the heart of communing and conversing is the opportunity to exchange our thoughts and ideas. we want to provide an open forum for that interaction . As we sit within the company of others ,we hope that all are not only humbled but also urged and inspired to give back and not simply take. Beyond exchanging thoughts and ideas, we want people to ‘make' and 'create'.

Thoughts and ideas can only go so far. To really change things, we must be active. We believe that the art of making things in a thoughtful way is one of the most evocative mediums to work in because it naturally ties in process and story.

We hope to not merely fill your bellies, but to readily replenish your minds with thought, inspiration and the desire to share your skills, talents, practices, and curiosities with us and the world. We want to use meals to encourage you to ask questions and seek out the answers through the collaborative process of making and creating.

We do not desire to put labels upon things or people. It doesn’t matter how old you are or the vocation you choose. We ask only that each individual come to the table with consideration for something created by their own hands or with their own minds.

If you make art, make it for the table. If you write poetry, share it with us as we eat together. If you make jam, bring it for us to taste. If you brew beer, make kombucha, bread, pasta, soda, pie, cheese, or chocolate… all is welcome. If your grandmother imparted a special recipe, share it. If you make ceramics, bring a new bowl to eat from every time we meet. If you have a garden, bring some herbs you grew… or even something foraged. The possibilities are endless. It can be as small or a large as you feel fit. Each contribution will provide a story in itself.

We do not ask that you sacrifice a lot of money, in fact we don’t want you to have to spend money at all. That’s why we encourage each of you to carefully create with the things that you find around you.

But more than anything, we would like to invite all to the table. Friday. Eight PM. 864 Myrtle Ave.

more tables. more fridays.

2010-11-08T23:23:00.000-08:00

so as i am anticipating opening up my home again on friday evenings i can't help but reflect upon the moments past just last fall. dinners of five and others of thirty. large pots and smaller ones. jamaican stews at nearly midnight. lots of laughter, wine and pickles.

now i am writing an invitation for my new stage of table manifestations but i came across this old journal that i think is timely to share. i'm not sure when i wrote this but it was within the past year. before i came across this i found myself trying to write these words but i couldn't. i guess that's just one of those mysteries of life and the joys of writing.

it’s just dinner. nothing more. nothing less. it’s a simple humble gathering. no frilly words. no five course meal. but each bite is filled with a handmade labor of love that begs friends and strangers to savor and linger. no conversation can be forced. no laughter can be feigned. no tears should be held back. we construct the table to be a sacred, silent peace protest. the voice of one calling out in the desert. a silent revolution bespeaking all to escape from the cacophony and find peace and understanding amongst friends and strangers.

and thus be said, friday night dinners are back my friends.

the book of rites.

2010-11-08T23:17:00.000-08:00

black on black. letterpress.

festvs ritvs in progress.

2010-11-08T23:11:00.001-08:00

meals every friday. an institution.

serena herrick picked a peck of pickled peppers.

2009-10-22T22:27:00.000-07:00

compliments of peter piper herself from that briny goodness i spoke of bellow.

http://serenaherrick.blogspot.com/

table.one.

2009-10-22T22:10:00.000-07:00

two palettes from a brooklyn street corner. one wood floor. a cacao bag from madagascar (via mast bros). an uncomfortable table but a table none the less. it made my ankles cry and my hips moan from sitting cross legged. i think everyone else felt the same discomfort. yet we were gathered in one place and despite the pain we lingered, but migrated to couches and chairs once the plates were empty.

i made bratwurst from flying pig farm in shushan, ny alongside gniocchi i hand made baked with butter and bacon. but the best surprise were the amateur pickles that clay and rich brought. they masked their creation with modesty but they were the best pickles period.

it was sort of an impromptu ringing in of oktober. beer and full bellies were had.

2009-10-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

its simple. its humble. its food. and we cant function without it.

its necessary. its functional. but it can, when done right, embody the utmost comfort and love. when done wrong can leave our bodies and minds in utter discomfort.

i am ending my hiatus from writing because the food i make is urging me to pick up my pen again. (or my fingers in this case)

its simply dinner. nothing more. nothing less. its a shared meal and a shared experience. its commonly uncommon. in the presence of friends, acquaintances and strangers alike.

its every friday. in my living room. on the floor. but the table is growing and we are building it as we go. as an exploration. for passion. and as an act of love.

nine o'clock. not sharp. but sometime around then we gather. amongst flickering candle flames and scattered, collective conversation.

one pot. lots of wine. slow cooked.

come and amuse. and hopefully be amused as we build tables and relations. and beg the question. what is this thing we call a meal?

Strangers at a Table in Red Hook

2009-02-16T13:41:00.001-08:00

Table, originally uploaded by csantaferraro.

Every Sunday when the sun shinning and the air is not frozen, soccer is played in Red Hook. But neighbors don't simply flock to South Brooklyn to watch the games, they come for the authentic Ecuadorian cuisine served street style. This picnic bench fostered interesting conversations between strangers that could never be replicated in any other place or moment.

The table.

2009-02-16T11:54:00.000-08:00

In structure it's simple. Traditionally wood, although many could argue that as an extremely western statement. But then, I would go to say that the table is actually quite a western archetype. (With that said, I am open to any sort of rebuttal, if anyone is certain of a non-western tribal society ever embarking upon the construction of one)

Although the variables may differ, the archetype is typified by four legs sturdily supporting a flat surface. Depending on the height, the surface is surrounded by seating devices.

But in the domestic setting it symbolizes most prominently the shared meal. The table in most all of our experiences is a unique platform that carries stories within in the grains of its wood. Out of its pores ooze memories, and upon its surfaces in the cracks and crevices lay crumbs of meal times past that beg never to be swept away.

The importance of the table is deeply intertwined with our basic necessities for both food and community. My fascination with this seemingly mundane object is the intersection of the physical and the innately spiritual when a meal and conversation are shared.

But I fear we face an era upon which the table is in decline. In an age of fast food and instant gratification we seem to have turned the meal into something less sacred, and the table into a simple manufactured object.

I am blown away by the amount of unused and inexistent tables within the apartments of my generation. In my three years in New York I have been to more apartments without tables. More people used their couches for eating if they ate at home, and many more just resolved to eat more meals out and not even preoccupy themselves with the chore of shopping, cooking, and clean up.

But the table project spurned out of the desire to understand the effect that eating in community has upon our physical, mental and spiritual health. I want to understand the longing that we as humans have for relationship and what holes a simple meal around a central location can fill. I want this to be a collaborative, artistic inquiry that initiates conversations across borders and through walls.

Initially it will compile my own experiences and observations. But I want to include also those of a larger community to begin to understand how tied to our own well-being is the shared meal.