I was unemployed and packing for a camping trip when jets smashed into the World Trade Center towers Sept. 11, 2001. I left San Francisco and drove to Convict Lake.
Around a campfire, with my dog in the high dessert of the Eastern Sierra, it felt like Us Against the World. It was one of those moments of definition, of what do we do and where do we go from here.
I poached trout. I decided to go to cooking school and return to writing about food.
Something good happened that day.