Adam Gopnik in 2014
August 24, 1956 |
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.
|Occupation||Writer, essayist, commentator|
|Spouse||Martha Rebecca Parker|
Writing is the process of finding something to distract you from writing, and of all the helpful distractions – adultery, alcohol and acedia, all of which aided our writing fathers – none can equal the Internet.
The coffee shop is a great New York institution, but it has terrible coffee. And the more traditional coffee shops are trying to catch up with more sophisticated coffee drinkers.
There are as many attitudes to cooking as there are people cooking, of course, but I do think that cooking guys tend – I am a guilty party here – to take, or get, undue credit for domestic virtue, when in truth cooking is the most painless and, in its ways, ostentatious of the domestic chores.
All tastes have the quality of being in some way artificial and invented. The secret of life is to have enough detachment from your tastes and your values to see that they are a little bit absurd.
In the New Yorker library, I have long been shelved between Nadine Gordimer and Brendan Gill; an eerie little space nestled between high seriousness of purpose and legendary lightness of touch.
Going to a restaurant is one of my keenest pleasures. Meeting someplace with old and new friends, ordering wine, eating food, surrounded by strangers, I think is the core of what it means to live a civilised life.
You can't have a decent food culture without a decent coffee culture: the two things grow up together.
I still think the best classic meal in New York is a coffee-shop breakfast – you sort of can't skip it.
Protein was the most valued ingredient 250 years ago: It was the rarest thing. Now the rarest thing we have is time: time to cook and time to eat.
I think that we're always drawn – particularly sophisticated people – are always drawn to the idea of simplicity.
I rush to add that I find the Web infinitely useful for rustling up information, settling arguments or locating the legends of rock stars.
The World Series is played in my doubtless too-nostalgic imagination in some kind of autumn afternoon light, and seeing it exclusively in the bitter chill of midnight breaks the spell of even the best of games.
In bookstores, my stuff is usually filed in the out-of-the-way, additional interest sections.