The Hotbox
Chauvin verdict, policing and perception, Key lime pie
The photo above is of George Floyd Square several hours after former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin was convicted yesterday on all three counts, including the murder of George Floyd. It was sent to me by D., who you heard from in a previous post and who, as a lifelong Minneapolitan, has been compelled to show up and document the events of the past year happening in his city.
I found myself live-tweeting the run-up to the verdict, strongly sensing what that verdict would be. I had citizens in Minneapolis messaging that their offices had been closed and they’d been sent home, in anticipation of what might happen should the city descend into violence. Police officers in Oregon, California and New York sent complementary messages, saying all staff were being held, including NCOs, on the chance that their city exploded. There was “relief” (everyone used that word) at relative peace holding, but I will admit to feeling somber about the whole thing, George Floyd’s death, the cheering at the announcement of the verdict, the police fatally shooting 16 year-old Ma’Khai Bryant at nearly the exact time the Chauvin verdict was announced and the attendant confusion over what happened, the hotbox that is the relationship between an albeit minority of citizens and police, as seen in Portland early this morning:
Here’s the thing: we don’t need to be locked in the hotbox. We don’t need to continually pound each other in the face. Yes, there will be bad actors, bad cops, bad citizens, people who are terrible at their jobs, people who don’t want any job but to fuck shit up in the streets. Some, as I’ve written before, are staring into the nihilistic fire. It’s mesmerizing, but there is no comfort there, no future.
My friend Yael Bar tur was due over last night at 7; instead, but with word that the subways might preemptively be shut down should there be rioting, she came early. We ate some homemade foccacia…
… with shrimp salad (fresh-cooked chopped shrimp, celery, scallions, dill, mayo) and drank red wine and further planned what has become a weekly Clubhouse about policing and perception. We’re doing another one tonight, April 21 at 8pm EST, and plan to do them every Wednesday at the same time. Per usual, hit me up on here or DM on Twitter (@nancyromm) if you need a Clubhouse invite.
What is that amazing image in the background, you ask? It’s a what a dedicated Fifth Column podcast fan who prefers not to be named calls “a doodle,” from a photo of Melania Trump back in her modeling days. He sent it to us because Fifth fans are amazing and it now hangs in the Paloma Media bar, which ponies up next to the recording studio, where last night Yael and I spoke with former Portland police officer Bret Barnum, who left the force this past January.
You might recall Barnum from this iconic 2014 photo with Devonte Hart:
To say Devonte - and his three siblings and his two mothers - died tragically in 2018 is a vast understatement. When the incident occurred - one of his mothers purposely drove the entire family off a cliff in Oregon, killing everyone - I had several people contact me to say, “This is a story you need to write,” likely because I have written more than one story (and a book) about mothers who kill their children. In the case of “Sacrificing Rebecca,” a 14 year-old girl killed by her mother, who suffered from Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome (and who committed suicide), I can tell you (without getting too whoo-whoo about it) that about six months after I wrote the story, Rebecca came to me in a dream and told me, she was okay with what had happened, that she loved her mother. Yes. Even when they have never met their mother, the pull of “mother” is there, as was the case in a piece I called, “THE LIGHTENING -What happens when you find out the mother you never met has thrown siblings you didn’t know you had off a bridge — and there’s a book coming out about it?” and on which I worked on harder than any single article I have written. That I had become, and continue to be, the connector of the children of a woman who murdered one of their siblings is a position I don’t know has existed before in history.
Enough death, let’s have some pie!
I don’t make mine exactly like Roman’s, but I do make a lot of Key lime pies, both because, with the possible exception of the sour cream (which I use for my topping), you probably have every ingredient already in the pantry, and because everybody loves this pie. Hint: use enough Key lime juice, fresh or bottled, otherwise you wind up with gloopy sweetness, and who needs that?
Want more baking tips? Lizzy Wolfe and I got you! On the new Paloma Media podcast, “Hot Stuff!!!”
Next up: Citrus! Send us your questions, we’ll send you recipes.
Before I dip out of here: I did, doncha know, buy that car, a 2018 Kia Sportage. She’s super-sweet (if not great on gas?) and, though plans may change, I’ll be hitting the road mid-May. If you are on my TBD route from NYC to Tulsa (and from there onto Austin and then Florida), hit me up and maybe we can meet; a bartender at The Cloak Room in Austin has already said, “Come on in and bring the peeps!”
Lest I forget: What Tafv Sent. (Instagram video links do not embed here but go ahead and click, as I laughed on repeat at this one).
Until soon, with love and my trying not to eat the last of the chocolate-chip cookies I baked for the firefighters of FDNY Engine 221 that I had in my apartment two nights ago. But that’s another story.
