Matthew Rowley
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mbrowley.bsky.social
Matthew Rowley
@mbrowley.bsky.social
Write | Lift | Travel | James Beard finalist | Past Southern Foodways Alliance board | Contributing editor, Oxford Companion to Spirits & Cocktails | 🏡 San Diego | Typos no extra charge.
Pinned
Campari Soda. It’s only 20 proof which, as far as I’m concerned, is practically alcohol-free.

As so many things are, it’s better without ice.
Surprised at how much I enjoy 8-12 minute yard/garden cleanup videos. Skirmishes against entropy.

But one this morning was little more than a spruce-up, light raking and polite edging. No, no. Show me the yards of hoarder agoraphobics, parents long. I want catastrophic landscape reckonings.
February 7, 2026 at 4:36 PM
Lunchtime fridge clean-out:

Cold boiled carrots and fresh snap peas tossed with soft butter, white miso, sesame oil, salt and pepper, and strewn with white sesame. Roast off at 400°F for about 15 minutes.

Trying to be better about not buying more food than I can use and using what I buy.
February 6, 2026 at 7:14 PM
Ugh. Why am I, who has eaten nothing but pretzels and beef jerky today, so thirsty?
February 5, 2026 at 10:26 PM
The last laugh.

Husband is appalled that I am open to the idea of being enzymatically reduced to a veterinarian-style bio slurry (after death, natch), but now I’m contemplating an urn for the bone remains to disturb him even further.
Anyways get a tentacle pot to help you through these trying times i guess
February 5, 2026 at 10:03 PM
Query for writers.

Estate planning this month, such as it is. Beyond books and articles I’ve published, there’s a lot of unpublished material. I’ll have no heirs. For those who’ve considered a trustee for your literary estate: who is going to control yours once you’ve checked out—and why them?
February 5, 2026 at 7:07 PM
Oh, well in that case

I’m the Querelle of lawnmowers.
I’m the Alice B. Toklas of air fryers.
I’m the Mr. Darcy of synthpop,
And the Lord Byron of olives.

Kneel before the Ozymandias of
Roombas.

I am the Flowers for Algernon,
And the Morley Safer of MDMA.
I am, fam, the Mrs Dalloway of group chats
February 5, 2026 at 5:00 AM
Bean weather. Robinson Ransbottom Pottery drip-glaze bean pot. My mom has a lot of RRP ceramics, but this one I scored at a San Diego thrift store for $3 (she taught me how to trawl for—and recognize—deals). Perfect condition. No chips, cracks, or crazing. 1960s maybe. Factory now closed.
February 4, 2026 at 5:51 PM
Louis Szathmáry, a 20th-century Chicago chef born in Hungary, signed so many of his own books (many, I imagine, bought by diners at his restaurant, The Bakery) that I’ve often mused collectors might find unsigned copies more valuable.
Sigh.

The reason that recent signed books are not very valuable is because in America, there are more people trying to make a profit on signatures than there are people who appreciate them.

Someday, if you keep it in perfect condition, your newly signed book will be worth... the jacket price.
February 4, 2026 at 4:09 PM
Heads up drinks historians. If your favorite cocktail/distilling conference has been going light on history panels lately, there are other professional venues to tell your stories.
The call for proposals for #AHA27 is open until February 15, 2026. Our 2027 annual meeting will take place on January 7–10, 2027, in New Orleans. The Program Committee welcomes and encourages all historians to submit proposals. 🗃️
Call for Proposals - AHA
The AHA's annual meeting is the largest yearly gathering of historians in the United States. All historians are welcome and encouraged to submit proposals. The AHA also invites historically focused pr...
www.historians.org
February 3, 2026 at 7:21 PM
I’ve been thumbing through @frogandtoadbot.bsky.social’s posts and, I swear, individually and in aggregate, they read like the Bill and Frank episode of The Last of Us.

If there are Frog and Toad audiobooks voiced by anyone other than Nick Offerman, I don’t want to hear about it.
Toad sat on the edge of his bed. “Blah,” said Toad. “I feel down in the dumps.”

“Why?” asked Frog.

“I am thinking about tomorrow,” said Toad.
February 3, 2026 at 2:45 PM
Contractor next door mentioned he’s a fan of a show about moonshine. I asked what he thought of it and admitted—casually—that I know a thing or two about wildcat whiskey.

That’s when the penny dropped. Hard. Suddenly he had questions. Technical ones. If only there were some book I could recommend.
February 2, 2026 at 11:46 PM
Garden day. Am spent, sweaty, filthy. Last task: prune the fig trees—meant to be dormant, meant to be hack-back-hard time. No dice. Every single MF one of them already starting new growth.

What say ye, fig growers? Prune and hope for the best or acknowledge that I’ve missed my window this winter?
February 2, 2026 at 9:53 PM
Campari Soda. It’s only 20 proof which, as far as I’m concerned, is practically alcohol-free.

As so many things are, it’s better without ice.
February 2, 2026 at 7:53 PM
“Fun fact,” a friend began at dinner. “Hedgehogs do NOT shoot their spikes at predators.” A cognitive full stop, like a bicycle meeting a pothole. After gentle inquiry and photo evidence, we established for him that hedgehogs are not baby porcupines. “But they’re both pork, right?”

I adore him.
February 2, 2026 at 4:49 PM
6:30am. An overnight rest slathered in mineral oil and the boards are back. They soaked up every bit of the oil and now feel almost leathern.
February 2, 2026 at 2:43 PM
There is also a playlist, a blue smoke, whiskey-in-hand sort of deal with Coltrane, Howlin’ Wolf, Miles Davis, Artie Shaw, Monk, Chet Baker, Ry Cooder, and like that. Built in part on memories of growing up in Kansas City, where I learned to play tenor saxophone.

Still a dick joke, tho.
February 1, 2026 at 12:32 AM
Aqua iuniperi succusque
January 31, 2026 at 11:44 PM
Hähnchenschnitzel for lunch salad. Because we gotta eat healthy.

Now, then. Where is that blue cheese dressing?
January 31, 2026 at 6:29 PM
7:35am. Dropped husband off at the airport an hour ago. House to myself for the weekend. There may be baking later and definitely chili (and music he abhors). But first: gathering edges that need a bit of sharpening.
January 31, 2026 at 3:40 PM
I have, in contravention of a streak that has lasted more than a year, ingested an amount of brandy sufficient to induce a hangover. Let’s keep it down this morning, yeah?

Now, then. Where’s that cure I read about?
January 29, 2026 at 3:40 PM
Yesterday‘s arrival/this morning’s reading: Elizabeth David’s Christmas (2008). Essays, recipes. Bought bc she wrote in part of mincemeat.

For years, I’ve gathered historical mincemeat material from UK, Irish, Canadian, and US sources. Oddly obsessed for a guy who hasn’t touched snow in 9 years.
January 28, 2026 at 4:15 PM
Told a friend last night that I’d tried giving away two dictionaries yesterday. “Why do you own multiple dictionaries?” he asked. “Just get one and you’ll have room for all your other books.” First of all, no I will not and, second, there are SO MANY kinds of dictionaries. One ain’t going to cut it.
January 28, 2026 at 2:55 PM
Garlic-stuffed olives with Spanish olive oil and blood orange peel from the garden with a buttload of rosemary.

Cremant & rye with an old friend at the house. We didn’t get around to the snacks during drinks, but I hoovered them afterwards.

The rosemary shrub goes away this weekend, so I overload.
January 28, 2026 at 2:49 AM
6:30am. A missed call from my husband. I call back. He laughs, chagrined. “I meant to turn on my seat warmer and called you instead.”

Much cause for radiant, incandescent fury in America atm, but this “I need warmth; better call Rowley” default makes the morning’s fresh news a bit easier to digest.
January 27, 2026 at 2:46 PM
Just arrived by post—Tafelspitz & Fledermaus: Die Wiener Rindfleischküche (2015) by Austrian culinary historian Ingrid Haslinger.

A cultural history and cookbook focused squarely on Viennese beef cuisine.
January 26, 2026 at 9:45 PM