Molly was the expert in this exercise, writing about everything from the bliss of oysters to the changing demographics of America as told through condiments.
She taught them to parse ideas and find threads of narrative in each slice of tomato, each sprig of mint, each errant note jotted on a recipe card to be woven into a rich story about the connective power of food. At her whitewashed brick home on the town's main drag, Molly stuffed the house until it nearly bowed with aspiring food writers and photographers, recipe developers and chefs as they explored Molly's world. Molly turned the sleepy Hilltowns village into a hub of culinary activity. I first met Molly at her LongHouse Food Revival under the umbrella of her CookNScribble program in Rensselaerville. You might benefit from being taken under her wing, but it wasn't without some form of payment. I took diligent notes, hanging on every word, while catching quick glimpses out the coffee shop window anticipating the dreaded slip of paper being wedged under my windshield wiper. Every time I would try to excuse myself to put another quarter in the meter, Molly would offer some revolutionary statement that seemed as though it would open up an entire pathway to a successful career as a food writer. The cause for the ticket I remembered immediately: Having coffee with Molly O'Neill, the famed food writer and cookbook author who spent much of her time in her Rensselaerville home, to talk about the craft of food-focused journalism, which we both loved. I was recently sorting a box of old paperwork in my office and came across a parking ticket from the city of Hudson from November 2015. The following is a remembrance by Deanna Fox on her personal interactions with O'Neill through the years. Editor's Note: Food writer and cookbook author Molly O'Neill died on Sunday, June 16.
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