Sometimes, an apparently small act of generosity can engender a whole chain of giving. Several years ago, when Oakland Yard was still very new, Brendan, an early customer and wine club member of ours, gave me a small jar of mother of vinegar, the jelly-like, dark purple goo made of cellulose and bacteria that turns wine into vinegar. Now, we’re a thirsty bunch of Yardies, but we don’t always finish the reds we’ve got open, so I’ve got an endless supply of raw material for the project. My wife bought me a spigotted ceramic vessel from Preserved on Telegraph Avenue, and since then my little vinegar factory has been cranking out about forty bottles a year. That’s quite a bit more than my personal use, and without the health department’s stamp, it can’t be sold, so I’ve been giving friends and customers bottles of vinegar for years, and they’ve brought us so many delightful gifts in return.

We received sourdough starter, from Marni, which Julia has masterfully fashioned into dozens of heavenly loaves. We got cacti from Cory, LP records from Brad and Danny, cakes from Michele and Lauren, and cookies from Marykate and Megan. James gave us one of his small, colorful paintings, and Alex the coffee roaster regularly brings beans. Mr. Mingrino has shared his homemade Nocino and green olives he’d cured himself, and Salome once brought us a little bottle of Mayan hot sauce and strangely flavored Doritos. Kim sent us a postcard from Sicily, and Dana, bless her heart up there in Portland, gave us our dear little ten pound chihuahua.

Joy brings coffee (and joy) from across the street, taking orders in person or by text, and Michael from the guitar store gives us oranges every year from his parents’ grove. Natsumi and Pablo brought me fresh plums and rock sugar to make umeshu, and Siobhan shares her meyer lemons. Ty wins the award for the most esoterically artisanal gifts; he has shown up at the shop with hoshigaki-style dried persimmons, a rump roast from a cow he’d butchered, and a slice of prosciutto he made from feral pigs he’d captured and raised in his Temescal backyard! Little Felix and Leta showed up one day offering cherry plums from their tree. “Would you like some cherry plums?” Leta asked a passing stranger on Fortieth Street. He extended an open palm with enthusiasm and said “Yeah, I’d hella like some cherry plums!”

All of this generosity and thoughtfulness didn’t come from my mother of vinegar, but I like to think it’s been a catalyst for a community of people eager to share the little things that enrich their lives. Thank you all for your generosity, and my apologies to those I inevitably neglected to acknowledge. I’ve got six bottles of vinegar currently awaiting a home by the front register, and plenty of mother to give. Come avail yourself while supplies last. Please, no more chihuahuas; this one is more than enough.

With gratitude,
Max