Willie Nelson’s Latest Is a Cannabis Cookbook

Willie Nelson, the ninety-one-year-old singer-songwriter, who has brought comfort and heartbreak and joy to his fans with a hundred and fifty-three albums, thirteen books, and more than a couple of arrests for marijuana possession, will soon publish his first-ever cookbook. The concoctions in “Willie and Annie Nelson’s Cannabis Cookbook: Mouthwatering Recipes and the High-Flying Stories Behind Them” include Shirred Eggs with Asparagus & Fennel (17.6 milligrams of THC per serving), Vegan Cannabis Butter (212 milligrams of THC per tablespoon), and Buttermilk Fried Chicken (no THC). The stories veer from recollections of a Christmas he spent in the Alps with Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kristofferson to an account of a harsh winter, in Tennessee, when he bought seventeen weaner pigs at a quarter a pound, then sold them at a loss.

“I learned one thing—I’m not a hog raiser,” Nelson recalled the other day at Luck, his dusty ranch in the Texas Hill Country. He was at his “world headquarters,” a building used mostly for playing poker, watching MSNBC, drinking, and getting high. The inside was decorated with cardboard cutouts of Gene Autry and John Wayne (“My heroes!”), a “Willie for President” license plate, and some signed Snoop Dogg memorabilia. Nelson glanced over at a Doggy Dogg poster and said, “I smoked him under the table one night!” (Snoop confirmed: “Willie Nelson is the only person who has ever outsmoked Snoop Dogg!”)

On the front porch, Nelson sat with his wife, Annie D’Angelo. She and the chef Andrea Drummer had written the cookbook’s recipes, which, these days, the singer doesn’t much fancy. “He only eats certain foods,” D’Angelo said.

Nelson, who wore old cowboy boots, black jeans, and a black puffer coat in the eighty-degree heat, said, “I used to eat chicken-fried steaks and enchiladas and all that good stuff. Now I have to watch it.” His current diet features toast, protein shakes, gluten-free waffles with syrup, chicken soup, and bacon-and-tomato sandwiches.

But he does still get high. “I had to lay off smoking for a while. I’m giving my lungs a rest,” he said. “I started out smoking cedar bark, and then cornstalks, and then switched up to cigarettes—Chesterfields and Camels.” He went on, “One day, I emptied out my Chesterfields box and rolled up twenty fat joints and stuck ’em in the box, and anytime I wanted a cigarette I’d smoke a joint. And I quit smoking that way.” He laughed. “Now I do edibles.”

“I’m the one who makes them,” D’Angelo said. Nelson’s daily dose of THC is about sixty milligrams—enough to turn a regular person into stardust.

“I think it saved my life,” Nelson said, of cannabis. “And probably other people’s lives.” He paused. “I drank a lot—”

“He’s not a good drinker,” D’Angelo, who wore a “humans against ted cruz” T-shirt, chimed in. “He breaks the family rule when he drinks. The family rule is: Don’t be an asshole, don’t be an asshole, don’t be a goddam asshole.”

“I quit doing a lot of the shit that was killing me—smoking and drinking,” Nelson said. “And now I’m feeling good and looking forward to the show, and not dreading it.”

“Once he’s up there, it’s wild to see,” D’Angelo said.

“That’s what keeps me going, doing an hour show,” he said. “Not only is it good exercise but it’s good mentally, physically, everything.”

The previous night, he had performed the title track of his latest album for an audience at a taping for the fiftieth season of the public-television show “Austin City Limits.” He’d crooned, “I’m the last leaf on the tree / The autumn took the rest / But it won’t take me.” Several large men in the crowd wept. “I’ll be here through eternity / If you wanna know how long / If they cut down this tree / I’ll show up in a song.”

On the porch, Nelson said, “I believe in reincarnation. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. But I don’t worry about it. We’re all gonna die, and there’s no use rushing it.” He went on, “I’ve lost a lot of friends. Kris, a few days ago—Kris Kristofferson. And Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash.” He looked out at a grove of cedars and live oaks. “I am one of the last ones. I don’t know why I’m still here, but here we are. Last man standing.”

After a brief rainstorm, D’Angelo began to make some chicken soup for lunch. “Or I can make a bacon-and-tomato sandwich, too, if you’d rather,” she said to her husband.

“Soup’s good,” he said. ♦

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