Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The horror

If I had nightmares, they'd be like this:

At one point I found this anosmia web site where people posted messages like, 'There's more to food than flavor - there's still texture and color and temperature!' And that just seemed depressing, like, 'Ah, here's a red cube, and it's tepid, oh boy!'

They must be celebrating their new mayor or something, but every single article in today's LA Times is good. Read them all.

The Chron explains how to get your freeze on.

Headline of the day: Worker gave his finger to settle $50 debt, or Women to Deliver Food in Snug T - Shirts? Mmmm, toasty.

Peter Hertzmann has secrets, and he'll even tell you some.

Daisy Hernández visits the Tohono O'odham reservation to learn about Native American foods, and diabetes:

The nurse who called him at home to tell him the results of his medical exam asked, "Are you still alive, Mr. Johnson? Are you conscious?"

Eating local in Brighton:

If I have learnt anything this week, beyond the sheer wealth of flavour available in my own backyard, it is that everyday shopping choices matter enormously - not just in terms of the nebulous food mile, but in terms of their impact on the lives of those who work so hard and with whom we share space.

That, then, is the challenge. Fraternise your butcher, your baker, your goats'- cheese maker, and acquaint yourself with the local tart. Use your feet or your bicycle - and try not to spend quite as much money as I did.

A truly bizarre article about the meaning of hummus in Israel [via tfs]:

"This hummus is killing us in every sense," Halihal sums up. "I call for a hummus revolt. It could be the biggest revolt ever here. Finally everyone will really eat shit, and that is what will give the push for true peace and coexistence."

History: Babylonian chickpea delivery; historical culinary documents online; Home Economics Archive.

Regina still doesn't have permalinks, so I'm just going to have to quote her here:

Through his fawning coverage in 2000, this anything-but-the-food reviewer now ambling through restaurants helped elect the chimp responsible for a morass that has consumed more than $300 billion and killed more than 1,600 Americans and who knows how many Iraqis. The same trait that left him vulnerable to a dry drunk’s seduction is clearly at play in the restaurants of New York. Recognize him as Panchito and he’ll put his lips together and blow stars all over you.

Oh, and in case I was unclear: books without recipes are usually the only ones I want to read. I was just relatively uninspired by the examples given.

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