Wednesday, July 06, 2005

only connect

feel the burn

"Awesome gourmet blogger" Pim Techamuanvivit, too genteel to perform her own mockery, has "tagged" me for a "meme". Remember the 'nineties? Although I approve of the narcissism, I am suspicious of the epistemology.

Even if I enumerate the tedious personal minutiae demanded therein, you cannot know me. That time I sat on the hibachi (gray coals, wet diaper), the first sting of Lawry's Seasoned Salt on a cube steak, eating Beefsteak tomatoes in the garden; perhaps these things remind you of yourself, but they tell you nothing about me.

What is required is a lengthy memoir of, say, my father's cooking, the seriousness of both purpose and flavor that he applied to his pot roast, the way he steamed our lobster despite his shellfish allergy, his love of Roquefort. Perhaps then we could excavate a suitably "formative moment" that would explain something about the way I think/cook.

But why would we want to do that? That's too much information.

These things are, apparently, communicable. Therefore, I sneeze in the general direction of Maryann and Regina, because they are likely to supply the snark Pim was looking for, and because they have interesting childhoods.

literary supplement: You're a clever little woman, but my motto's Concentrate; the primal scene.

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