Off my food
Regular readers (ha!) will have noticed a dearth of food writing here in recent months. Mostly this is because I can no longer bear to read much of anything about food anymore. The other day my neighbor ripped a pomegranate cocktail recipe out of some woman's magazine for me, and it bore a remarkable similarity to the recipe I'd been composing in my head as the pomegranates ripen. (Not mysterious: juice pomegranates, add booze). Anyway the fragment of the "food" "article" that accompanied the recipe described the publication's methodology as, approximately:
- we asked LA's hot chef's what celebrities are eating
- then we took out all the good stuff
- then we dumbed the recipes down
I am not of course naive enough to fly into a rage at this kind of bullshit, but there was something particularly depressing about the ocean of grilled chicken breasts that undoubtedly filled the following pages. Also, the word used for celebrity was glitterati, and Cameron Diaz was among the examples adduced, which I'm pretty sure must be technically incorrect, but which probably pushed me over the edge anyway.
So, yeah, between these people and the foie gras and stainless steel people, I pretty much don't want to be a person who thinks about food anymore.
But yet, eating an apparently bizarre (yet seasonally and structurally impeccable) dinner of crab and porcini the other night, I couldn't help but feel the love. For whatever reason, fall food is the shit this year. So until further notice, I will be giving thanks for good things. For starters: pomegranate, porcini, and dungeness crab. You can't break me, Hachette Fillipacchi.