And on the way home from that dinner, we watched a well-dressed, well-spoken panhandler on the A train who responded to a young Japanese woman pulling out a plastic takeout container of food to offer him: “That’s sushi? I don’t do sushi. It’s raw fish, right?” New York: Where beggars can be choosers.
Archive for March, 2013
I noticed a fair amount of high-fiving going on after the latest study to validate the health merits of the Mediterranean diet. To me this fell under the old “success has a million mothers, failure but one.” I’m so old I remember how the MD was sold to Americans: Food writers were rounded up and sent on a luxury liner through the Mediterranean, trip after trip, year after year, always coming home singing the praises of the one that brung ‘em. Common sense dictated that what they were selling was valid, but still: Without a shit-ton of promotion by people with a heavily underwritten agenda Americans would not be dunking their artisanal bread in extra-virgin olive oil but still slathering it with margarine.
And I’m sure I’ve written many times about the spectacle a young mother made of herself 25 or so years ago at a nutrition conference where we reporters were informed that no scientific evidence proved sugar is a menace if consumed in moderation. The poor woman was in tears insisting it had to be evil. It had to be! And how far we’ve come. Now it’s the demon all fat was before only trans fats were. You can hire a writer to make any case in an age where everyone can choose his own facts. I’m just not sure how it helps to ban anything. I’ve written this many times, too, but one reason I can exercise uncharacteristic moderation with sweets is that my mom baked a cake or some other dessert every single day she was not in the nut hut when I was a kid– as I later learned in restaurant school, sweetness shuts off your appestat, makes you feel sated. Not for the first time, too, I’ll note that “look for the industry label” on any “nutrition” research would be a healthy first step. Pom. Wonderful.
You have to wonder about a state (Hoosiers’) that wants to require two transvaginal ultrasounds if a woman chooses to exercise her legal right to an abortion but that also insists it’s unconstitutional to allow anyone to photograph/videograph a factory farm. Apparently they would have no problem with force-feeding and gestation-confining women. And in Oklahoma a nutcase blocked a law banning texting while driving because, you know, it’s a slippery slope to the long arm of the law snatching Whoppers out of drivers’ hands. Oklahoma, of course, is where the new abortion laws were so overreaching a court just struck them down. Apparently a woman can do what she wants with her phone and her diet, but all her lady parts belong to the state.
Musical Monday in a restaurant sounds as if beans are involved. // IBM’s Pastry Chef Watson could go straight to work for the Cheesecake Factory (“Spanish” breakfast pastry contains saffron, black pepper, honey, almonds and cocoa — just needs raspberry Doritos). // I’ve finally tasted the real pink slime. It ends in berry. // Guess I’m not the target audience. I won’t buy a cookbook just cuz there’s cleavage in the trailer. // And it sounds like the Queen ate Taco Bell. . .
Not sure this was quite the right week to run a feature exploring what the wrecking crew literally feeding at the public trough is eating these days. They get the Styrofoam cafeteria; we get the screws. Considering Congresscritters poll lower than cockroaches lately, maybe next Wednesday we can be treated to what’s cooking in the Cheney bunker. (Chickenhawk heart, probably.)