Archive for September, 2014

Robuchon potatoes, in the freezer case

September 2014

If you aren’t convinced we’re living in end times, consider what’s happening with corn. And I don’t mean GMO scariness. At the food show this summer, I saw butter designed in a cylinder to make rolling an ear easier. What, dragging your corn through a stick is too much work? But this, spotted in Philadelphia, was like a Fellini vision of elote. At least it’s gluten-free.

“Agradolce” in a Mason jar

September 2014

Speaking of butter, the consciousness-raising @nyfarmer over to the Twitter posted a photo from the state fair of an elaborate butter sculpture of a food bank. Given that I have a soft spot for a silly comedy, I dutifully reTweeted but had to add that it actually made me sad. All we hear is that this is the richest, bestest country on the planet. And people still need handouts? At a time when a burger is a buck? One thing I learned on a reporting trip, though, is that Big Fud is figuring out how to cash in, with products developed specifically for food banks. The poor, once depicted only as whites to sell the Great Society, will truly always be with us. Mostly because they give cover for wingnut welfare.

No bourbon harmed, at least

September 2014

If you are what you eat, wingnuts sound mighty uppity. An invite to a male-only fundraiser down in Florida caused a big stir for the “tell the Misses (cq) not to wait up” condescension. But far more revealing was what was on the menu. Do real Americans eat oyster shooters with applewood-smoked salt, and pastrami smoked salmon, and goat cheese dumplings, let alone beurre blanc and brandade? (The Irish whiskey Jell-O I’ll grant them.) Seems like only yesterday the Big O was being lambasted as elitist for merely mentioning arugula. Now these loons are eating kale, and proud of it.

Tabasco in every MRE

September 2014

I’ve laughed before about the Murdoch Crier running stories on $22,000 dresses while including slingers in the Saturday paper offering 20 cents off on a can of Goya beans. But the disconnect is deeper than that. In an alleged news story on how higher food prices were cutting into Labor Day grilling budgets, a woman was quoted as telling the caterer to serve anything but burgers. Yes. Because times are so tight you can’t do the cooking yourself. Or: Let ’em eat brioche buns. And put your palate on a pallet of pintos.

No colon, still rollin’, no coincidence?

September 2014

I’m so old I remember when donut peaches were the new fruit on the block. And then, again, when mango nectarines first came to supermarkets. Now I can find mango donut peaches. At the Greenmarket. And love ‘em. But I will never buy into the smokescreen that they qualify as GMO. There is BS. And then there is seeded fertilizer.

King looks like an uncle, too

September 2014

Once upon a time the news that a huge fast food chain was engaging in legal but clearly unethical behavior would have gone unreported, or, even worse, have been covered with the usual obfuscatory biz-PRspeak. So I’m impressed that everyone got what it all meant from the get-go: The greedy fucks are getting and going to Canada in a “mailbox move” simply to cut their tax bill (evasion and inversion are so close). If there were a pink-slime God, this would at least mean employees could get that good, socialist, northwoods health care. But apparently America gets the shaft, covering food stamps and housing and Medicaid for those underpaid workers while the hope-there-are-shopping-malls-in-hell bosses plot their next gut-and-run. Youngs are gonna have to save us all.

Archbishop’s reds

September 2014

I give Gail Collins credit for not describing Cuomo’s consort as a celebrity chef. But “celebrity cookbook writer” is also stretching it well past Kwanzaa . . .

RT/MT/UT

September 2014

“Obligatory Caesar” is redundant. // NYT should put corrections behind a paywall. And run more of ’em. Who wouldn’t pony up to see #Pelacciothirdfromleft? // Scarier than “melts” in cat food? “Single-cell protein.” Coming soon to a label near you. . . // The special K is karma as an editor learns you are not the boss of you. // Phrase I never expected to hear in a Key Food: grass-fed. But I suspect they’ll soon learn to lock up the Urbani. // Hope I was hallucinating. Thought I saw a young guy with Halloween Peeps at Chelsea Fairway. . . // “WTF is that?” should never be your first reaction to a fud foto. // 50 lashes with a salmonella-infected turkey gorgle for anyone sending out Thanksgiving releases right now. // Might not be the best time to boast that TOTG’s chef is a headliner at your event. . . // DQ patrons have $ to cyber-steal? // If bacon needs a national day, water must be dying of attention-thirst. // Saw a coat hanger symbol on a door in a restaurant. Thought it was the ladies’ room. // And: My mise will never be en place.