I’m sure I’ve ranted before that there is nothing more foul-smelling than a Subway, and I don’t mean the kind that allows the people to ride around in a hole in the ground. But suddenly the chain is looking more alluring, now that it has brought out the kkkrazies to protest its teaming up with Mrs. O to try to get kids to eat (somewhat) better. Their racist hysteria is so over-the-top you have to laugh. As you do on thinking the Big O has done it again: tricked them into either boycotting everything until they starve off or, better yet, making themselves roundup-ready for when he opens those FEMA camps.
Archive for the ‘processed crap’ Category
Not that I’m cynical or anything, but is there really any chance an indestructible faux food could actually be in short supply when guacamole is as close as the avocado aisle for Super Bowl? Somehow I suspect Krapt swiped a page from the cocky playbook to generate hysteria. And did anyone really ever run out of the rooster sauce? Shelves were full in every store I happened through whenever I broke away from the online panic. Also, too: The gullible coverage makes it sound as if there is no substitute for the cheez substitute. Maybe the real deal, cut with cream or, for maximum gooeyness, bechamel? Seems as if this is a dangerous game Big Fud is playing. People might try the fill-in and never go back to the orange slime.
As for my losing my food festival virginity, I wound up schlepping way the hell over to the Hudson after succumbing to curiosity about NoMad, a place I had avoided like $79 chicken but figured was worth a try if a car company was picking up the tab for a bunch o’ bloggers in a private room. My consort and I had to sit through a slideshow on the new models, none of which was honey-colored to fit this year’s food theme, but we were rewarded with tickets to the foodstraganza that weekend. Since he was traveling, I was going to toss them, but I went online and saw what they were worth and felt obligated to do my research. So I recruited a friend and we ate and drank our way through what I expected to be a gangbang but was actually rather civil compared with many “best new chef” awards parties. Regular peeps who paid were much more restrained than the professional locusts.
Here’s what I expected to see everywhere but what turned out to be, luckily, in the minority:
Here is the elixir someone actually thought people would want to drink in a cavern lined with wines good and bad (well, it was an event where people were lining up for “free” Chipotle just steps from Blue Smoke’s pulled pork):
And this is an image that only needed the Delta pedicabs outside to make more of a mockery of all the Tweets later on about what skinflints that airline’s operator are. Drinks up front, pretzels back by the toilet. . .
Finally, I didn’t snap no photo, but I did find it rather revealing to see the NYT booth flogging subscriptions with its fud issue of the magazine on that particular weekend. You’d almost think they planned it. . . .
And I’m way behind on excitable exposés, but the hometown paper’s big one on the mad scientists’ struggle to save the orange industry (not crop: industry) caused a dustup that somehow didn’t produce a single good answer to why the world needs so much juice. I mean, really. What is it good for? Scurvy’s been cured, while the stuff always rationed in teeny glasses when I was a kid is now poured and drunk like water. One of the most valuable lessons I learned in a weeklong course in “nutritional cuisine” at the CIA is that you might as well be drinking Coke — it’s about as caloric and only slightly less nutritious. Better to eat an orange and get the fiber. Or at least read up on how metastasized an industry built on fruit once seen only in Christmas stockings has grown. . . .
I would transition with “speaking of yellowcake,” but whatever Twinkies are, it is not “a mixture of flour, eggs, milk, sugar etc. baked as in a loaf.” What fascinates me is how their “return” is getting so much coverage with so little discussion of why they really “went away.” Greedy guys in suits needed to make more megabucks. So the workers got hosed, their pay whacked and their pensions gutted, while food writers were waxing nostalgically saccharine. With all the cost savings, you’d assume the price would be lower now. But you would misunderestimate American business today. Apparently the bonuses got bigger. It’s the Twinkies that got small. I do hope they’ve upped the high-fructose corn syrup to cut the bitterness.
You have to give the golden-arched evil empire props for balls. On the same day its honchos were denying any role in the ballooning of the human race, the chain was boasting that it had come up with its most caloric item ever. Which happens to be merely a mega-order of enough fries to feed a village, but I’m sure they’re counting on suckers not realizing the so-called meat is not what packs on the lbs. It’s the sides. And not just the liquid ones.
I was also fascinated by the huge fuss over KFC deliveries coming through the Gaza tunnels, which was a story that came out of nowhere and was suddenly everywhere, Somewhere a flack has to be cashing a mega-check. I first saw the “news” on a British site, with the photo attributed to an agency. Other outlets sent their own lensmen to get the pic, but in every one the logo was front and center and very clear. You’d think it was Coke in a Hollywood movie. Once upon a time you would say you couldn’t buy advertising like this. Now you can ask: Why would you? Journamalists will do it for free.
Every morning I wake up to some new set of links to food start-ups that are hoping to do good by doing well. And I wish them more than well, since I’m a big believer in food as the solution to all problems. So I was encouraged to read that vulture capitalists are starting to put their mega-money where their big mouths are. But someone is really going to have to answer why they would invest in the type of companies that are trying to come up with substitutes for nature’s most nearly perfect food. They might as well be attempting to develop a fat-free avocado. The other half of breakfast at least made sense, since even vegans lust for bacon.
Relatedly, I saw much hooraying over the return of Twinkies etc. but almost no awareness in the fud world that the whole brouhaha was yet another greedy/bogus “Mission Accomplished,” given that the goal was to destroy the unions, loot the company and let it be reincarnated as a Bangladesh-in-the-USA enterprise. Enjoy your fresh Ho Hos. Just don’t stop to wonder if there’s any blood in the Sno Balls.
I started out thinking I would blog this over to the Epi Log, after running down 14 flights of stairs the other day and spotting at least three Quaker Oats boxes in recycle bins on various floors: Why in hell do people buy that stuff instead of the better/organic/cheaper oats at Holy Foods just a couple of blocks away? But I realized I couldn’t even Tweet it, at the risk of some neighbor taking Twoffense. So I saved it for here, after plucking a double-truck out of the latest “buy $1,095 skirt/save $1” Murdoch Daily. The slinger showed me you can buy QO cookies and snack bars and chips and more if your yogurt isn’t sugary enough. For all the crap McD’s has taken for marketing overly sweet/unhealthful oatmeal, that chain had nada on the processed crap behind the old-fashioned label. It now makes everything but the insulin syringe.
Lots o’ great stuff in this “conversation” with @michaelpollan. (Now I understand yogurt frenzy: latest sugar pipeline.)
I don’t know much about economics, but it strikes me as bizarre that Spain is going down the toilet while jamon Iberico prices are going up. I mean, the country has 30 percent unemployment and even Javier Bardem’s family had to hang the cerrado sign on its restaurant for lack of business in Madrid. I can’t remember if the Soviet Union was pumping out great caviar as it collapsed, but then I don’t know much about history, either. Still, even after reading dog meat from Spain had been found in meatballs in the Netherlands, I was more unsettled to see 10 million pounds of processed American crap had been recalled for the usual E. coli. Personally, I’d rather eat Fido than feces.
But I wrote this, so I’m posting this: Real wingnuts don’t drink the KoolAid. Soda’s what’s bringing them down. First the bartender who exposed Rmoney as a soulless money grubber comes out to say he was motivated to videograph after not getting even a thank-you for pouring the sugar water. Then the Wasilla Hillbilly “goes down on a Big Gulp” and tries to turn it into Liberty symbolism. Apparently immigrants are welcome, as long as they come clutching half a gallon of Freedom Fizz.
Relatedly, the sugar-water industry can keep fighting Big Gubmint restrictions or it can get smart. And move into the wine world. Already moscato is a top-selling fermented grape, and aside from the mild buzz, what sets that apart from Karo’s finest? Wandering through the big-case wine store near us the other day, I almost went into a diabetic coma just reading the chocolate-syrupy descriptions. And I walked out past a huge display of Jellybean wines. Which I assumed, this being the season for reincarnation, are liquid Peeps.
That photo of Rmoney in shorts out buying Cheerios just proved one of my points: Great wealth is wasted on the very wealthy. Shouldn’t he be breakfasting on ortolan eggs Benedict?
The other mystification is why Heinz was worth so fucking much money. Right before the genius financier whose name is always shortened to a food line bought the company, it occurred to me to wonder whether diabetes would have become so widespread if French fries had not always been paired with semisolid red syrup. The starch, the grease and the sugar equal a triple threat; mayonnaise would be more healthful (and definitely more satisfying). But the whole deal is unsettling. Ketchup is a condiment, an accessory, not essential at all; this is like someone paying billions for a scarf maker. As you read the coverage more closely, though, you see it’s not just about shaking one bottle. The same company makes baby food . . .