gastropoda

So much for BFFs. Saint Alice finally gets her wish and she’s written right out of the front-page story. (Motherfucked, you could say.) But maybe the onetime carriers of the holy water are all skeert of the blogosphere. Mere days after Natural Wonderwoman was credited in DI/DO with bending the Big O to her demands, she’s portrayed as a total loser in the business pages, at least in the text. I’m starting to think it’s all a scheme to get readers to slog through acres of type to see what the latest take is. Call it Winners & Sinners 2.0.

I swear to Jeremiah Tower, the hometown paper must be leasing its water fountains out to the Saint Alice Kool-Aid Co. The latest to drink deeply of the hubris flavor casually informs readers around world that the Cloched Crusader has humbled the Big O into hiring his own longtime chef. Unfortunately, the rest of this paean to the latest “success” makes clear how ugly Americans abroad can be. Why wouldn’t the Academy in Rome cook the way the Romans do before this divine intervention? Did they really need to import “the mother of American cooking” to persuade the kitchen to buy local, cook seasonally? And if this the talk of Rome, I have a bridge on the Tiber to sell Sunday Styles.

I’d rail about Saint Alice’s latest sermon from the mount where the air is pretty damn thin, but I couldn’t slog all the way through it. Does she know any verb beyond “should”? Not sure if she’s heard there’s this big piece of legislation that managed to pass despite all the balking by the fiscal-conservatives-unless-it-comes-to-war-funding. And there’s actually some money in it to buy kitchen equipment for school cafeterias. Because you can’t do a great job with all the local beef and carrots in the world if you only have a microwave. Baby steps are still steps ahead. And without her pontificating in organic ermine, Jamie Oliver would look like a dilettante.

Speaking of the paper in dangerous debt to the wonderfully named Señor Slim, the corrections on the Op-Ed page are getting better than the original drivel. Pretty funny to have someone saved by the chokehold not understand what the hell happened. And her dodge around the villain in the piece was truly entertaining. Saint Alice would like the world to sing to her tune, but she doesn’t know the most basic technique in food service? You can only imagine her running through her own dining room hollering for a Chino Farms cucumber in an emergency. Then not knowing where to insert it.

Since the cult of Saint Alice just will not shut up in echoing her imperious, ill-informed demands, I have to wonder where in the name of salmonella these people were for eight long years while the Chimp ran the nation’s food supply into the septic tank. And it’s not misogyny to be appalled, as the subject of the Tom Jones song insists. In answer to her question about rage and rancor: Yes. Christopher Hitchens famously tore Mother Teresa a new asshole years ago. It’s really not about the organs. 

The DC Connection was a day late and a Heimlich short when it came to Saint Alice. Everyone online already knew the woman who presumes to tell the world how to eat had no idea how to save a choking victim herself. Maybe she’s like Go Fuck Yourself and should be traveling everywhere with an ambulance. The funny part is that I was starting to think better of the chef who finally challenged her presumptuousness about the White House, and then I read about the inaugural dinner he cooked using everything from Krispy Kreme doughnuts to Coca-Cola to honor fat-cat donors. It might be time for all involved to shut their pie holes and move on.