Pig in a blanket, indeed

So I guess I have to acknowledge the big issue, that the hometown paper’s Sunday magazine finally decided to emulate the New Yorker and devote nearly every page to fud. I tried to slog through it, but even for me it was just too much, too close to fetishizing rather than enlightening. Apparently all artisans are young hipsters too constipated to crack a grin. Every CSA experience has to reflect the same arc, from scorn to worship. (I read backward, obviously.) Self-promotion is now acceptable if you include your boss. Etc. Etc. What was most fascinating was that this should have been the fattest issue of all time. Even back when I contributed to the Food column, in those halcyon days when it was more recipes than plodding prose, I knew the only reason it existed in such a “serious” publication was to lure advertisers. This month I think skinny Relish sucked in more. Still, one commercial appeal worked: By the end, I was ready for a shot of Patron.