The kerfuffle over the bogus cups of tea has been revealing, mostly for the ugly acknowledgment that whoring publishers don’t want fiction labeled fiction because it’s not lucrative enough. No wonder the world winds up with reality books. I’m waiting for someone to bring up how much truth gets stretched in food memoirs. So far, crickets. But maybe that’s because savvy readers know what happens all too often when recipe writers try their hands at novels. Tums could do tie-ins.