Too much time has elapsed for me to rant much about all the things that seemed pertinent before I took a couple of weekends off, and it’s not worth slogging back through Twitter, so let that be a lesson to me to either move my pub day or go back to claiming Sunday as my day. I do realize arguing over whether deep-fried butter is less ridiculous than deep-fried Crisco was pointless; most people don’t seem to understand either would just be an Iowa slop dumpling — really, butter is a vehicle; it needs another ingredient in the driver’s seat or you might as well fritterize corn oil and get the taxpayers to subsidize. And I only wished the tainted turkey had been discovered in China; those guys don’t fuck around with food fraudsters these days (at least if they’re caught). Also, too, the term food writer is getting seriously abused. If the silliest profiler ever merits it after one stupid stunt, I should start bulking up my bio as an Irving Penn.