I can never remember one cappuccino makes your brain larger; another makes it small. And I will never understand how Helen Keller got a job as a photo editor. Also: Never clean your stove before sautéing a duck breast (or, come to think of it: never sauté a duck breast). And I posted on the Centenarian twice without getting to my point: What about making her birthday a national holiday — imagine the food! (Although it would undoubtedly mean fucking beef stew in hottest August.) And, finally: How many times do I have to tell you about lard?
The Murdoch Crier had an amusing interview with the guy who runs the company that is now “the biggest distributor of salsa in the U.S.,” and that’s not counting the mole they define as “a Mexican simmer sauce.” What made it so entertaining was watching a 1 percenter essentially spin a corporate tool of a stenographer. Asked when his last Spam meal was, he sounded like $Palin: “Oh, all of them.” I know from gutless, but wouldn’t it have been great for the followup to be: And how does it go with the Chateau d’Yquem?
Speaking of which, the big exposé of stars and their show food also revealed more than it intended: “Journalists” just write from the scripts they’re handed. And it’s a slippery slope from interview clichés to front-page WMD. Did you hear the one about oysters going extinct?
I’m becoming more forgiving of a reporter who always sent her editors into the archives to be sure she had not written the same lame story using the same lame language in the past. Either brains shrink or cranial hard drives get overloaded, I’m slowly acknowledging. Youngsters, though, have no excuse. You want to announce a huge discovery while promoting your next product, at least be sure it wasn’t already done. Confit sans gras, my derriere.