Since I’m so stingy with my praise, I really wish I could link to both the best examples of food writing in the last week. Roger Ebert takes the genre to a whole other level with his essay on living with nil by mouth/nutrition by tube, here. But you’ll have to take it on faith that AA Gill, whom I’d sworn off after he decided to shoot a simian for sport, crafted something spectacular in weaving together appreciation for the vital art of food writing and a deft takedown of a new restaurant in an old hotel. A friend in London sneaked me behind the antichrist’s paywall by scanning a copy to savor, but it will die online. At least I could pass it on by email to my cheese pal, who culled the same two nuggets I did: The misspelling of Brillat-Savarin was forgiven once you hit the description of omelets “as smooth as a porn star’s scrotum.”

Stephen Colbert really does do food better than anyone on the teevee; his satire is bitch perfect. The segment on Turd Blossom as a bespectacled ham was brilliant (the eyes were glazed). So was the Pringles spoof that wasn’t — apparently there really are 60 flavors, only a few of which have been recalled. And his take on one of the last two or three advertisers on Glenn Beckkk even topped that. Apparently there actually are Americans who are so fearful of evolution that they will only spring for nonhybrid seeds to plant for their apocalyptic gardens. That almost tops the company selling care for pets left behind by the Raptured.