This'll be a short one, since the answer is blindingly obvious.
In the case that they're actually feeding you and the food is not wretched and you aren't having to pay for it, you'll tuck away all you possibly can. Eat as if you were at a friend's house, except inasmuch as you needn't worry you're insulting the hotelier if you don't eat your mashed potatoes or your rice or your rolls, and further inasmuchas you don't know these people and won't see them again, so there's no reason to pretend to be civilized and restrained and keep your fork out of the roast beef platter. Stock up now for a leaner later! You'll digest the massive fat and protein bolus eventually, but if you make the experience spectacular enough, your stomach acids will never burn away its memory...
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5 comments:
Happy Thanksgiving to the 3 people who read this blog, one of whom is an alias of Nom-gratis.
Do you want me to ban you, Robin? Because I can absolutely arrange for that. I just lost a 6-paragraph rant on the goddamn well blog with ONE errant mouse click and it's about the 78th time that's happened and I am in NO MOOD right now.
Roxxy happens to be a beloved friend of mine (even though I STILL have not received what she promised to mail me back in August and it is November just tell me what it costs and I'll send you the $$; it can't be as much as new ones at Tuesday goddamn Morning, no way, plus I KNOW yours are better than those cornball pieces of crap, they're all in these nasty color schemes). You better stop accusing her of being me or she'll experience a disturbing cognitive dissonance and quit commenting, and much though I appreciate your efforts here, YOU ARE NO ROXXY. Only Roxxy is Roxxy.
Whatever.
Boo hoo hoo for your anti-corporate food Well rant. Probably better lost in cyberspace. We ain't goin' to the Michael Pollan food model, so rant away, be-awsh.
Mouse over and copy after ranting, ham-handed. Stop taking it out on me.
Of course we are, Robsy. We absolutely are going way-downgrade Michael Pollan, and you know why? 'Cause we're down the tuuuuubes, bra. It is a done deal. We are not the superest power anymore, and the scale of the economy we were at before the bubble popped cannot be regained. You remember that thing about nero and the fiddling and what was going down while he was a-fiddlin'? The last eight years have been one long violin solo around what I recently called the ol' homeland. You oughta at least skim over your Harper's before you use it to papier mache your gourdartistries.
Pie-in-the-sky, dearie-beech.
I don't mind this new sorta Great Depression because I ain't got nutt'n to lose, but if you think it is going to re-oraganize the way America does business, you better stop smoking that stuff Ditchweed guy keeps selling you. As Poppa Bush as imitated by Dana Carvey from many years ago on SNL, said: (said slowly and haltingly) Not..gona...do...it.
This crap that passes for idealistic, lefty foodie fantasies on the Well blog is nonsense. So is Pollan's manifesto. What is required in American politics and American business is a seat at the table. (interesting to use a table metaphor here) A seat at the table, whether that seat is at a large American agribusiness, or a seat at the table of the U.S. Congress (House or Senate, or both) takes years of work, experience and skill as well as mucho mullah, I.E., a ton and a half of money.
Once you get to the upper reaches of American society, you aren't going to throw it away unless you are Bill Clinton with an intern under the table. Decisions get made at these tables, except when Billy was getting his noodle warmed.
The organic, local crowd has to go through the same hoops as everybody else, ponying up the same kind of dough and climbing the ladders of power. Anything else isn't going to cut it.
Because the local, farmers' markets don't have the economies of scale that the big agri-farmers do, they can't possibly provide food as cheaply. And the price of food is one of its main determining factors.
You love the OED. It is easy to get bogged down in it, but look up the word "commodity", think about its main definition for awhile, then get back to me about the difference between locally-grown, organic tomatoes and Wally's World tomatoes. And if you say the locally-grown taste better, you will have failed this quiz.
The only thing you have is a dream, and that dream won't be any closer to realize on the day folks are leaving your funeral as it is now. This isn't about dreaming, it is about how America works.
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