Barf or food?
I enjoy acknowledging special occasions and successes, recognizing my own accomplishments
This photograph commemorates the only time I’ve been to Lucky King Bakery and not gorged on mystery fried pastries stuffed with fish guts! (Note healthy orange juice)
“It was like beginning life anew without the vigor and enthusiasm of youth, like learning to become left-handed in old age.”
In college, there was a positive correlation between my unhappiness and my visits to Molly at Brown. Sometimes I spent whole weeks there, driving back to Bard for a single seminar, only to return to Providence three hours later. Working in a university library that is not your own has its advantages (no friends to bother you, the excitement of a foreign place), but also some disadvantages (no friends to bother you, the feeling that you really shouldn’t take your shoes off there).
Surely though, the greatest offering of Brown’s library was the African fertility goddess in the stairwell, which was accompanied by an informational placard, linking the high rate of twins in West Africa to a yam-centric diet. Rich in fact but poor in justification, there was something self-possessed about the statue. What was it doing there? Nobody seemed to know, and I never found out.
Remembering this enigma, I bought a yam at the bodega the other day, but I didn’t get around to eating it. The yam sat forlornly next to an onion, the two apparently competing in some contest of entropy, both decomposing with alarming speed. I tossed the onion, but I kept the yam.
There was only one thing I could do with it: Carve a fertility goddess! Though “getting pregnant” is second only to “accidentally killing someone” on my List of Things I Really Don’t Want To Do Anytime Soon or Maybe Ever, I set to work with tunnel-visioned focus. Whittling feminine curves with a steak knife is tricky, and the end result was unintentionally primitive, if not downright offensive. We have chosen to omit the photo documentation.
Sunday eggwich
Ugh, this is almost sexual.
A cute alternative to the classic pig-in-a-blanket: CHICKEN IN A SLEEPING BAG!
On why we food blog
Sometimes, critical thinking (and joke cracking!) just needs a formal conceit. Food is a good choice, since taste - as far as the five senses go - is most closely linked to survival: you can be blind, but you must eat. At least there’s a pretense of practicality.
Though the same could be said for literary, musical, and artistic preferences, it seems particularly pointless to argue with someone over their food predilections. I just like it, OK?
Books, music, and art - since their existence is supersustenance - demand more complex arguments, and thus a greater anxiety/reward quotient. For the sake of Tumblrn’ it’s best to stick to an occasion that isn’t too overbearing. Fashion can also work in this way, though it rarely does. And plus, the only thing more embarrassing than a food blog is a fashion blog.
