Food As A Weapon: Discuss!

A discussion with my cousin about Renaissance Faires and giant turkey legs prompted a compelling question: what food would make the best weapon? What food would be the best caloric companion in times of stress and trouble? What food would be best suited to back-alley robberies and open military combat? An extremely casual poll of people I know on the internet resulted in these contenders.


- Turkey Legs
These poultry monstrosities are my personal pick for best all-around food self defense, the comestible I want at my side in any geeky brawl I might find myself embroiled in. A good thwack from a smoked turkey leg will handily ward off Renaissance Faire wastrels who might be attempting to steal your totally awesome new ninja stars or cheat during that vastly important D&D session. Turkey legs are just so darn practical: they have a handy and non-slip handle, they're hard enough to do damage yet tasty enough to devour when the carnage is over: what's not love, My Merrie' Gentlemen? (Turkey legs are also a popular treat at Disney theme parks: now you know what to do if the guy in the Goofy costume gets a little too friendly.)


(Image jacked from Thaitable.com.)

- Satay
Those pointy little sticks are good for something beside gnawing spiced meat off of, my violence-loving dining companions. Those devilishly sharp little points would also be a handy companion in an Indonesian-themed brawl. I would like to imagine that many a drunken fight in Bali or Jakarta ends in horrific satay-inflicted wounds to the chest and vital regions, that satay injuries are a leading cause of death in those balmy cities. Further: Why haven't we seen a vicious fight scene in an Indonesian or Thai restaurant in any recent action movies? Someone needs to address this.



Durian
Nominated more for olfactory then physical violence, the Durian is one of God's most fascinating creations: a gigantic and spiky fruit that tastes somewhere between over-ripe cheese, "lady parts" and three week old ass. Beloved in Southeast Asia and treated with extreme suspicion everywhere else, the Durian could easily be deployed as an all-natural chemical warfare agent: they might be pushed out of airplanes over aggressor nations, shipped in tightly sealed boxes to unsuspecting heads of state. I have heard that a single durian smuggled aboard a plane forced it to land as a bout of projectile vomit seized all the passengers: I think this plan has potential.

What do you think?

Finally, to assist you in pitched food battle....the Zing, a specifically engineered food fight tool. I think I know what I want for my birthday.

Also: Swiss chocolate turkey legs. Really.

Internet Socializing Will Not Lead To Amber Alerts, Abduction

Speaking of new media.....

Teenager's Internet Socializing Not A Bad Thing - NyTimes.com


"“It may look as though kids are wasting a lot of time hanging out with new media, whether it’s on MySpace or sending instant messages,” said Mizuko Ito, lead researcher on the study, “Living and Learning With New Media.” “But their participation is giving them the technological skills and literacy they need to succeed in the contemporary world. They’re learning how to get along with others, how to manage a public identity, how to create a home page.”

I realized I hadn't commented on this new study. Which is ironical in the extreme, since I am ever so fond on harping on how (horrors) the internet will NOT harm or warp children and cause them to drive away into the sunset with ex-cons named Susan. Really. It will not.

I'd like to comment first on the notion that kids are "wasting" their time by hanging out on the internet. Parents, I would like you to think back ere' the inky black decades and remember when you were teenagers: you know, poodle skirts, sock hops, girls named Rizzo, so forth. Did you spend many hours talking on the phone and listening to the Beatles? Did your grizzled, lantern jawed WWII veteran father bang on your door and scream "STOP TALKING ON THE PHONE AND LISTENING TO THEM SHAGGY HAIRED FAGS", perchance? Did you flip him off behind the closed door and concoct more elaborate schemes to talk on the phone and listen to Dirty Trash Music regardless of his opinions? Did you turn out okay anyway?

I presume you see the analogy here. You, parents, are making the same assumption your parents did: that anything new is by definition 1. stupid, 2. contentless, and 3. possibly extremely dangerous. This is not a battle you are going to win.

I turned 20 fairly recently and I can state with total confidence that the internet and text messaging are how we communicate. We as a generation do not actually call each other much on the phone - but we sure as hell will text and IM each other until our little quivering thumbs fall off. This stems from the same impulse you, parents, had back in the day: we want to talk to our friends and connect with our peer group. The vast majority of us have very limited interest in talking to ex-cons named Susan.

I am also a geek and grew up a geek. Internet socializing is of even more vital importance to the awkward-inclined, and I will explain why:

First: internet friendships can be a good thing. For lonely or awkward teenagers, they can be an absolute lifesaver. Back in the halcyon, sepia-tinted days of your youth (what was with those shorts? really?,) awkward loners had no social options other then being slammed up against lockers and building ham radios. They were tragic, terrible days to be a smartie pants or a geek, a veritable dark ages for awkward kid-dom. To geeks, the day the internet was created is remembered as a day when the heavens opened and angels brilliant voices trilled out across the entire universe: We No Longer Had To Be Alone.

And what a wonderful thing this connection is. A geek can now find people across the world who share his or her interests, people who understand what they are going through. They can provide a network of caring and support that the embryonic geekling cannot find at school or even within his or her family. I've seen this support network save and vastly enhance lives that were rather small and poor prior: I'm one of them. Internet friendships can turn into rewarding real-life friendships - and no, even face to face meetings very rarely end in horrible murder and Amber Alerts and Kidnapped Blonde Virgin Warnings. Really. Pinkie swear.

Parents, my point is this: the internet is not evil, it is not useless, and it is not a "waste of time." The internet is how my generation interfaces with and encounters the world, and can be an agent of great social change - look at the organization behind the recent Presidential election or the vast network of real-time bloggers. Kids who are adept at using the internet and comfortable with the online world go into the workforce with a considerable advantage: they will be able to use the milleniums most dynamic tool with aplomb and grace. Don't trap your kids in dinosaur-like thinking - step through the door of the future with confidence that your kids may actually be doing the right thing. You raised them, didn't you?

(P.S: Installing that Net Nanny software is pointless. Any kid with an IQ above slime mold can disable it in the amount of time it takes you to clip your toenails. Just FYI.)

Mumbai and Twitter Article

Wrote this article for Newcomb-Tulane and decided to put it up here on a lark.

The recent Mumbai terrorist attacks left India’s most dynamic and complex city shaken to its core. The world watched in astonishment as heavily armed Islamic terrorists murdered nearly 200 people over the course of two bloody days, holding a violent standoff with police forces and the Indian military. The terroists held hostages in the luxury Taj and Oberoi hotels, shot up a popular tourist café, laid waste to a women’s and children’s hospital, and attacked the city’s Nariman Jewish center. Terrifyingly well organized, the attacks fostered tremendous fear and uncertainty in the city’s population, uncertain of what was going on or how they should best respond.

I spent the spring of 2008 exploring India, freelance writing for a few local publications, but mainly soaking up the various pleasures of the subcontinent. I have fond memories of the couple of weeks I spent in Mumbai’s Colaba district – the area where the vast majority of the terrorist attacks took place. I remember hanging out at the Leopold Café far into the night, and I also remember walking through the blissfully air conditioned Taj hotel upwards of five times a day, wishing for the day when I would be able to afford a room. Colaba was an exciting, if often frustrating place, and I enjoyed exploring the city’s back alleys, tropical parks, and street markets, under the gentle guidance of my local friends. Indeed, I had been planning a return to Mumbai this summer when the horrible news came over the wires. I managed to contact my friends in Mumbai and was vastly relieved to find out that they were okay. I spent the Thanksgiving holidays glued to my computer screen and the news websites: it was terribly surreal to watch such brutal violence play out in a place I knew and loved.


But I couldn’t help but notice another dimension to the tragedy: the prominence of new media and citizen journalism in the ensuing coverage of the attacks. I am a habitual blogger, and I watched with interest as Twitter, blogs, and the internet stepped up to fill the spaces traditional media could not for the people of Mumbai. Mumbaikers utilized Twitter, personal blogs, and even text-messaging to keep each other informed as the attacks played out. These efforts occurred at a level umatched in history: according to many, the Mumbai attacks have done nothing more then bring the social media revolution to a climatic new peak.

Twitter, a new “micro-blogging” service garnered the most recognition as a potent citizen-journalism tool, as the blogosphere breathlessly discussed its power to report in absolute real time. “Tweets," 140-word posts shared via txt from cell phone or from a computer web browser, allowed Mumbai’s populace to write near-constant updates, posting information, theories, and advice at a rate of 50 to 100 posts a minute – a veritable barrage of on the spot information. Twitter’s #Mumbai channel drew the most posts: people tweeted as they watched the attacks play out, reporting on details and observations major media outlets couldn’t cover. And Twitter users also discussed the aftermath: the anguish they felt after the attacks, about the revenge they wished they could exact on the attackers, and on ways they could help the victims.

Within minutes of the attacks, the blogosphere had also stepped up to the plate, delivering incisive and passionate analysis of the terrifying events happening outside. Arun Shanbhag (http://arunshanbhag.com/) kept up a passionate and running commentary on the attacks from his home disquietingly close to the Taj. Mumbai Metblogs (http://mumbai.metblogs.com/), produced by city residents, produced (and is still producing) fascinating photo blogs from residents of the city. DesiCritics (http://desicritics.org/index.php), a South Asian based blog, has posted hundreds of compelling accounts from Indian citizens. Hundreds, if not thousands of other blogs have also covered the attacks in detail: the attacks are a red hot topic on the Internet right now, and interest shows no sign of waning.

Cellphones also played a pivotal role in the conflict: those held hostage inside the hotels were able to text the outside world about their situation, sending out messages as they cowered in barricaded hotel rooms or lay on the floor as terrorist hostages. Many used cellphones to stay in continuous contact with family members and even news agencies – “embedded” reporting as it has never been seen before. One entrapped couple texted Indian commandos a “safe” word, ensuring they would not open the door to the hotel’s attackers. Another man, tragically killed in the conflict, was able to text his family members up to the time of his death. With the power of new technology, even victims have found a surprising new voice.

However, the role of social media as an essential tool in times of disaster has raised many critical eyebrows. Most common is the assertion that information shared via social networks in crisis situations is not necessarily correct or even useful. Speculations and conspiracy theories flew around Twitter throughout the 72-hour attack and afterward, ranging from accusations laying blame on everyone from George W. Bush to space aliens. Although citizen accounts of the events helped many stay abreast of the situation, the Indian authorities implored citizens not to use Twitter, as a (still unsubstantiated) rumor had got out that the terrorists were using it to stay one step ahead of the police. Furthermore, a recent article in the Australian Courier Mail indicates that the shooters used Blackberries, GPS navigators, and difficult-to track cell phones to both coordinate the attacks and to closely monitor world reaction to their violent actions. (http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,24726093-954,00.html). Today, even terrorists are concerned about their profile on the Internet, and are eminently capable of following international sentiment in real time. It seems we are all becoming self-referential.

Ultimately, the coordinated attack on Mumbai has brought into focus the real-world application of Internet tools – both for good and destructive purposes. Citizen journalists, on the scene and on the street, have gained unprecedented importance influence in a time where old-school media simply can’t move quickly enough.

more about mumbai

Good morning. We had a lovely Thanksgiving as always - pictures are forthcoming. I really wonder why we don't eat oyster dressing and roast turkey more often. Well, I suppose there might be a volume issue..

But back to the situation in Mumbai.

Blood Washes Away Happy Feet on Colaba Causeway

"The horrific events that transpired on Wednesday night have shopkeepers around Colaba Causeway convinced that they have a very rough period ahead since the location of the shootings was one that was heavily frequented by tourists.

“They’ll be scared to come back now. There are people, even locals who come here every day. But foreigners certainly won’t return,” said Sitesh Awasthi, a shopkeeper whose stall lies just metres from Café Leopold. "


That's important. These guys absolutely rely on business from foreign tourists of all stripes and they are going to get hit hard by this. I never liked running the gauntlet of pushy shopkeepers and merchants every day in Colaba, but they were just normal people trying to make a living - they don't deserve any of this. Terrorism, as always, manages to hurt the average Joe on the street a lot more then the intended targets.


Eyewitness Account: Chaos at the Leopold Cafe

More from Joey Jeetun: From Playing A Terrorist To Hiding From One - Mail Online

Seems like everyone who was at Leopold that night is being tracked down and interviewed. Not a bad idea. I do wish the English news media was locating more personal accounts from Mumbai residents - most people DO speak excellent English, after all. The strawberry juice image creeps me out immeasurably.


Desicritics.org: Media, Culture, Politics, Sports and More

Speaking of, tons of excellent personal blogs from Indian citizens right over here. A must-read. Stuff being added all the time.

One sentiment I'm hearing a lot from Indians I know and Indian folks in general is echoed by Jawahara Saidullah's editorial here:

"No matter how bad this is, and not much can be worse, Mumbai is the one city that can withstand this. Even after the simultaneous train station bombings in 2006, people went back to work the next day. Yes, Mumbai is a tough city. Its people are tough and they are resilient.

Today, I can say, with no reservations and no pity, but with admiration and support: I love Mumbai. Today, I too am a Mumbaikar. And today with all Indians, even those of us who live elsewhere, I too can declare: Amchi Mumbai, My Mumbai. Terror will not overwhelm us."

great post from Anand Giridharadas

I really enjoyed this snippet from Anand Giridharadas, who writes for the International Herald Tribune. You can read the whole thing and other excellent updates on the Mumbai situation at The Lede blog.

"Anyone, anywhere who has lived in Mumbai was gasping at the sight of a burning Taj Mahal Palace & Tower hotel. That is because it is not your average hotel.

It is not another Sheraton or Hilton in the business district of another world city. It is the aorta through which anything glamorous, sentimental, confidential or profitable passes in Mumbai. Its major role is to serve its guests, who come from around the world and elsewhere in India. But it also serves the local city in a way that few hotels in the world could claim to do.

If a momentous infidelity is being committed on a given night, or a billion-dollar business deal being inked, or a recklessly brilliant idea being hatched, there is a fair chance it is being committed,
inked, hatched at the Taj. Mumbaikars who can afford it have their most romantic meals at its Wasabi restaurant, accept marriage proposals in its Sea Lounge, land job offers in its coffee shop.
Non-guests are forbidden to use the pool. But so many Mumbaikars enterprisingly bring a towel, furnish a fake room number and dip into its manmade lagoon.

It stands across from the Gateway of India. Those who would not dream of paying $3 – a decent daily wage – for one of its fresh-lime sodas sit outside the hotel, leaning against the stone wall on the sea. They take in the scene; they admire the finely dressed people breezing in and out. They know that it is not their time for the Taj now, but, should a fortune bless them, it is in the Taj they will spend it.

Few other hotels of the world could say they were built out of spite.

Legend has it that J.R.D. Tata, a nineteenth-century industrialist, was once turned away from a hotel in British-era Mumbai because he happened to be Indian. He decided, in a strange kind of revenge, to
build the best hotel in the country, outfitted with German elevators, French bathtubs and other refinements from all around the world.

The hotel became, for many Indians, a symbol of the overthrow of the indignities of the colonial age. And it became a symbol of the best that could be had in a city paved with dreams."

i live in a more dangerous place then Baghdad!

(from Time.com, please don't sue me, i'm going to get shot anyway!)

I woke up this morning to discover I live in the most dangerous city in the USA. This was of course a bit surprising to me as I have not of late been shanked, but my experience does not reflect everybody else's, especially those everybody-else's living in the projects just a few blocks east of my nice little apartment. Murders are absolutely rampant and getting more overt all the time - the murder rate stands at 63 per 100,000, putting the Big Easy on par with, uh, Baghdad. (Seriously.) The KKK recruited and murdered a young woman, albeit completely ineptly, out in the swamps beyond town. Hell, alligator attacks are on the rise. Times is tough.

Certainly even we spoiled rich-kid foofoo bunny Tulane students have experienced a bit of primal fear around campus - rapes, break-ins, purse snatchings - and have some sense of What We Have Got Into. After all, according to a quote from Tulane's Peter Scharf, "Now, even white people have a chance to get killed." Ruh-roh!

New Orleans is, as I am fond of repeating, a third world city in many respects. It is not the kind of thing we as Americas are really down with admitting about one of our more famous and venerable metropolises, but the reality is hard to deny. Infrastructure is crap, public transportation works on on a curious schedule known only to itself, general maintenance is lousy, the cops (and the politicians) are woefully corrupt, and basic amenities can be difficult to find. Life isn't easy in NOLA and due to Katrina, the following exodus, and general governmental neglect, things aren't getting easier.

Of course, we also enjoy many of the benefits and pleasures of a third world city, such as delicious exotic food, a vibrant and gleefully immoral culture and social scene, a rather dizzying amount of freedom applied in certain exciting areas, and a fatalist and gorgeous sense of "we are all totally and completely fucked so we might as well have fun." See, there always IS a pony in the pile of shit.

I believe this delightful, fatalist attitude explains the city's laid back approach to huge quantities of butter, mysterious alcohols, and staying out all night and not getting any rest. These are things people in my decidedly first world home of Northern California are not supposed to do and feel guilty about doing when they do give in, whereas in NOLA, that is of course Tuesday Night. This also explains the booming tourism trade.

Of course, where there are stupid drunkass tourists, there is crime, and also where there are stupid drunkass law students, there is crime, but the city really cannot afford to eliminate stupid tourists and law students because they are (overall) good for the city. The city needs tourists and students and nice normal people who do not spend their weekends packing heat - at least if it has any hope whatsoever of surviving and garnering the sympathy of the country at large, which seems to be concluding that NOLA is pretty much hopeless.

Protecting stupid but wealthy drunk people can only be achieved by actually preventing crime, which is a hell of a lot easier said then done for the NOPD, which (far as my ignnarant self can tell) is also not doing a Heck Of A Job. As it stands, all of us NOLA residents live in a crime-ridden USA murder capitol that also happens to be pleasant, exciting, and a lot of fun. It's sort of a bitch.

I of course have no solutions whatsoever, being a 20 year old dork and not a crimologist or Ray Nagin (eww). I only know that I will proceed what I do currently, which is adhere to a basic minimum of street smarts, avoid getting toasted and stumbling around back alleys in hot pants with my wallet hanging out my butt, and trying not to let fear rule my life.

I have to say, though: I just wrote an article in the Hullabaloo imploring Tulane kids to get out of the campus bubble and explore the city. I am beginning to wonder if that is entirely responsible advice.

a nice day in town?

A Nice Day In Town?



I know: this doesn't have much to do with food, other then the inherent deliciousness of Siam Square's pad thai-in-a-take-out-box. But I thought it might be nice to provide some context, to let me know where I'm coming from in my intermittent posts about New England as filtered through Western eyes. I might be residing in New England for a bit, but I love California - even Sacramento. I am going back to Northern California permanently after December 13 when the semester ends, and I am already counting down the days.

I like the Berkshires. I really do. It doesn't have ostentatious natural beauty like the mountains I know (or even my beloved Blue Ridge range.) It doesn't have a developed local cuisine, the skiing is kinda lame, and you can't swing a cat without hitting a deeply self-satisfied hippie. But still: the fall is glorious, the springs are verdant explosions of life, and the sunsets can sometimes be a wonder. And yes, it's true: New England knows how to make a good pizza. Us Californians can't. At least not without putting homeopathically empathetically grown tempeh artichokes on it anyway. So it's not all bad here.

Small secret: I don't like Simon's Rock. Not one bit. In fact, "passionate hatred" has become my main opinion on the place. Still, I can appreciate (to a degree) the charming Norman Rockwellesque character of Great Barrington. I can generally enjoy myself in town, even if I do tend to find myself dying for a banh mi or a decent lunch under 10 bucks or some semblance of culture not run by really old Ivy League graduates. But it can be a pretty place.

Today's venture into civilization began with me hitchhiking down the hill (usual.) I nearly sprinted over to Siam Square, my standby Thai place, weak with hunger. The friendly lady running it immediately recognized me, what with me being in there twice a week, and took my to-go order of Pad Thai.



I don't know if it was my hunger or the beautiful Indian-Summer day or what but it tasted good. I plonked down my little takeout box on the park bench, all alone beside the firestation, and happily chowed down on my tamarindy-noodley lunch. They'd even prepared it in such a way to get just a little oh-so-good char on the noodles, which combined with the meaty chunks of chicken, made me a happy puppy.

I then read another 100 pages of Jack London's, "The Sea Wolf," which is totally un PC by most liberal arts college standards. I don't care if he wasn't being Culturally Sensitive or exposing the Massive Flaws Inherent In Our Philosophical System (though he kinda was trying to, what with Wolf Larsen commenting a lot on our essential...yeastiness.) I love good adventure yarns.



And then I went on one of my usual strolls through town, taking incredibly awful photos as I went (I'm good at that.) I walked down past the Co-Op and to the middle school, where a baseball game played entirely by laughing, light-hearted middle aged men was going on. I watched them flop around for a while, then parked myself by the bridge and watched the river go out. The quality of light was gorgeous, and as I heard the clink of the bat and watched the jet-trails spin overhead, I momentarily thought, New England ain't so bad.



But then I remembered winter and the lack of banh mi and I wanted to go back to California again.

Attack of the Locavores: Hide the Cheetohs

Wherever you look, they’re there: those happy Marin-county infused people who only eat things from Nearby, thank you very much. With sturdy, healthy hands, they drag themselves to the farmer’s market bright and early every weekend ready to scrupulously vet the location, whereabouts, and personal affinity of every animal and plant they put into their mouths. They’re happy about their eating habits, all right, and they want you to know about it – so be prepared for a look of disdain when you’re popping open a bottle of Italian wine or chowing down on some so-not-local Hawaiian Mahi-Mahi.

It’s not enough to eat organic, humanely raised, biodynamically farmed personally massaged food anymore: it’s gotta be local. And everyone from the Sacramento Bee to the New York Times to every food blogger under the planet is jumping on the bandwagon, breathlessly detailing their personal attempts to eat within a 100 miles or within 20 miles or within about 20 feet. (True story.) Local food is in. Local food is hip. Local food is within, well, spitting distance.

I think this local business began after the end of the initial organic onslaught, where it had to be all or nothing organic or you were TOTALLY GOING TO HELL. Then the socially conscious set (Berkeley residents) came to the startling realization that the organic tomatoes they were mixing into their Mario Batali endorsed veal sugo came from very, very far away. Thus the seeds of something else to get indignant about were planted in their casually coiffed heads. Add in Michael Pollan, the monolithic Ferry Building Farmer’s Market in San Francisco, and the always fad-happy New York Times, and you have the beginnings of the next big moral food junta. Run and hide.

Now, I have nothing against high minded eating. I actually read and finished Michael Pollan’s by now ubiquitous Omnivore’s Dilemma, and I like his message: that we need to be aware of where our food is coming from. The localvores are correct on that count. We are helping to steward the planet by eating food that didn’t emerge from a vacumn-refrigrated-monster-truck that began in El Salvador. We are aiding our community by giving support to local farms and local producers. We are eating better by avoiding mass-produced corn infused foods and turning again to wholesome fruits o’ the earth. I get it.

However, why the hell does it have to be so rigid?

I happen to be a big fan of exotic food. I love to eat food from all over the world, as often as possible. I would happily eat a different world cuisine for every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner. (Well, not Chinese cereal. That’s gross.) But local food, despite being big on tradition, seems to indicate that the exotic flown-in-ingredients often used in these cuisines are bad bad bad.

And of course, exotic ingredients from far away aren’t the worst of it. What about all those delicious, shelf stable snack foods most of us like to indulge in? Those sure as hell aren’t being produced within a 100 miles of my Sacramento home. My little Kettle Chips problem is not being fed by my local foodshed. And neither is my sushi one either, unless they happen to be farming big meaty ahi tuna in Folsom Lake now.

My high-heeled foot is on the throat of the farmer’s market seller, the environment, and possibly Alice Waters herself if I refuse to give up my tamarind or my hamachi or my Goldfish crackers, the ardent Locavores seem to say. If I really want to be a conscious member of the planet, an eater with a conscience, a supper with a soul, organic and humane and biodynamic ain’t good enough. No, I need to severely constrict my diet and my choices for the good of us all.

And I reply: bullshit.

For one thing: we live in an incredibly globalized city. A lot of Northern California progressives seem to think that’s a terrible thing, a harbringer of a future filled with boxes made of tickey-tackey and Quizno’s sub shops sharing carnal relations with Wal Mart shoe emporiums. I don’t see it that way. I see this globalization and interchange of ideas, products, and yes, food as a damn good thing indeed.

Globalization is the reason why I love California: because I can listen to 30 different languages and eat 30 different cuisines whenever I step out my door, because almost everyone I see on the street is in some way manifestly unlike me. And if eating a traditional ethnic dish made with ingredients that don’t grow so hot in the Sacramento region means I’m giving a pass to the Locavore idealogy…well, too bad.

Trying new things and exploring California’s ridiculous wealth of diversity is another way to strengthen the community, even if it doesn’t involve a pleasingly rustic farmer.

Futhermore:why isn’t trying good enough? You might reply that that’s a cop out. I’m not sure. I have heeded the warnings of the proponents of organic and local food, and furthermore, I try to follow their guidance. I visit my farmer’s market as much as I possibly can. I avoid the chemically laden plasto-fruits in favor of produce grown with soul (and hopefully nearby.) I enjoy local yogurt, cheese, fruit, and even local Merlino’s Fruit Freezes. But I can’t adhere to this plan all the time. Sometimes I want that damn Maine lobster tail or that buttery slab of sashimi from Japan.

Sometimes I need a bag of artisan free trade potato chips. Maybe I really just want a (horrors) Oreo. But that’s okay. At least it should be okay. If I’m trying 70 percent of the time to eat local and organic, I’m making a difference. I’m supporting the side of angels, deliciousness, and the beatific gaze of Alice Waters. I am not perfect (and never will be) but at least I am aware.

And that’s good enough for me and should be good enough for the Locavore Lobby as well.

Now off to enjoy some local Jelly Bellys! Score!

Waiters Are Actually Human!

Please: Don't Be An Asshole.


"Waiter Station" by Greg Carter.

I was at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant yesterday, picking up a delicious, delicious papaya salad. The efficient if English impaired staff swiftly took my take out order, and I parked myself at an empty table to look over the newspaper, half noticing the older guy slurping noodles next to me. A few minutes passed, and the man, obviously finished with his food, began tapping his foot expectantly. The kitchen was slammed, and the young woman who was the only server was running back and forth, trying to keep things under control. A large, pissed off woman burst into the room. "If I'd KNOWN you don't take credit cards, I wouldn't have PLACED the take out order," she yelled, as the waitress nodded submissively, trying to smooth things over and keep the restaurant running smoothly at the same time. The woman, obviously flustered, received her refund and stormed out, and the waitress hustled back to the kitchen to pick up some more food.

It was at that moment that Single Guy concluded he had had enough. He picked up his check, stomped over to the register, and waited expectantly for the server to materialize. When she did not appear out of thin air, he angrily stuck his head in the corridor leading to the kitchen. "Heelllooo? Is anyone IN there?" he said, in the most petulant possible voice. Another minute passed and the server zoomed out of the kitchen, managing to simultaneously ring up him and hand me my papaya salad at the same point in time. He paid silently, angrily, and I made a point of thanking her effusively for the food when my turn came up. I truly felt embarrassed.

I see this a lot, everywhere I go - people acting like impetuous douche-bags to people who are working hard and honestly trying to do their job. It appalls me how people seem to think it's acceptable to display that much attitude to wait-staff - and the problem is especially bad in casual ethnic places like my beloved Vietnamese joint. Some people seem to truly 110 percent believe that if a server is of a different ethnicity and a different socioeconomic class then you, it's okay to treat them like they're stupid, slow, and totally undeserving of the most basic social graces. Apparently everything would be much much nicer if food magically appeared from a hatch in the back of kitchen, therefore absolving the customer of having to deal with anyone from the *gasp* underclass. One questions why the hell you're eating their food if the service isn't up to your maddeningly exacting standards, but that rarely comes up.

There is irony here: bad service begets bad service. I was lucky enough to come from a family that knows to treat wait-staff politely and with respect. We don't demand the kitchen eliminate all traces of fat, salt, or flavor from our food in the interest of our delicate, delicate health. We almost never send stuff back. We don't make boring-ass windbag statements about how inferior the Chianti is to the Chianti we actually had in Italy because we are better then you. We don't demand three different kinds of cutlery or the undivided attention of poor Charlie the Starving Actor. And, what do you know - we almost never receive poor service. Maybe our standards are lower. Maybe we're just not paying attention. But I like to think being nice to the staff tends to lead to the staff being nice to you. If I were a server, I'd rather dote on a polite and fun table then a table with a gigantic stick up its ass. And I'd also damned well know which one the better tip would be liable to come from.

Which is why some people, no matter what, seem to get piss poor service. This bewilders them. They often become convinced the entire food service industry is involved in a personal and organized vendetta against them, these poor, innocent diners out to spend their hard earned money on a fantastic dining experience. Reality: these people are invariably huge assholes. They create an asshole vortex about themselves, meaning that every life experience they find themselves in will, one way or another, manage to suck. I almost maintain it is the service industries patriotic duty to irritate these black clouds of the populace in any way possible. Perhaps they will give up and begin subsisting entirely on microwaveable dinners. We can only hope.

Next time, when you're in a busy restaurant and things are taking a little longer then you'd like - relax. Sit down. Read the newspaper. Realize your insignificant job/home/family probably does not need to be attended to in the .5 seconds the harried waitress has not allocated specifically to you. You bought a five dollar salad. You did not buy the adoration and eternal loyalty of the waitress forever.

Please: don't be an asshole.

Why I Hate Hungry Girl

Why I Hate Hungry Girl




Hungry Girl.com is a perky pastel-toned ode to Why You Are Too Fat. Within it, the super hot cartoony avatar of the proprietress tells you what you need to eat to avoid becoming a terrifying lard monster. This apparently means living off, among other things, low calorie chocolate muffins, 100 calorie packages of soy crisps, and easily microwavable recipes. Hungry Girl's founder says, in her mission statement, that "Nothing gives me a thrill like discovering a new low cal snack or assembling a no fat pizza! " Gosh, wherever do I sign?

Hungry Girl seems to get a lot of mileage out of the fact that Americans love to eat snacks, even if they are completely and utterly not-hungry and have burned about 100 calories cumulatively that day by sitting on the couch and breathing. No matter how inactive you are, in America, you are entitled to that cheesy poof, even if you are overweight and self loathing. Hungry Girl seeks to fill that void by suggesting delicious solutions, like low fat donuts, 20 calorie chocolate truffles, and microwaveable soy protein ribs. , which they claim, breathlessly, "taste unbelievable."

Apparently you too can sit on the couch like any other Bubba and hoover down these "delicious" low calorie snacks, and will somehow come out of looking Gisele Bundchen. This is of course untrue. Eating highly processed food that tastes like paper while watching Desperate Housewives will make you fat, no matter how "low calorie" it is. What happened to cutting out snacks entirely and eating better and more filling meals? Or eating something really radical like fresh fruit?

As an example of the websites cheery culinary butchery, let's look at Hungry GIrl's charming analysis of ethnic foods that may not come out of an easily microwaveable container.

Sushi: "Quite often sushi is served by the piece. That makes it easy to over-order. If you want to save calories, carbs and/or points, order "light rice."

It's true, those Japanese people are so immensely fat because of all that dangerous, tempting white rice and raw fish they eat. Oh, wait.

Chinese: "That's exactly why you should use these tricky sticks. Fiddling with them will force you to eat slowly."

Well, if you're an incompetent round-eye who lives on sweet and sour pork.

"Order your dishes steamed, with sauce on the side. Then dip, don't pour!"

Chinese chefs around the world salute you for this brilliant innovation. Mmm, plain chicken and vegetables sprinkled with MSG and dipped in sugary sauce...don't mind if I do! Chinese food IS bad for you if you're into the "deep fried chicken parts in sauce" type cuisine. Which is not actually Chinese. There is no damn point in eating Chinese food (or anything else) if you're going to suck the life out of it by ordering it to all your insecure suburbanite proclivities. Go suck on some cardboard. (Ordering this way also increases the odds of your food being spit in. Which will, of course, add CALORIES.)

Hungry Girl deeply offends me, and I think I know why: it takes the love and the quality and the freshness out of food and converts it into some perverse ritual between insecure women and calorie laden sugary treats. The phrase "guilt-free" exemplifies this: if you eat something that tastes good, you had better be guilty, you big fat cow. Due to this, women in America have a profoundly screwed up attitude about food. The daily and totally necessary act of eating something becomes a moral battle, creating victims on either end of the aisle: anorexics, yo-yo dieters, the super obese. Food, instead of being a friend or a lovely way to end the day, becomes somehow evil, which is impressive for what is (usually) an inanimate object.

So, instead of treating food as important, food is treated as the enemy, with rich ingredients and preparations called "freakish" or "repulsive." Instead of espousing all things in moderation, Hungry Girl seems to be saying that the ONLY WAY to be thin is to survive on Lean Cuisine and soy protein crisps. Which is total bullshit. The reason Americans are so damn fat is because we eat out of shelf stable boxes, drive everywhere in large cars, and consider fresh crunchy vegetables to be unpleasant and "boring," while we freebase artificial sugars and fats then beat ourselves up afterwards for "giving in." This is incredibly odd behavior and not one other cultures share, even cultures with excellent, rich food. (I'm looking at you, France and Italy.)

I admit: I'm skinny, I've never had a weight problem, and I am probably not the target market for this advice. But I still think I know enough about maintaining a healthy body weight that I can say Hungry Girl is total crap. If you want to lose weight and keep your soul intact, try hitting the farmers market and walking more, not taking Hungry Girl's asinine "tips" or eating repulsive low-calorie and chemical laden foods.