We Eat Animals

"On the second, third, fourth, and fifth days, our friends Sam and Eleanor brought us food. Lots of food. Far more than we could eat: lentil salad, chocolate truffles, roasted vegetables, nuts and berries, mushroom risotto, potato pancakes, green beans, nachos, wild rice, oatmeal, dried mango, pasta primavera, chili -- all of it comfort food. We could have eaten in the cafeteria or ordered in. And they could have expressed their love with visits and kind words. But they brought all of that food, and it was a small good thing that was needed."

-- Jonathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals 

Every single time we have a potluck (today was the fifth this year), someone proclaims midway through the first plate, "THIS one is the best ever." And they are always right. Because we up the ante every time. I have had to stop saying anything about "THIS" being the "best bite of food I have EVER put in my mouth," because it is starting to sound like hyperbole (but it has been true every time I have said it this year).

So far, it's been my goal to just make something that would actually get eaten, and at least there was a dent in today's shrimp and grits. [Photo by Chef Tom.]

I've read three food books in the last few weeks: Elizabeth Bard's Lunch in Paris; Cathy Erway's The Art of Eating In (inspired by her blog, Not Eating Out in New York), and now I'm finishing up Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals -- the one that everyone says turned them vegetarian halfway through.

I'm still an omnivore -- but Foer's book came up a few times during today's potluck/housewarming brunch. Along with Hannah Arendt's Origins of Totalitarianism; Monsanto as thinly-veiled in Michael Clayton; "Hoarders;" and 52 Loaves: One Man's Relentless Pursuit of Truth, Meaning, and a Perfect Crust. (Here's the npr interview that came up -- I haven't read the book yet, but plan to.) The first guests arrived at 11 am and the last left at 9:15 pm, so there was a lot to cover.

We didn't have any vegetarians today (sometimes we do). We could probably best be characterized as Michael Pollan-Moderates, though I don't think any of us found anything new in Food, Inc. Factory farming is a disgusting, unhealthy, reprehensible business. We all know a lot about it and we all do our best not to subsidize it, to varying degrees. (Even if you could get beyond the bad politics, bad economics, and disease of factory farming, no one could doubt its culinary crimes -- it tastes like what it is: wretched and hateful). My Dad is a lifelong farmer and utterly committed carnivore (with the triple bypass scars to show for it) and he still won't eat chicken. He's fond of saying (with some drama) that if you opened a can of chicken soup in his kitchen and he "had to smell the stench of misery that went into that can," he would "throw up." I know people who gave up bacon after Food, Inc. -- but not chicken. Though I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, at least maybe Foer will school a few on what a joke most "free-range" labeling is. (He gives "organic" far more of a pass than I would.)

At any rate, our now-monthly gatherings have developed a set of rules -- all of them related to snobbery, and none of them sociopolitical. Non-Foodies are allowed to attend, but they are limited to contributions of ice and liquor. There are always a few offers to "pick something up" (presumably a Kroger pie), but no one is allowed to pollute our Food Religion. Every single thing on the table is homemade. Every single thing is a labor of love representing the best effort possible to outdo our neighbors and make everyone sick -- sick -- with envy. Oh sure, you can pick up dessert... if you want Rachel to have an aneurysm right in front of you.

It was an impressive turnout, given the epic -- nay Biblical -- rains. A few maybes stayed home to mop up their flooded basements (but Maybes don't get invited back anyway), but it was otherwise a full house and a full menu.

Mostly, I just spent the evening trying to think up stuff I could slice with my new deluxe $437,000 housewarming-present Williams-Sonoma mandoline from the FoodGays. (Now I can stop relentlessly borrowing theirs -- though I will always be a Special Occasion user, whereas I suspect theirs gets a routine workout.)

All I can say is: watch your fingers.

Alpha/Beta Cooks? I think I'm both.

"True love is like a salesman at Home Depot. It only comes along once or twice in a lifetime so you gotta grab it. Acknowledging the power of love doesn't make me less of a rationalist, it makes me more of one. 

 --Bill Maher

Chatting with one of my college buddies today, she was commenting at first on how "normal people" respond to cute, cuddly things (I think it was babies).... and then she re-phrased it, probably out of sensititivity to not offending me, and modified, "I mean in general, well, mammals, except for you.... they just dissolve and go all gushy when they're confronted with the babies of any species...Unless they're a Predator... Or you.... Not that I think you're a predator." (I didn't think anybody suspected me of eating anyone's young, and I took the observations good-naturedly. I knew what they meant.)

It's a fair assessment and well-acknowledged truth that I'm not a very emotional or sentimental person -- part of it's the inner Rainman -- and part of it's just personality/nature/nurture. But there are exceptions and they manifest themselves in odd ways sometimes.

Tonight I started reading The Art of Eating In, Cathy Erway's blog-inspired book on "How I Learned to Stop Spending and Love the Stove."  In the book, she references a 2007 NYT article about alpha/beta couples in the kitchen. I was surprised to read about all the conflict those couples had, finding that I can flip fairly comfortably back and forth between alpha and beta, despite my usual control issues. Especially in the kitchen.

Like when my brother was here this past week, I was relegated solely to the role of sous chef. I washed and roasted tomatillas; buttered and toasted bread; that kinda thing.  You can read about our 2008 Christmas Dinner Collaboration here.-- where he taught me one does not exit the kitchen without calling out for permission first, "Bathroom Break, Chef?" (The Chef says "Aye.") I love my brother; he is a chef and I am a cook; and I am happy to take orders from him.

Maybe not everybody feels this way, but I am deliriously happy to be in the presence of people who are smarter than I am, or better than I am, at anything. I love to learn new things and the presence of excellence excites me. I do not feel threatened. I do not feel insecure. I feel elated. I don't even mind being told what to do. When the collaborations are instinctive, everyone's game gets elevated and it evolves into a fine-tuned power-ballet, with no conflict at all -- just everything stripped down to the best, raw components of art and architecture.

Food might be THE love of my life -- and I am  always happy when I run across someone who will love it with me, whether he's the boss or I am. Just like a regular mammal. (I'm keeping the Remote though.)

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