I am not generally one to comment that someone’s an idiot if they want to subsist on food-like substances sold by the golden arches fuckersons, or to eat sugar-coated sugar. And let’s face it, I haven’t had cable for 6 yrs now which makes me slightly more immune than many to the glut of fetishized food viewing on the likes of the Food Twitwork.
We went hungry when I was a wee sprout, a number of times. But you know, we came out of it fine, and I don’t hoard edibles in the house as a result of that. Maybe I should, but it has never seemed a good idea given how shifty the food supply is in terms of safety and nutritional content. The only things I hoard are dry beans, organic rices, winter squashes, and then chicken parts from our meat flock. Oh, and eggs. We always have around a dozen in the fridge. Not because we’re saving them either. Just slowness in consumption, which is a golden mean in many ways. It ensures I can scramble Lucy an egg this morning, which Pancho will “help” her eat when he comes inside to refill his weewee tank, and his poopoo tank (he’s outside emptying both of those right now, as well as casing the yard to check on his chickens, and chasing off strange cats we don’t know.)
I like to stock this up to having been raised and fed by survival cooks, for the most part. But I’ve never been one to walk into a grocery store, and do a happy dance that I can get donuts on sale. Or that I can get a vat of ice cream as opposed to a 2 quart freezer container. My rationale is mostly of expense on these things, be that expense right now, or expense years later due to insulin shots. Just because those donuts are on sale doesn’t make them viable food. Or Food with a capitalized “F”. Diabetes runs in the dood’s family, so he watches his sugar intake. It doesn’t run in mine, but weight certainly does, which I chalk up to us being solid farm stock on both sides of the family, which thrives on hard physical work as well as basic nutrition. The dood’s got a certain amount of this in his ancestry, too.
Then one sees the culinary output of the likes of Paula Deen, observes that she has a show on Food Twitwork, and even a magazine at the grocery store checkout stand. It’s not culinary output, let’s be honest. The burger stuffed into a sliced Krispy Kreme donut is not rational. I see it on a par with that Double Down food-like dreck from KFC. Just because someone produced this doesn’t deem it fit to eat; never mind the bad juju of consuming animals raised in deplorable conditions (I wrote letters to the assholians at Carl’s Jr over their turkey burgers, for example.)
Anyway, since I’ve been sick and coughing at the drop of a hat, I caught Al Roker’s interview w/ Deen last week. And have been trying to sanitize my synapses ever since. He was so direct with her. And she was so evasive. There’s no simpler question than, “How are you eating since you’ve been diagnosed with diabetes?” and she kept trying to totally dodge the question, having recently adopted the word “moderation” like it was some lexicon holy grail for epicurean practice. And lest any of us could be fooled, in her words she is not our doctor, but our cook. Oh please. This woman should be no one’s cook, much less their dietary adviser, e.g. “This is all about moderation! Don’t overdo this food!” Okay, lady.
What angers me at the end of all this, is that she waited to profit from her partnership with a diabetes drug company, before being honest with the country about her diagnosis, her gross inadequacy as a ‘cook’, and her unwillingness to cease enabling her fans to eating themselves into illness.
(And I am ending this tirade for now.)