For some reason, I decided to torture myself the other day by reading Pete Wells' four-star review of Le Bernardin in the New York Times. The Times sent Wells there to reaffirm that Le Bernardin is a really good place to eat and — SURPRISE! — it still is. Not that you'll ever be able to afford to eat there. There are only three people who can afford to eat at a place like Le Bernardin: Rich assholes, food critics, and other chefs who run other restaurants that only serve rich assholes, food critics, and other chefs. Here is a glimpse of Wells eating like a goddamn king:
Welcome to the terrible nexus of Foodie and Earth Mama culture: In "The Placenta Cookbook," New York Magazine reports that the placentas of Brooklyn are no longer content to be buried in gardens, or ground into powder and consumed as nutrient-rich dietary supplements. (That is so 2009.) Every placenta who is any placenta gets blended into a coconut juice smoothie, or Bloody Mary, or placenta jerky strip:
Federal agents are once again busy cleaning up the streets of Venice, California. No, they're not taking out sophisticated cocaine smuggling operations or prostitution rings. They're dismantling an underground syndicate of raw milk pushers and connoisseurs that operate under a front called Rawesome Foods.
Someone took the final episode of MasterChef — in which the chefs prepare desserts — and spliced in TV dinners in place of their dishes. The commentary remains the same so you have the judges applauding microwave ramen.
A new USDA survey finds that less than 1% of US farms are organic—meaning that the carnivore locavore yuppie fantasy that it's okay to eat meat as long as it comes from one of the few "good" farms is an unsustainable argument, in the Kantian sense. There will never be enough "good" farms to fulfill the demand for meat, so only forsaking meat altogether is a viable, ethical, environmental stance, in accord with the categorical imperative (universalization formulation). Which, not for nothing, is exactly what Jonathan Safran Foer says in his new book, so, we know he's a precious twee Brooklyn writer and all, but give up some props, along with that ham sandwich. Everyone knows you got to stay off that pork.