What the f*^% can I eat? Dating your Pantry

March 8th, 2011

Part 1

I have come to the disturbing realization that I have been on a Food Strike for about four months now. Yes, a Food Strike. What does this mean? I have been eating Nothing. For four whole months. Wow, how is she still blogging, you may ask.

Let me explain my case of starvation. For the past year I have been struggling with thyroid and digestive health issues that have yet to be resolved. I was also tested positive for sensitivity to wheat, gluten, yeast, eggs, and dairy. However, the symptoms remained when I eliminated these foods from my diet. I was left hungry and frustrated. I investigated deeper into what I prematurely assumed was a sick cakeless joke and am now consequently avoiding all things starchy and white (yes, this includes my BFF sugar), some fruits, soy, pork, and my two long-term boyfriends coffee and alcohol.

Breakups are hard.

Well, what the f*** can I eat? I felt as though a big bowl of cold starchless irony had been served. Oh my God, my body was rejecting my career. Everything I had eaten up to this point was being scrutinized and unwillingly digested by my insides. Mockery. My life was over. Or, you know, so I immediately thought. Thus, my Food Strike began, and I started to replace the bowls of irony with larger bowls of, yes, Nothing.

I completely rejected the challenge. I failed to see it as an opportunity with benefits and therefore further limited myself. What? I had never refused any food or cooking challenge before. Now I was blatantly rejecting Food in its entirety. I could only see the invisible freshly baked baguette with the invisible butter on the table before me. So, of course I began to only desire the invisible. All the invisibleness made me freaking angry. “What the f*** can I eat?!,” I would yell at my poor impoverished pantry.

Knowledge, awareness, and respect for food as fuel are crucial components for proper nourishment. Active eating. I was not eating for the heart and soul, and I was quickly losing sustenance.

The Real Reason French Women aren’t Fat

September 3rd, 2010

Reason 1: The French do not eat at their local Double Down and fried cheese melt hubs.  Simply because they know better.  Even after a few years of glittery inhumane food marketing tactics the public has remained rooted and repulsed. 

 But perhaps lean, practical French minds could be corrupted, taste buds transforming, glistening at the thought of a trip to the corner Mc “Café”.  And then, all that’s left to ponder is their afternoon choice of coffee.   But it’s another decision: a large coffee, inconspicuously disguised with artificial French vanilla flavor and limp frothy layers of Redi-Whip paired with the number of other people in line who “are doing it too”…or the choice of a meager, traditional, rice and beans café au lait.

 There is something about the advertising of these supermodel cheeseburgers and sparkly corporate coffee drinks that make the US culture think: I am consumer, therefore I buy.  Therefore I eat.  And eat.  And eat.  Something About Cheeseburger.  But really, it is Something About our culture’s aggressive abundance of supermarket and dining choices.

 Reason 2: The French don’t think about food.  Not in the same way that we do. 

 Yes, French women aren’t fat because they eat small portions.  This is true.  But the reason this is true is because they are not predisposed to be concerned with portions.  Food and anxiety are synonymous in our country.  The American Eating Disorder is an epidemically learned behavior.  We think we know the rules.  We conceive it to be obvious.  Don’t order your salad with blue cheese dressing and bacon if you’re trying to diet.  But …it isn’t so obvious.  There is an indulgent amount of books,food rules, celebrity endorsements, and vending machines constipating our pantries.  The more we have, the less we understand and the harder it is to make a decision. 

 Women are, unfortunately, attracted to men who subtly act like they don’t give a fuck (and sometimes they really just don’t).  This works on us, easy.  So, in a sense, we need to not give an F about our food so that the art of the meal itself can comfortably manifest with us into a healthy and pleasurable relationship.  Without calling too many times or counting too many calories.  However, this theory will only work if you are nutritionally educated.  This is the tough part.  Most people are spun into a whirlwind of consumer choices in a world where food is thought of as Bad.  We are not confident, therefore we are susceptible to failure.  We can’t come to grips with our adulterous affairs with fat and sugar percentages.  Great meals are being served and spooned while we’re pondering if these potato chips on isle six are okay to eat if they’re 40 percent lower fat than the regular.   Our culture welcomes the obsessions, detrimentally turning food in to a worrisome concept with many meanings and too much baggage.  We look to food for answers, but our cultural detachment from it prevents us from asking the right questions.

 Reason 3:  The French smoke lots of cigarettes.  Everyone knows a packed Marlboro tastes just as good as a Philly cheesesteak and is at least half the calories.

Are We Faking It?

July 9th, 2010

In the world that is food, “experimentation” has been cast as a trend for 2010.  Broad, been used, but I like it.  Hopefully, experimentation will play a dramatic role in my 2010 sex life.  And I’ll play the broad, being used, and I’ll like it.

Procreating are new ideas.  Casual fusion, food trucks, and the lovechild of the cup and the cake will most likely still be birthed, baked, and sprinkled.  But we’re not coming up with all the right things, and America’s food outlook projects several contradictions.  So far, KFC’s Double Down has proposed a solution to the current obesity crisis, food labels may turn into traffic signs (curves ahead), and apparently The McGangBanger is available upon request at your local McDonalds.  And, also, what we’ve all been waiting for, we can eat Booger flavored ice cream and then Twitter about it.

The general public is also still broke, still bored, still hungry, and will welcome the promiscuousness of Food2010.  Our beer is getting warm, the condensation beads of hope have dissipated, and now, we’re sloppy drunk and ready for action.

Well, then thank god the Orgasm For The Mouth has been invented!  Best food trend ever!

Attention: We can mix orgasms with food….at the same time. Yippe!

How’s that for being bored?

The Orgasm For The Mouth is not some sick foreplay invention created by molecular gastronomists and porn stars.  I only wish.  Mixologists, chefs, and normal people just like yourself are experimenting behind the bar, in the kitchen, and in their tasting holes with an intensely flavored flower called the Szesuan Button.  The plant’s bud is supposed to produce an electric feeling once in the mouth.

Apparently, the flower contains an agent that tingles your tongue and makes you salivate.  Hmmm, sound familiar? 

These flowers, also called sansho buttons and electric buttons, are native to Brazil and are buds of a smallish, erect plant.  Hm.  Sound familiar?

Ferran Adrià, the famed chef of El Bulli, created a dish he called “Electric Milk” using the buttons.  Electric Milk.  Sound familiar?

Forget eating aphrodesiacs, why don’t we just put the orgasm straight in to your mouth?

Will it be like the slow tug of your bottom lip by your young lover?  Or maybe like that old Pop Rocks trick (you know the one)?

My guess is that it will be like biting your cheek by accident, over, and over, again.  Ah, yes, my glass is half empty.  It’s only that Living in the Land of Plenty, I believe we could possibly abuse this Szesuan Button, or, rather, the stimulatory response of which it represents.  Just like we abused the “convenience” of fast food.  Cheap thrills are gateway drugs to cheap food.  For my fellow hedonists, these types of discoveries (for instance, cupcake flavored Fruity Pebbles, or the charming creation of the Canwich) could be like the next Kombucha for alcoholics.  Yes, I know it’s just a funny little flower bud.  Flower Power.  Excuse me, did you say you wanted your soup mild, spicy, or orgasmic?

But, really, what is food and where do we draw the line? 

Most Americans aren’t food-educated enough to decipher this opaque “creativity” yet, and will most likely assume these foods are reality, a necessity.  Or maybe we are in the process of creating a new Food Reality, and a contemporary candy colored culture will emerge.  One that talks about orgasms but never has them, eats food either labeled as green (eat me), yellow (hmm, well, maybe, are you sure?) or red (stop you’re fat), and one that eats the good-for-us oily fish full of Omega BPs grilled (drilled) and put on a salad dressed with some extra virgin British Petroleum.  Sure, its fine.

Nourishing Hedonism

June 16th, 2010

There are two things our American culture taints, and therefore brands: sex and food. We are one of the most conservative, precautious cultures, and it manifests in our bedrooms and our food system, blanketing our libidos and over-salting our plates. Numbing our appetites. While brining ourselves in this stage of economic heat, we should stop conforming to synthetic standards just to become more obsessed with either breaking or abiding by them. We should let fresh ideas roll off and into our mind, hearts, and tongues, and start exploring the possibilities of liberated pleasure.

In the 19th century, an American, vegetarian, and dietary reformist named Sylvester Graham doctored up some wheat and molasses to cure masturbation. Ta-da, the flat, brown, very anti-phallic graham cracker was born. He believed a diet heavy in bland foods would keep our dicks in our pants, thus preventing degenerative diseases.

You know those Kellogg’s corn flakes you eat in the morning? They were originally concocted by Mr. John Harvey Kellogg himself, a follower of Graham, as a dietary remedy for sexual excitement. So if you ingest and invest in these common isle 9 gems and ever want to get a hardon again, you better sprinkle your cereal with some drippy looking oysters. Kellogg supposedly even had his nurse administer a daily enema to “detox.” Ironically, this penetrated his anus, filling the void. Cheater. These men preferred these suppressive carbohydrate products to pure meats, eggs, sugars, alcohol, anything perhaps of taste. Special K, anyone?

In 17th and 18th century Europe, Europeans were deflowering artichokes, ripping off their tender leaves to expose and eat the soft heart center for aphrodisiac purposes. In even earlier ages, the Aztecs were drinking massive amounts of liquid chocolate to their belief that it would prepare their bodies for massive orgies. The ancient Greeks ended their days by sucking the femininely pink insides out of delicate figs. The Italians were just short of flat-out fucking their food. Oh, and the Romans were banging each other in the Vomitoriums. These societies were loving the sexy hand food dealt their culture, not dismissing it in favor of wheat germ and soft core applesauce. Not to mention these maniacs drank wine all day long. And still do.

Food and sex ensure a culture’s survival. Our society is still fairly conservative when it comes to sex; it condemns many things taboo. However, this unorthodoxy seemingly arouses us and just causes ignorance and pre-ejaculation. Here are a few reasons why our culture needs to be fucked really hard:

Today, Americans are dealing with a perverse culture of mass food manufacturers (who are obviously taking out their sexual frustrations on our food) who make over-processed food home to E.verything Coli. Our food is becoming systematically cookie-cutter and is produced so that farms don’t raise livestock anymore, they just raise food. There is no sensual, story-telling tangibility to our food. The nudity is missing. Variety is the spice of life, and we have none in our grocery stores due to big name manufacturers monopolizing every recognizable label.

We nourish our bodies, our baby making machines, with this stuff. Until our food becomes honest again and Americans start taking more of an interest in what they consume, then we are fucked. And not in the good way. We are deliriously bored considering our over-stimulated, constipated American lifestyle. Is the only way to overcome this to give ourselves a morning enema filled with mojo?

To get past first base we must accept that pleasure is not always a derivative of guilt, especially when it comes to eating and sex. May exploiting our numbed tastebuds and taking pride in our pleasure permit us to choose and enjoy a fine piece of grass-fed meat, pink in the center.