Home > Chef Oz: Inside the CIA > Archives > 2009 > November > 01 > Entry
What’s Love Got to Do With It?
My last entry on this tainted subject matter dealt with an attempt to define a narrow perception of food-porn, which included well deserved jabs at impossible to replicate dishes pictured in upscale cookbooks and popular programs on the Food Network. I must confess that, like many of the readers here at the CIA, I get turned on and inspired by what I see in places like The French Laundry Cookbook, so to me, that’s not food-porn at all—it’s food as a viable art form. The distinction being, I am willing to attempt that type of stuff within the comfort of my own home kitchen, and I’m confident enough to serve up the result to friends, family, and paying customers. I’m one of the few who is a willing participant and will pour my energies, creative and technical, into the endeavor in an effort to achieve something dramatic, memorable, even ethereal, and of course—delicious. Serious cooks are all about the love element, that ephemeral extra that no teaspoon can measure, and no mere recipe, however simple or complicated, will ever adequately communicate. The love element is quite possibly innate, though knowledge makes it easier to manifest in the dishes we carefully create for those we care about. Caring is a key to the love element, and it’s the key ingredient that’s gone MIA in much of what passes for nourishment in America today. Therein lie the lies and lines that comprise the true face of food-porn.
True food-porn bears the face of a clown cavorting beneath golden arches. It is aggressively sold with billion dollar budgets to people of all ages, but especially to kids, by cartoony kings and grand fatherly types in white linen suits and string bow ties. It is consumed 44 ounces of high fructose corn syrup at a gulp by millions every day. It saps and sickens us, and yet we continue to line up for another dose—some as many as three times daily. We are too fat from too many empty calories. We are suffering from epidemics of heart disease and diabetes and cancers. We are increasingly falling victim to food borne illnesses and new strains of bacteria that are byproducts of a broken system. This is the stinky whiff of food porn in the winter of our collective dietary discontent, and the rot ain’t emanating from the state of Denmark. There is nothing lovely or loving about it. The love element has been supplanted by slick marketing and a first-grader’s temper tantrum and wailing desire for a “free” toy and a “happy” meal.
Where is the love? It is decidedly elsewhere than the fast food drive-thru; a place so fast there’s not even enough time to spell the word, through. I thru up, not literally—but I wanted to, when that realization finally synched in. There’s no love inside those establishments that experience an average 300 percent employee turnover each year. The mostly part-time employee/teenagers who staff these corporate franchises barely learn which button to push and then quit for another minimum wage job. Fast food restaurants don’t teach marketable skills and depend on an endless stream of unskilled, unmotivated, first-time workers in order to keep labor costs low. It’s all about the bottom line—not the waist line of a nation. Corporate entities are beholden to shareholders, not to customers who are holding a quarter-pounder as they drive down Interstate America sharing what they’re holding with the kid screaming in the back seat. To me, that’s obscenity, and it fits the definition of porn, be it food-porn or otherwise.
I don’t feel or taste the love element in the casual dining corporate outlets that have self-replicated all over the map either. I’ve had mediokra at southern-themed chains and nuked gnocchi in Italian franchises. It’s not very good, but there sure is a lot of it, seems to be the attractive common factor. Hey, but it’s the same whether the outlet/unit is in Poughkeepsie or San Diego. What a marvelous feat of corporate structuring and homogenization. No matter where we go, there we are—enjoying the same facsimile of something sort of like what grandma used to make—minus, of course, the love element. There’s no room for that kind of nonsense in corporate America or on their menus.
With the absence of love in the equation the sex act changes from making love to crossing into the realm of the pornographic—base and animalistic. Translated into food-speak, the same metaphor holds true. What once was the forbidden fruit, and as such held a certain fascination and desirability, is now the normal daily ration for an entire population, and we’re not stopping at our own borders. Fast food and its mechanized business model for sameness is, so far, our country’s biggest contribution to the cuisines of the world. Fast food; empty calories designed to addict, manufactured without the love element, at best approximates a form of dietary masturbation. There can be no real nourishment taken from it, because in many cases it’s not even real food. Dissect the ingredients of a fast food milkshake and guess what—no ice cream. It’s as fake as a porn star orgasm—lights, make-up, mirrors—they do it with mirrors.
In his recent book, In Defense of Food, eminent food writer, Michael Pollan, admonishes us to eat real food, not too much, mostly plants. This is a simple mantra that makes such obvious sense but is very difficult to actually follow given the present food supply paradigm. How do you put a full measure of love into a happy meal? You don’t, you can’t, no use even making the attempt. BUT, and it’s a big butt, the fast food giants will try to convince us that they absolutely ooze the love element when market conditions dictate that they should.
There is a staggering number of reasons why sex porn and food porn are both multi-billion dollar industries, and they all $tart with dollar $igns. But, here’s the thing about capitalism: Once successful business models cease to be profitable, they simply fade away like the brontosaurus and make way for something else—maybe something better, maybe not. Once enough of us get sick of being sick and tired of what fast food does to the environment (which we’ll get to in a future posting), and once we learn that eating is a political act and that we can effect positive change by the meal choices we make, we just might make some headway. Until that time the food whores are running the show, and what’s concealed beneath the advertising make-up and sexy packaging is a depraved and criminal ball of snakes that corrupts and destroys instead of offering nourishment and nurture.
I don’t want you to think that I’m down on burgers per se. I’m not. I love a good bacon cheeseburger and a big ol’ mess of fries as much as the next semi-carnivorous guy. But let’s play “what if” for a second or two. What if you decided to seek out and patronize a burger joint that hadn’t served the planet’s entire population already. What if this place ground their own beef or buffalo from single animals humanely raised and slaughtered. What if they made their fries from potatoes that weren’t genetically modified and even went so far as to cut them by hand. What if they put real ice cream into organic milk. What if this mythical place was locally owned and operated by people who took pride in their work. What if that dribble of juice and mustard running down the backs of your fingers was really the steady ooze of the love element. That’s something corporations will never duplicate in a million years, and I’m drooling for it right now.
Comments
By TJ
November 2, 2009 9:59 AM | Link to this
Dude! You articulate it so well. Yes, the mass produced cannot compete with the “hand-crafted” food of mom-and-pop. That is another grand reason to patronize your local food establishments, instead of supporting the corporate bottom line. As for local burger-goodness, I favor Dubl-R (which also uses real ice cream from real cows in its real milkshakes).
By Chef Oz
November 2, 2009 4:19 PM | Link to this
Thanks, TJ— You know we all have to have calories in order to function as a viable life form. Instead of counting calories, I prefer to think of it as making my calories count. When you have the choice between a fast food burger and the real deal, I’ll opt for real every time. And speaking of the real thing, there’s nothing real in coke besides the H2O. A modicum of moderation is in order no matter what choices we make, but you can take this to the bank—corporate America is NOT our trusted friend, no matter how many billions they spend to convince us that they are.
By Billy Pool
November 6, 2009 6:19 AM | Link to this
Cooking Man: What to do with the green layer just under the skin of potatoes: remove it, throw away the potato, or just continue to make green potato soup? Leaping sideways; Billy Boy
By Chef Oz
November 6, 2009 9:15 AM | Link to this
Salutations Captain Billy— Do away with the green stuff. Potatoes produce a toxic green substance when they get exposed to too much light. It can be bad for humans. Peel it away and dispose of it properly in the same manner you would handle nuclear waste—throw it in the river and hope for the best. I wonder if that nine-eyed carp I pulled out of the North Bosque last year had been eating green ‘tater skins?
By Rev. Sam
November 14, 2009 8:15 PM | Link to this
One night I was teaching your sister-in-law how to properly mash a mess of Yukon Gold potatoes. Watching in horror at the violence being inflicted, I snatched the masher from her hand, put my hand on her shoulder, and with a single tear welling up in my left eye, I pleaded, “Sweetheart, make LOVE to the potatoes! Don’t beat them to death!” I think that pretty well sums it up for me.
Also: huge kudos on the multi(nef)farious plays on words in this piece! Great writing, man.
@Capt. Billy: that green stuff is a neurotoxin!
By Chef Oz
November 15, 2009 12:54 PM | Link to this
I am definitely putting some love in my mashed potatoes, too. Here’s the quick mash 101 that results in fluffy mounds of carb heaven. Wash your spuds—don’t peel. You can use russets or Yukons. Split them in half lengthwise. Put them into an appropriate size saucepan. Cover with an inch of cold water. Add a large 3-finger pinch of salt. Bring it to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook until the potatoes are fork-tender—maybe 20 minutes. Meanwhile, heat some butter and cream in a saucepan. When the potatoes are done remove them to a cutting board and peel away the skins. Put the potatoes through a ricer. Add the hot butter/cream a little at a time until the consistency is right. Season with salt and pepper.
Cooking with the jackets on prevents the absorption of too much water. The ricer makes very fluffy spuds and breaks up any lumps. Be sure to use real butter—no margarine ever.
And don’t forget that extra ounce of love.
By Pat Buchta
November 15, 2009 2:04 PM | Link to this
Excellent entry as always, Oz! Since Amanda and I have started eating organic, and paying attention to where our food comes from, we’ve felt better and have much more energy. Now I just wish I could learn to cook it!
Hope you are well my friend… we miss you!
By Chef Oz
November 15, 2009 8:36 PM | Link to this
Here’s a big ol’ Hyde Park “Howdy” to you, Pantrick, and yer purdy little wife, too. Glad to know you’re going organic. It’s probably a little easier to do that In Austin than Jerusalem on the Brazos, but I’m hoping more Waco folk will follow your lead. Here in the Valley of the Hudson people in significant numbers are very hip to the whole organic jive. I am fortunate to have such easy access to the good stuff. If more central Texans ask for it and seek it out, more organic stuff will become available. It’s out there once you decide to make the change. Thanks for your comment and Via con mi amigo.