Blogspot, chef and guru my ass.
I once watched a documentary about the human brain that couldn’t stress enough the mind’s limitless control over language. The word ‘limitless’, as used here, might range from a stretch to a lie depending on whose State of the Union speech you’re watching; but today, in the comfort of my own living room, I witnessed the precision of language firsthand.
Last night, Allison brought over a copy of Raw: The Uncook Book, which Justin, Annie and I read during lunch. Although complaints against West Coast demento-cuisine been lodged many times many ways, and in all cases the core concept being ‘I'd rather just eat a potato chip’, we managed to recombine expressions of outrage in wholly novel ways. Thanks a lot, human brain!
Written by a dude with a penchant for tank tops named Juliano, the book is “DEDICATED TO THE PLANET.” After a brief autobiography in which the author describes his awakening (“…in Palm Springs I began to understand that everything following nature’s natural order lives in harmony with the planet and in complete health) and touts his credentials (“My mentor was not some fancy cooking school, but the earth itself”), the book goes on to display strangely disturbing photos of him caught mid-leap like an impala foal or rising from the ocean foam like Venus--but this Venus is creepy.
If nothing else, this cookbook is a paragon of audacity. By page 13, it demands that your kitchen be stocked with:
1 bottle of extra virgin olive oil, 1 jar ground cumin, 1 jar ground curry, 1 jar ground cinnamon, 1 bottle Nama Shoyu, 1 bag Celtic sea salt, 2 pounds raw kamut, spelt or wheat berries, 2 pounds raw buckwheat, 2 pounds raw chickpeas, 3 onions, 5 heads fresh garlic, ¼ pound fresh ginger, 4 jalapeno chilis, 7 lemons, 10 oranges, ½ pound pistachios, 1 package golden miso, 1 bottle raw honey, 1 jar tahini, ½ pound raw walnuts, ½ pound raw sunflower seeds, 1 bottle marinated sun-dried tomatoes, 5 to 20 Nori sheets, 2 bunches cilantro, 1 bunch parsley, 1 head of red leaf or romaine lettuce, 2 bunches basil, ¼ pound mushrooms, 3 pounds tomatoes, 3 ripe avocados, 5 non-ripe avocados
1 bottle black miso, ½ pound dates, 1 pound raw carob
After being asked how Allison could possibly sustain such work-intensive gastronomical punishment for any length of time, Justin’s response: “She’s probably doing this short-term to cleanse herself” prompted my own response of “Why doesn’t she just fast?”
For those of you who have never shared spiritual communion with me: The idea of not eating anything but strained broth for two weeks was previously unfathomable. The fact that “Why doesn’t she just fast?” rolled off my tongue with all the ease of “Oh sweet, the milkshakes are ready” suggests nothing short of a paradigm shift, the idea of spending upwards of 13 hours preparing raw toast forcing me into a perverse alliance with Hunger itself.
Hence, I will not be preparing the 30-ingredient ‘Raw Stir-Fry.’
Reading this post, I feel like I just channelled a lot of Justin Sowa style rage. Such frightful power! It takes me back to my freshman days, when this entry would have been about my defeat in MarioKart.
I once watched a documentary about the human brain that couldn’t stress enough the mind’s limitless control over language. The word ‘limitless’, as used here, might range from a stretch to a lie depending on whose State of the Union speech you’re watching; but today, in the comfort of my own living room, I witnessed the precision of language firsthand.
Last night, Allison brought over a copy of Raw: The Uncook Book, which Justin, Annie and I read during lunch. Although complaints against West Coast demento-cuisine been lodged many times many ways, and in all cases the core concept being ‘I'd rather just eat a potato chip’, we managed to recombine expressions of outrage in wholly novel ways. Thanks a lot, human brain!
Written by a dude with a penchant for tank tops named Juliano, the book is “DEDICATED TO THE PLANET.” After a brief autobiography in which the author describes his awakening (“…in Palm Springs I began to understand that everything following nature’s natural order lives in harmony with the planet and in complete health) and touts his credentials (“My mentor was not some fancy cooking school, but the earth itself”), the book goes on to display strangely disturbing photos of him caught mid-leap like an impala foal or rising from the ocean foam like Venus--but this Venus is creepy.
If nothing else, this cookbook is a paragon of audacity. By page 13, it demands that your kitchen be stocked with:
1 bottle of extra virgin olive oil, 1 jar ground cumin, 1 jar ground curry, 1 jar ground cinnamon, 1 bottle Nama Shoyu, 1 bag Celtic sea salt, 2 pounds raw kamut, spelt or wheat berries, 2 pounds raw buckwheat, 2 pounds raw chickpeas, 3 onions, 5 heads fresh garlic, ¼ pound fresh ginger, 4 jalapeno chilis, 7 lemons, 10 oranges, ½ pound pistachios, 1 package golden miso, 1 bottle raw honey, 1 jar tahini, ½ pound raw walnuts, ½ pound raw sunflower seeds, 1 bottle marinated sun-dried tomatoes, 5 to 20 Nori sheets, 2 bunches cilantro, 1 bunch parsley, 1 head of red leaf or romaine lettuce, 2 bunches basil, ¼ pound mushrooms, 3 pounds tomatoes, 3 ripe avocados, 5 non-ripe avocados
1 bottle black miso, ½ pound dates, 1 pound raw carob
After being asked how Allison could possibly sustain such work-intensive gastronomical punishment for any length of time, Justin’s response: “She’s probably doing this short-term to cleanse herself” prompted my own response of “Why doesn’t she just fast?”
For those of you who have never shared spiritual communion with me: The idea of not eating anything but strained broth for two weeks was previously unfathomable. The fact that “Why doesn’t she just fast?” rolled off my tongue with all the ease of “Oh sweet, the milkshakes are ready” suggests nothing short of a paradigm shift, the idea of spending upwards of 13 hours preparing raw toast forcing me into a perverse alliance with Hunger itself.
Hence, I will not be preparing the 30-ingredient ‘Raw Stir-Fry.’
Reading this post, I feel like I just channelled a lot of Justin Sowa style rage. Such frightful power! It takes me back to my freshman days, when this entry would have been about my defeat in MarioKart.
- From the Crotch: A Papercut
This was inspired by a picture of Grace Jones in concert. Photo by Sarah Lim.
posted by Byron at 10:27 PM
1 Comments:
the best valentine i've ever received.
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