Fruit of thought:
The Edible Book Fest is tomorrow! It’s slated to take place in a number of locations around the world but most immediately (considering time zone differences), locally in the Alvar Library Garden (913 Alvar Street). Expect a lot of bizarre literary puns involving food, that after judgement, get to be gorged heavily upon like what? Infinite Jest, perhaps. Learn more from the fine folks at SIFT, here.
Thought on fruit:
This whole edible book deal drew this to memory; a few years back I became weirdly obsessed with writings in which a single concept was taken and then dashed to bits at its furthest extreme. I can’t remember how the obsession originated. Maybe it was wordplay in some poem I’d read at the time, or perhaps an insane analytical Zizek rant I’d listened to (I was going through a phase). In any case, I discovered at some point that while a lot of this “type” of writing exists in all fields from politics to sports, my primary satisfaction was found only in the deepest fathoms of minutia, and food writing seemed to reach those depths effortlessly. Whether it was a Ruth Reichl memoir or some speculative meditation of Calvin Trillin on all possible angles of the bagle, I could not pull my eyes from this stuff. I began with a collection of food writing from The New Yorker and went from there, it being not long before I started to really think hard about what I was looking for. What was I reading about when I was reading about food? As it turned out, just about everything. These literary meals were, in fact, all consuming.
As ubiquitous and necessary to the human experience as the weather or the toilet, food became infinity to me. I read bestselling classics penned by the likes of Alice B. Toklas (Gertrude Stein’s lover), unearthed obscure metaphysical dealings Murakami has had with spaghetti, and breathless Proust ramblings on that smell it makes when you pee after eating asparagus. Food has mass beyond what it takes to fill your gut and it’s weird. Religion, war, fashion, class, love, science, politics, and all things make up each plate… I learned way too much about milk. God, ask me about THAT sometime.
Fruit, and other goods, for you:
In any case, before I get all starry eyed and and lay upon you my ideas of gastrointestinal spiritual discovery, I’ll stop myself short and just say this: Our cookbook section is good. We residents of Louisiana are privy to unique, sought after regional cuisine. Furthermore, the access to ingredients and guidebooks on how to implicate them, creating dishes impossible to duplicate in other parts of the world. Obviously crawfish boils that happen here do not happen with the same je ne sais quoi in California, Canada, Russia, etc. But that’s important. It brings us together. Speaking of which, it’s going to get real hot here real soon, and it is never too soon to start preparing for that. May I suggest this, or perhaps, this.
Did I just sound totally crazy? Oh well. Hope to see you Saturday!
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