Dish after dish of jiggly, shining gelatin molded into rings, braids—even a jellied tuna salad in the shape of a fish. Cherry red with fruit, pistachio green with nuts and marshmallows, a clear lemon yellow studded with vegetables: it was as if we'd stepped backward in time.
The Tall Tale of Zak the Baker
Life and Thyme
Everything I say is not exaggerated, I promise you," Stern said. "We were 2,300 meters up in northern Italy. You could see Mont Blanc. They had a chalet where we stayed, and we lived there on the top of the mountain and watched the animals. We would make the cheese there and store it in caves.
The 5,000-Year Secret History of the Watermelon
A fair question to ask is why the Egyptians began cultivating wild watermelons in the first place. The fruit was hard and unappetizing, tasting either bitter or bland. Yet somebody at some point said, "Hey, let's grow more of these!"
You can buy hard-boiled eggs and honey on a stick. Deep-fried brownies, apple-pie and chocolate-covered cookies 'n cream come on a stick. So does fried peanut butter and jelly and tater dog. For the cholesterol conscious, there is even salad on a stick.
If we know too much about that juicy steak, she says, we might not want to eat it anymore — and that would be tragic, because juicy steaks are delicious. But the problem, van der Weele says, is that we end up with a lot of people who actually do feel uneasy about meat production, but just never do anything about it.
Not that this is news to anybody who has floated around a street food festival recently. Along with the smell of Fairtrade coffee and locally reared pork how often have we sniffed the high tang of grass? In my case, regularly. We are, it seems, living in the age of the wonky moral compass: of middle-class couples who swear by their weekly organic veg box, and yet relax after dinner with a line of something produced by impoverished, subjugated Bolivian peasants.
On the cover of third issue (which came out last week), a chef stands in stark chiaroscuro. One arm outstretches to let fall a flurry of herbs onto a pig's head that stares glumly from a stockpot. A swoosh of blood runs across the background and the title bears two knives. One can almost hear the swoosh of Top Chef's logo bleat out. Perhaps all was not lost.
Kellogg, now of supermarket aisle fame, was a well-known health advocate in his hometown of Battle Creek, Michigan. He initially started experimenting with meat analogues as a way to assist local residents in sticking to their vegetarian diets. Kellogg soon opened the Battle Creek Sanitarium, a health resort which emphasized the value of healthy living based on Adventist principles. While experimenting with different kinds of food, he managed to invent the modern form of cereal basically by accident.
The milkmaid has long been an iconic symbol in Western culture—think Vermeer, think old-school poetry and song. A comely lass in a meadow represents a lot: a rural ideal in an industrial age, the ideal of motherhood. Colleen has embraced this trope—while also flipping it on its head. Her milkmaids are comely, but they're also strong as hell. They project innocence, but also sass. The girls might look cute while they're each lifting eight gallons of milk at a go onto the trucks, they might look sweet while they're leading the cows into the milking barn, but like Colleen, they're as tough as the hooves that might occasionally kick them. In a culture that still devalues the feminine as weak and inferior, creating an environment where wearing a dress is tough turns out to be a surprisingly radical act.