Up to a point, I am sympathetic to the argument that Mr. Tumblr can decide what people can do on their Tumblr sites. There are, after all, other ways to share your point of view. But what's more disturbing here is a sense of what the Internet is, or ought to be. "Ridding the internet in general of 'mind cancer'"? aka "Supressing objectionable speech across an entire modality of communication?" That sounds un poco facisti, to put it in terms that make it sound nicer than it is. And the internet, now apparently, is where someone has begun "the long process of setting basic standards of decency online," and luckily that person happens to be BFFS with Julia.Thus, this "Hobbesian state of nature," is a state where people who do not approve of Ms. Allison can communicate this sentiment to others.
In Leviathan, Hobbes himself argues that the only way out of this state of nature that Julia so laments is for a common-wealth to have a centralized sovereign power. An agent I know forwarded me a copy of the new book that outlines just how this deal is gonna go down. Enjoy!
Thanks, as always, to Ms. Pascal for the Peerless Prompt Photoshopping.
*I did not read any of these regularly, except for Trainwrecks, and generally think that a) it's a job for folks who got stressed out at their last job, which involved shooting fish in a barrel, and b) I'd like to be able to tell my children when they asked me what I did on the internet, that I could say something besides "I mocked a woman whose entire life is a relentless self-parody."
What is the name of the Italian dish where you make a dumplingish sort of dough, which you then grate into broth? It has resisted the research attempts of my Monday-fried brain. Free CMHAP sticker to the answerer. xo, TGC
A glossary? Really? In the right hands, a useful thing, but chilling to contemplate in the hands of RG, no? It could be Monday H8raide, but TGC is no stranger to book deals, so let's hope not. Any guesses on content?
Ew, but it was funnier when Spy did the same thing back in the day. Having spent a fair amount of time messing around with the Pure Food and Drug Act, it seems like a qualifier in there would be appropriate. And while I think of it, who did the dried bean people have to fuck to be able to get away with bagging up bits of gravel with your beans, and putting the onus on you to "sort" them. Thrips or no thrips, most other food packaging endeavors seem able to keep stones out of the food they sell you.
The RG goes ape over a spot* that sounds as if it was conceived with 11th graders from Choate in the city for the day as its core constituency:
There's no kitchen at Desnuda, a new cevicheria on Seventh St. in the East Village. There's a popcorn popper, a microwave, a dinky sushi fridge, and a toaster oven. So how does Christian Zammas, the chef, manages to smoke raw oysters
every night? In a gravity bong, of course. Zammas made his bong from
scratch, using a Sprite bottle and a glass bowl he bought on St. Marks
Place.He packs the glass bowl with Lapsang souchong tea leaves and Sichuan peppercorns, lights it on fire, then catches the smoke in a shot glass and places it over a raw oyster.
Cooking with a bong? Radical! It's like Poochie opened a cooking school.
He does it right on the bar. Now for the audience participation
part. You lift the shot glass, inhale the intoxicating, pine-like
perfume, then raise the oyster to your mouth and let it slip down your
Call me a fussbudget, but I can imagine subtracting the sichuan
peppercorns, the lapsan souchong tea leaves, the empty bottle of
Sprite, and the gravity bong from St. Mark's place, and just, you know,
eat the oyster. But:
Dinner at Desnuda isn't just dinner.
It's edible, interactive performance art. It's just a sliver of a
space, but it's completely stylish, far more stylish than its chef.
Zammas' thick, black-rimmed glasses are held together by Scotch tape.
So is the rest of his appearance. But you won't mind.He's a student of guerrilla molecular gastronomy, or as he puts it,
ghetto molecular gastronomy. In other words, he's a low-budget,
culinary mad scientist.
It had not occured to me that there could be a pair of terms that could make molecular gastronomy more irritating. But these are the two. For "Guerilla molecular gastronomy," see illustration at right "Ghetto," as a term of disapprobation/faux valorization, I hear more than I would like, by virtue of being around the utes a good deal. "Dude, my phone is so ghetto, it does not even have a QUERTY keyoard..." etc. By and large, it refers to items beyond the scope of inhabitants of either the Warsaw or New York kind of ghetto. Like, for instance, ceviche is a food they don't eat much of in the ghetto:
For a dish called ceviche mixto, he mixes salmon, scallops and tuna
with cinnamon, lemon, lime, shallots, Sprite, and rocoto paste, made
from a South American pepper.
Sprite? "I was drinking a Sprite when I came up with the dish," he
says. Think of it as East Village Champagne. It tastes far more
sophisticated than it sounds. All of this is happening on the fly.
After all, letting fish oversit in ceviche is the equivalent of
overcooking. This is cooking one customer at a time, one dish at a
East Village Champagne? Does the RG have an editor? A clue? Guess not. The dish itself sounds like something your stoner cousin might whip up after a semester in Argentina. You have to wonder if Zammas has ever had what he considered a bad idea.
Zammas is not alone behind the bar. It's a two-man show. In some
sense, Zammas came out of nowhere, from restaurants you've never heard
of. Co-owner Peter Gevrekis comes from Wall Street, where he used to be a broker.
Gee, RG, try us, considering that this place was sort of off the radar before you dropped three stars on it.
Now, he shucks oysters and tends bar at Desnuda. Here's how it
works. You walk in, take one of the 18 seats in this restaurant; there
isn't a menu. The two men behind the bar explain their offerings for
the night.There's two kinds of oysters with four different sauces, nine kinds
of ceviche, free truffle popcorn, and a few other things. Then they go
to work right in front of you.I ordered the apple and fig mixto. It requires pomegranate molasses,
which they're out of. So Zammas darts across the street to the
Bourgeois Pig to get some. A few minutes pass. And he sets in front of
me a ceviche with salmon, scallops, cilantro chiffonade, green apple,
green pepper, brown turkey figs, cherry tomatoes, and a hit of mustard
oil. It's an amazing riot of textures and flavors, and yet perfectly
balanced. This is how food should be, prepared right in front of you
with fresh ingredients and tons of imagination.
Sounds terrific, if you happen to have the foresight to take some pharmaceutical grade Ecstasy before you go out. Otherwise, it sounds like trying to eat the set of Laugh-in.
Dinner at Desnuda is completely unpredictable, in the best way. Oh,
I left something out of the kitchen inventory, a blowtorch. Order the
tuna dessert — yes, tuna — and Zammas will whip out his blowtorch. He
brulees ruby red slabs of tuna sashimi, then dusts them with salt and a
sour orange zest. The finishing touch is a soy mirin glaze. If there's
mackerel in the house, order it.
Unpredictable, yes, what with the running out of pomegranate molasses and all, but also, evidently unpredictable in in the sense of an incoherent review of an entirely unappetizing restaurant appearing with 3/5 stars in a major metropolitan daily.