One down, one to go
I've been performing this new poem lately called, "Fuck You, Mitt Romney and Rachael Ray At the Same Time." Performed it last night, actually. And now, apparently, I have to entirely change the title.
Now, if only Rachael Ray would get booted from the Food Network, I could happily retire that piece.
Yes, ratpackslim, I'm aware of your little perversion. And I know Rachael Ray has more defenders than not, like she's some sort of feminist hero for inventing 30-minute meals for the hurried mom. In my book, that makes her about as much of a feminist icon as Betty Crocker. I think she's the Britney Spears of the food world: manufactured, glossed up and stuffed down the public's throat by her corporate masters. You want to promote feminism in the kitchen? Get the man to cook. And do the dishes, at least occasionally. Or at least teach couples and families to cook slow food, the kind that brings people together for conversation, the kind of food that inspires love. When couples eat good food, together, that makes them linger with each other rather than running off to their own soccer practices or band rehearsals, the dinner table becomes a space to understand and appreciate one another, and that breeds equality. I like food that's easy to make, but too many shortcuts in the cooking will inspire shortcuts in the eating, and dinner shouldn't look like a breakroom lunch with co-workers, everybody eating easy food from the vending machine or the microwave. I like slow food. I like hard food. And occasionally, it's even good to make food so hard you can have a fight and make up in the course of making it. That's love food.
And for the record, as far as hotness, I'll take Nigella Lawson any day.
Now, if only Rachael Ray would get booted from the Food Network, I could happily retire that piece.
Yes, ratpackslim, I'm aware of your little perversion. And I know Rachael Ray has more defenders than not, like she's some sort of feminist hero for inventing 30-minute meals for the hurried mom. In my book, that makes her about as much of a feminist icon as Betty Crocker. I think she's the Britney Spears of the food world: manufactured, glossed up and stuffed down the public's throat by her corporate masters. You want to promote feminism in the kitchen? Get the man to cook. And do the dishes, at least occasionally. Or at least teach couples and families to cook slow food, the kind that brings people together for conversation, the kind of food that inspires love. When couples eat good food, together, that makes them linger with each other rather than running off to their own soccer practices or band rehearsals, the dinner table becomes a space to understand and appreciate one another, and that breeds equality. I like food that's easy to make, but too many shortcuts in the cooking will inspire shortcuts in the eating, and dinner shouldn't look like a breakroom lunch with co-workers, everybody eating easy food from the vending machine or the microwave. I like slow food. I like hard food. And occasionally, it's even good to make food so hard you can have a fight and make up in the course of making it. That's love food.
And for the record, as far as hotness, I'll take Nigella Lawson any day.