Saturday, April 12, 2008

*it's 1954.

and I didn't get the memo.

From an admittedly whiny story by food critic Alan Richman—in Bon Appetit—in which he laments ... being a food critic:

"When I tell [small boys under the age of 12] I eat for a living, they look at me as though I were Superman. Small girls of the same age aren't impressed. They tend to be more interested in boys than in food at that age, not realizing that if they showed more interest in food, boys would show more interest in them."


Sigh. Hillary never had a chance.


at: 11:36 PM said...

Hmm. Even now, no longer a young boy, I would not want to be a food critic. Both then and now, I would be worried that I would be expected to taste "yucky" things. I raised my daughter with the absolute right to reject any food that she suspected of "yukiness". However, as a youngster, I would have jumped at the chance to review movies, music or go-kart tracks. I suppose youth of today would add video games to that list while I would nowadays opt for casinos. At least Las Vegas combines your interests and mine with high profile restaurants popping up at every casino. (Insert joke about the various "unsavory" aspects of Vegas here)

K. says:
at: 12:25 AM said...

it's a date: you win the money, and i'll spend it on food. look out, city of sin.



my foodgawker gallery



I am a work in progress. I perpetually need a hair cut. I'm totally devoted to my remarkable nieces and nephew. I am an elementary home cook and a magazine worker bee. (Please criticize my syntax and spelling in the comments.) I think my dog is hilarious. I like chicken and spicy things. I have difficulty being a grown-up. Left to my own devices, I will eat enormous amounts of cheese snacks of all kinds.