Posts Tagged ‘lessons’
“I’ve run more risk eating my way across the country than in all my driving”*…
On the occasion of his retirement from his weekly column, a dean of British culinary criticism, Jay Rayner (the Observer‘s/Guardian‘s Happy Eater), observes that, while much has changed in the food world, there are a few truths that still hold…
I have been writing this column for 15 years. That means there have been 180 of them, filled with wisdom, insight, whimsy, prejudice, contradiction and sometimes just outrageous stupidity, all of it interrogating the way we cook and eat now. As this is my last of these columns I thought, as a service, I should summarise the key points. Are you ready? Good. Let’s go.
Individual foods are not pharmaceuticals; just eat a balanced diet. There is nothing you can eat or drink that will detoxify you; that’s what your liver and kidneys are for. No healthy person needs to wear a glucose spike monitor; it’s a fad indulged by the worried well. As is the cobblers of being interested in “wellness”, because nobody is interested in “illness”. People have morals but food doesn’t, so don’t describe dishes as “dirty”. And stop it with the whole “clean eating” thing. It’s annoying and vacuous.
Fat is where the flavour is and salt is the difference between eating in black and white and eating in Technicolor, even if your cardiologist would disagree. Brown foods and messy foods are the best foods, and picnics are a nightmare. Buffets are where good taste goes to die. Most dishes can be improved with the addition of bacon. The kitchen knives in holiday rentals are always terrible; take your own. Hyper-expensive foods are never about deliciousness; they are about status. Don’t bother with them. Bechamel sauce is easy to make; just follow the damn recipe.
Often, good food takes a while to cook and sometimes it requires skill; all those cookbooks with words like “simple” and “express” in the title may not be your friend. If we’re going to slaughter animals for our dinner, we have a responsibility to eat as much of that animal as we can, including the inner wobbly bits. Some of the best foods carry with them the faint whiff of death. Making chutney at home from your allotment glut is a lovely hobby, but you really don’t have to share what you’ve made with your neighbours.
Tipping should be abolished. It’s wrong that restaurant staff should be dependent on the mood of the customer for the size of their wage. They should be paid properly. It works in Japan, France and Australia. It can work in the UK. All new restaurants should employ someone over 50 to check whether the print on the menu is big enough to be read, the lighting bright enough for it to be read by and the seats comfortable enough for a lengthy meal. If a waiter has to explain the “concept” behind a menu there is something wrong with the menu.
By all means serve small sharing plates, but make sure the table is big enough for all the dishes that are going to arrive, and they come out in an order that makes sense. The kind of wines that natural-wine fans adore smell of uncleaned pig’s bottom and are horrible. Waiters should always write down orders. Eating alone in a restaurant is dinner with someone you love and a delicious opportunity for people watching. Great food can be found in the scuzziest of places. Gravy stains down your shirt are not a source of embarrassment; they are a badge of honour. Expensive restaurants are wasted on the people who can afford them. And food should always, always, be served on plates. Not on slates. Not on garden trowels. Not on planks. On plates…
Words to eat by: “This is my final OFM column. Here’s what I’ve learned about buffets, ‘clean eating,’ and what not to serve food on” from @jayrayner1.bsky.social in @theguardian.com.
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As we dine out, we might recall that it was on this date in 1989 that Jack Dietz (son of “Watermelon King” Bob Dietz) set the still-standing world’s record for watermelon seed spitting– 66 feet 11 inches. Contests are held throughout the U.S. each year in an attempt to best Jack.
A young competitor (source)
“Is it not always the way of the people to put forward one man as its special champion and protector and cherish and magnify him?”*…
Matt Gatton on the clash of two Athenians, Alcibiades and Callias, half-brothers and students of Socrates, one of whom flirted with becoming the ancient city-state’s tyrant after leading a successful passage past Athens’ enemy Sparta…
… The road to Eleusis is open, and Alcibiades is a hero. The army is exalted in spirit and feels itself invincible under his command. The people are so captivated by his leadership that they are filled with an amazing passion for him to be their tyrant. (A tyrant is, of course, a person with sole political power, which, when matched with his sole military power as autocrat, would make Alcibiades more like a king than a general.)…
What Alcibiades thinks about the idea of being named tyrant is unknown, but it frightens many of Athens’s most influential citizens. Perhaps Callias most of all: imagine the sort of dread that would be triggered by the thought of a psychopath being given the power of a tyrant, particularly since this would-be tyrant has already profaned your religion, stolen your money, punched your father, possibly murdered your sister, and certainly plotted your own assassination. Anyone, but especially Callias, must have grave concerns about what Alcibiades would do with unchecked power. Callias had grown up with Alcibiades, they were “half” brother after all, and he knew him better than anyone else, knew his nature and his malevolence.
There is no word on Socrates’s feelings about the chatter of Alcibiades being named tyrant, but Socrates’s perspective on tyrants in general is well recorded by Plato. To Socrates, the flaw of democracy is its vulnerability to tyrants. The populace—the mob, as he calls them—are gullible and can easily fall under the spell of a charismatic leader. Alcibiades certainly fits the bill. In Socrates’s estimation, the tyrant first appears as a protector. The people have something they fear, either inside or outside of the state, either real or imagined, from which the tyrant claims he can guard them. He will make them the “victors.” The people flock to him of their own accord, for he pays them in lies, lies they want to hear, lies they want to believe. They are “superior”; they are “true patriots.” His favorite tools are false accusations and unleashing his mob against the “threat.” In time, the tyrant erases any and all opposition, “with unholy tongue and lips tasting the blood of his fellow citizens.” He and his supporters are empowered by the purge, “and the more detestable his actions . . . the greater devotion he requires from his followers.” These words are as true in the modern world as they were in ancient Athens.
Many countries today still struggle with this structural defect of democracy: the majority of the populace in a democracy may elect a tyrant, who will invariably disassemble the democracy that elected him—a democracy can make a tyrant, but a tyrant can unmake a democracy. The weak portion of the populace yearns to be strong, so they attach themselves to a strong man; such is the allure of the bully, the appeal of the despot, the attraction of the tyrant. Ancient Athens is where democracy first began and first fell, and so can teach us lessons that are, unfortunately, still applicable…
A lesson from the past: “The Bloody Rivalry That Led to the Fall of Democracy in Athens,” in @CrimeReads. Excerpted from Gatton’s recent book, The Shadows of Socrates: The Heresy War, and Treachery Behind the Trial of Socrates.
* Socrates, in Plato’s Republic
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As we avoid autocracy, we might recall that it was on this date in 197 that Emperor Septimius Severus defeated usurper Septimius Severus in the Battle of Lugdunum, the bloodiest battle between Roman armies– 150,000 Roman soldiers engaged for both sides.
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