The Year of Eating Dangerously
This morning Tom Parker-Bowles (Camilla's son) was on Good Morning American pushing his book "The Year of Eating Dangerously"
GMA has a little of the book online and it is a wonderful read. Bowles is the ultimate Chowhound ... he writes
"As much as I respect the Kellers, Towers, and Trotters, my love is of the regional: the clambakes, boudin stalls, crawfish boils, breakfast burritos, and frozen custard. Give me a napkin and a pile of boiled blue crab over silver cutlery and three Michelin stars any day. A good oyster Po' boy is a thing of true beauty ... Give me Goode's smoked link and brisket over a whole river's worth of foams and reductions. And that philosophy, I hope, permeates the book."
He explores how the world cuisines hold up to the 'pap' of mass-produced, souless food.
I wish I could quote more but on the fourth page of this link he names the most dangerous food in American ... the cellophane wrapped sandwiches found in gas station quick-stops the symbol of unthinking and unloving mass-produced drek ... his description is so much better obviously, but that's the gist.
Parker-Bowles enthusiasm for all food that is the opposite of that ... food that celebrates the sheer joy of deliciousness ... makes me want to stalk him next time he's in the SF Bay Area and drag him off to all the delicousness my neck of the woods has to offer. Here's a little courtesy of Good Morning America
I bought a copy on Amazon and it is very good.
Extremely funny scenes eating hot sauce with his mate at the Fiery Food Festival.
Missed the whole point of the the "cellophane wrapped sandwiches found in gas station quick-stops"! Those gas stations also have available a wide range of gas station condiments. That sandwich is just a blank canvass awaiting the consumer's gastronomic and artistic use of all that relish, mustard, ketchup, hot sauce, jalapenos, BBQ sauce, onion, and even sauerkruat at times!! Tom P- hyphen-B has shown himself to be the Nigel-esque upper class git that he is.
re: Sam Fujisaka
"those anonymous service station sandwiches that clog up the chilla cabinet like ghostly moans. That flap of lurid cheese, the over-sweetened bread, and the slimy, processed ham from God knows where ... in a whole year of eating dangerously, in a country blessed with a truly glorious regional and modern cuisine, this symbol to the cheap, the mass-produced, joyless, mediocre, and unthinking"
Read that whole first chapter and see if you come to the same conclusion.
Even though I suspect your statement is a little tongue in cheek, here's a little test ... let's see if anyone uses those sandwiches as a canvas ...