I love a foodie magazine full of luscious photos as much as any other greedy cook, but slap me with a wet fish if you don't think Woolworths' TASTE mag has gone over the top. I'm not saying it's not utterly brilliant (the mag's photographs, recipes and production are world-class, and it's a beautiful thing to put on a coffee table) but after reading the May issue I began to wonder if I shouldn't stop buying food magazines and revert to my trusty old copy of Huisgenoot's Wenresepte. Food as a metaphor for sex, okay. But the feature on pomegranates (those staples you can buy on every street corner) elicited more than a couple of sniggers and nudge-nudge-wink-winks in my household.
The article's blurb goes: `A dreamer, lost in thought, fascinated by precious stones... It's impossible to not love bright-red pomegranate rubies...' .
This is followed by a lingering shot of split-open pomegranates nestled in the grass, spilling their seeds (literally) on the ferns. It only gets funnier after that. In page after glossy page, we have a milky-complexioned maid (presumably our jewel-loving dreamer) in various poses with pomegranates: dozing post-orgasmically in the undergrowth next to a bowl of unfinished Madras curry; looking demurely away from a half-pomegranate as if teasing with the notion of plunging her lips into its glistening deep-pink depths; sitting cross-legged in the ferns cradling in her lap what looks like a bowl of blood (actually a salad of beetroot, pear, gluhwein and, you guessed it, pomegranate 'rubies'). Add some gorgeous designer clothes, a line or two of Ingrid Jonker poetry (see end of this post), and the odd recipe, and you have in front of you a fine example of what can only be called gastro-p*o*r*n. [Am using asterisks because Amatomu doesn't seem to index posts containing that P-word. ]
CORRECTION: Vincent Maher has pointed out that Amatomu has no such filter. Sorry, Vincent. Click here to see his comment, and mine.
Even more nauseating, we have, on page 44, a piece about Richard Carstens, arguably SA's leading proponent of the molecular gastronomy movement. One of the featured dishes is Takaki of tuna, asparagus, nori, citrus and rocket dots with coconut tofu and (I promise I am not making this up) almond-and-ginger "air". The aforesaid air is a streak of white, foamy, slippery stuff, which looks like... well, I'll leave it there, except to say that cooking is not the same as wanking.
The best snigger of all? An introduction to an article about brinjals has this as its blurb: 'Plump and oval, long and slender, glossy purple or almost black, we celebrate the mysterious brinjal!' I try hard not to be a grammar Nazi, and everyone makes mistakes in syntax, but I'm really glad to see that there's such a diversity of body shapes and sizes among the gals in the Taste editorial offices. Good to see they're putting some affirmative action policies into place too (although 'almost black' might just not cut it when it comes to Woolies doing their BEE submissions.)
* Ingrid Jonker on pomegranates, courtesy of Taste magazine:
When you laugh
Your Laughter is a split-open pomegranate
laugh again
so I can hear how pomegranates laugh.
This was originally posted on my other blog, Salmagundi, and I've moved it here as it's relevant to food.
The article's blurb goes: `A dreamer, lost in thought, fascinated by precious stones... It's impossible to not love bright-red pomegranate rubies...' .
This is followed by a lingering shot of split-open pomegranates nestled in the grass, spilling their seeds (literally) on the ferns. It only gets funnier after that. In page after glossy page, we have a milky-complexioned maid (presumably our jewel-loving dreamer) in various poses with pomegranates: dozing post-orgasmically in the undergrowth next to a bowl of unfinished Madras curry; looking demurely away from a half-pomegranate as if teasing with the notion of plunging her lips into its glistening deep-pink depths; sitting cross-legged in the ferns cradling in her lap what looks like a bowl of blood (actually a salad of beetroot, pear, gluhwein and, you guessed it, pomegranate 'rubies'). Add some gorgeous designer clothes, a line or two of Ingrid Jonker poetry (see end of this post), and the odd recipe, and you have in front of you a fine example of what can only be called gastro-p*o*r*n. [Am using asterisks because Amatomu doesn't seem to index posts containing that P-word. ]
CORRECTION: Vincent Maher has pointed out that Amatomu has no such filter. Sorry, Vincent. Click here to see his comment, and mine.
Even more nauseating, we have, on page 44, a piece about Richard Carstens, arguably SA's leading proponent of the molecular gastronomy movement. One of the featured dishes is Takaki of tuna, asparagus, nori, citrus and rocket dots with coconut tofu and (I promise I am not making this up) almond-and-ginger "air". The aforesaid air is a streak of white, foamy, slippery stuff, which looks like... well, I'll leave it there, except to say that cooking is not the same as wanking.
The best snigger of all? An introduction to an article about brinjals has this as its blurb: 'Plump and oval, long and slender, glossy purple or almost black, we celebrate the mysterious brinjal!' I try hard not to be a grammar Nazi, and everyone makes mistakes in syntax, but I'm really glad to see that there's such a diversity of body shapes and sizes among the gals in the Taste editorial offices. Good to see they're putting some affirmative action policies into place too (although 'almost black' might just not cut it when it comes to Woolies doing their BEE submissions.)
* Ingrid Jonker on pomegranates, courtesy of Taste magazine:
When you laugh
Your Laughter is a split-open pomegranate
laugh again
so I can hear how pomegranates laugh.
This was originally posted on my other blog, Salmagundi, and I've moved it here as it's relevant to food.
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1 comment:
Have to agree with you on Taste - they are innovative, that's for sure, but sometimes their spreads and recipes are just a tad over the top. I never have and never will understand the foam/air craze.
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