Thursday, February 25, 2010

Words, words, I'm so sick of words--E. Doolittle

Seems all us food bloggists have words on the brain this week.  Better than fixating on how long it will be before we'll see a local strawberry, I suppose.  I went on a rant earlier in the week about cutesie usage; the Chicago Trib takes on mispronunciations, which the Guardian then picks up and runs with, doubtless doing something soccerish footballish in the process.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Food Day Roundup: Olympic Robot Cupcakes

Obligatory Olympics-related food story here. [Vancouver Sun]
Another food/Olympics story, this one featuring an awesomely weird-looking beet dish.[Toronto Globe & Mail]
 The New York Times inexplicably runs a Science Tuesday story on Wednesday. (Do you have a better explanation?)
Oh, dear god, no. Magnolia Bakery opens an outpost at Grand Central Terminal (it's not a station, Cupcakes; it's a terminus).

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Think...Please!



This is not your grandmother's pasta.  
Bored with the usual spaghetti? Think: crunchy!  
Swap out spaghetti for celery sticks.  Substitute garlic with library paste. 

When I saw that the NY Times had caved in on the use of "swap out" in the same issue in which they used "flaunt" instead of "flout," I knew that the world was going to hell in an even faster handbasket than I had thought possible.  "Substitute with" is equally awful.  There's worse, though.

Second-most annoying is  the breathless, silly "Think."  Thirsty?  Think: Water!  Hungry?  Think: Food!  Whoever came up with that should be allowed to read nothing but  Dick and Jane for the rest of her (and I'll bet my last clove of garlic that it's a her, too) life, because that is the intellectual level of this inane phrase.

And, lastly, "This is not your hoary old ancestor's _____."  Yes, everything that came before was bad.  Filled with glass shards.  Dusty.  Raw.  I even learned from a breathlessVictoria Blashford-Snell (yes, everything in Wodehouse is absolutely true), via the Independent, that ten years ago no one had heard of canapes.  I guess I'm going to have to toss my 1940 edition of James' Beard's H'ors d'Oeuvres and Canapes right out the window and into a puddle.
Think:  Ridiculous.

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I'm a ninth-generation Brooklyn native living in Manhattan.