Let's Talk: My Declaration of Independence
After writing so many cookbooks, after leaving the confines of Manhattan for open-pastured New England, and after embracing everything seasonal and organic in the past few years, Bruce and I might as well be card-carrying foodies.
Except I've recently burned my card. It happened when I read this among Michael Pollan’s many food rules: It’s not food if it arrived through your car window.
That did it—even though I’d already looked the other way after reading his article in The New York Times blaming women for the obesity epidemic. Even though I’d bit my tongue when Alice Waters told viewers on 60 Minutes to buy organic grapes rather than a second pair of designer sneakers. Even though I’d chalked up Jonathan Safran Foer’s claims about the complex emotional life of chickens to a hipster misfire.
No, it's the sheer elitism of Pollan’s it’s not food that caused me to torch my foodie card. Not It’s not real food. Nor It’s not the best food for me. Instead, It’s not food.





















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