The farmers in Fukushima prefecture are cooked, food prices are skyrocketing, Mark Bittman has found GOD, and Asian restaurants are hitting their stride in Boston. Makes me think: “Car 54, where are you?”
How’s a person–let us not be gender specific, ever–supposed to sort it out, weight the values, and sum up? How do we make sense of the world?
In Fukushima, according to today’s NYT, farmers are going to have to destroy all their crops and pour away all their milk. The stuff may glow in the dark for all I know. Anyhow, generations of hard-working, spirited farmers are watching their livelihoods destroyed. It’s tragic and heartbreaking. What will they do next? Join the ex-dairy farmers of Northeast Kingdom? You tell me, Kitty, as Anne Frank used to write.
While the farmers reel, the food industries are shrinking packages and charging the same as before. Makes me think of watered down drinks or fleeting kisses. You know it’s only gonna get worse. Don’t need Kitty to tell me that. Look, they have the goods, we buy them. Um, hello? Doesn’t the buyer set the price? Boycott chips! Boycott salsa! Grow your own. Just sayin’.
In today’s OP-ED, Mark Bittman tells us of his fast to find faith or something. I don’t know. This should have been called, “Skim this Column.” I mean, honestly, I love the guy’s recipes, but as far as his ability to offer advice goes, I’d rather ask my neighbor. He stays the minimalist.
And meanwhile: Asia in Boston. O-Mi-God, as they say in Japan. Went to Bon Chon, a Korean restaurant that is part of a chain in South Korea. This is the first US outpost. Yesterday, lunch. Bull Dak, a spicy chicken dish that feeds two easily, at $17.95 has heat and umami. You eat it, you feel good. You feel better in minutes as the heat creeps up on you. About an hour later, your mouth stings pleasantly. It’s like a hot kiss.