Le grande cuisine

"[Gourmandisme] shows implicit obedience to the commands of the Creator." -- AJ Liebling

I am reading The New Yorker’s Secret Ingredients, and two essays especially piqued my interest.

Some years ago in France, a group of twelve sat down to a 30-course lunch. The feast lasted for about 11 hours, and, when it was finally done, it was already past midnight. The mark of a true gourmand, according to one proud participant, is the ability to eat even when impossibly full. The meal’s cost was equivalent to a brand new Volkswagen. When the abstemious public frowned upon this gluttonous event, the aforementioned participant said something to this effect in their defense, “We had no need for a car so we didn’t buy a car. We were hungry, so we bought lunch.”

In still another essay, a writer illuminates the reader on how to kill a turtle, and properly. Allow me to divulge this much: It involves an extremely sharp hook, the turtle on its back, and green soup. A jolly, innocuous Pong Pagong suddenly crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but cringe in utter despair. Poor dear.

Here’s my quandary with regard to le grande cuisine: While the succulent pastries and asperges bathed in butter could make me salivate till my mouth runs impossibly dry, the meat courses have this uncanny ability to make me suddenly want to either (1) convert to vegetarianism, or (2) go the extra mile and champion an animal rights group.