Now that Thanksgivening is just a stale turkey sandwich away from refluxive memory, and the wild capitalist Carnival of Objective Self-Indulgence known as ¢hri$nukkanzaa looms large upon the anticipated online billing screen, I turn to the people with whom I most like to share the holidays: The contracted wisks and egos who smile back at me from The Food Network.
The Once and Future Bumble: Mario Batali
- Make sure there's something you can't pronounce and be certain to use it in everything you cook. (Ingrid called "Worcestershire sauce," so maybe you can have "mascarpone.")
- When you use something that you can pronounce, give it a cute abridgement or abbreviation. (But remember: you will be fined and possibly fired if you say "E.V.O.O." Little §%&#! is rolling that big a set.)
- But don't abbreviate the thing you can't pronounce. That defeats the purpose.
- Make sure you get at least one shot at an exotic overnight food travel show. There must be a shot of you to use in random promos that shows you in a loose man's shirt, tight halter or sporty lingerie while sucking something out of a shell or large botanically-improbable straw.
- If they don't give you the travel show, just pour some booze into something unlikely like cilantro/vegetable stock or thinly-sliced pancetta and call it a "chat-starter" or "whistle-wettener" or "panty-dropper." Go ahead. We're heading that way anyhow.