So I'm reading my Atlantic Monthly today, a piece about the essential immorality of gourmets - a position I have a certain amount of sympathy with. So imagine my surprise to find my book quoted - extensively! B.R. Myers takes issue with my account of lobster killing; the passages apparently indicate that I am hostile "to the very language of moral values."
Finally, someone gets me!
Seriously, though, I actually do feel like his point is fairly dubious. He seems to think that I'm all about mocking people's sensitivity to the lobster killing, but that isn't the case at all. On the contrary, my lobster chapter was all about the real hesitancy I had to boil the lobster, which I was doing at Julia's explicity behest. Yes, I make with the funny. But I laugh at all manner of offensive shit - the lobsters are just getting the same treatment I give everybody else. Better, even; can you imagine the heights of crassness I'd have reached if I'd been writing about boiling Karl Rove?
All this to day, thank you, Mr. Myers. You hate me, you really really hate me, and that is sort of awesome.