Food Porn Vs The Disappearing Man?

A dull day all in all - I actually wussed out of the bike last night, and, in an unheard-of move, I also wussed out of walking tonight. In the first place, I was simply knackered, and in the second, I was having a Camille moment. For most of the day, I've had what I'm now glad to report was simply colossal, Prince Regent-style wind. However, far from simply rumbling round my lower intestines, this particular affliction left me with a pain in the centre of my chest, and a corresponding pain in my upper chest. Now, while, most of the time, I try to be as down-to-Earth as possible, I fall into a positively Dickensian grotesque when it comes to weird, inexplicable pain. So, faced with the pain and the difficulty in breathing and the prospect of walking across Hyde Park, yes, Goddammit, I wussed out and took a bus. Shoot me, why don'tcha? As it happens, I'm determined to get my ass on the bike tonight, as soon as I'm done writing this, so I'm hoping the rot hasn't set in permanently so early into this experiment.

A friend of mine raised an interesting point today though. In fact, it's a point that Mae raised during the Flatleython last Sunday, but today, it was put to me in a way that made me laugh.
"So," said my pal Crystal, "your wife's a food pornographer of the highest order...and you're trying to be a disappearing man. Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

It's a reasonable question, I suppose, but it's a misunderstanding of the way d and I work. Certainly though, Crystal's appraisal of my wife is spot on. d loves food, not really so much as a consumer, but as a creator. It's a fascination for her in terms of what it can do, what it means to people, certainly how it tastes, and what it represents - she's said to me often that if you understand a culture's food, you can understand any culture. And she's taken me on a beautiful, rich, colourful journey into cultures of which I had no inkling, all through their food, their cooking, their culinary traditions and recipes. To some extent, I think, d sees food as love, as community, as a common denominator between all human beings throughout time and space, and I think in that she's right.

What's more, she has a gift. Actually, she has hundreds of gifts, but the one people notice who hear her talk about food is her skill with food porn - or more accurately, food erotica. To hear my girl describe the making of a cheesecake, or a pork dish, or her traditional family pizza, is to sit mesmerised as she spins a sensory web around your mind and your taste-buds, and to feel your jaw slowly drop open and your mouth fill with drool, as you see the thing come together in her words. She can whisper chocolate masterpieces into being in front of you, or make you dribble down your chest as she describes the seasoning of pies or stews. I've seen it happen time and time again, and Crystal herself can attest to the power - the very first time the two of them met, I saw Crystal's eyes glaze over and she had to excuse herself for a minute to break the spell.

Did I mention, my girl has a gift?

So how does that fit with my quest to become much much less of a man?
Well of course, firstly, we're not one dimensional archetypes - yes we have bookcases full of cookbooks, but that's not all d's about, any more than the bookcases of science fiction novels mean I'm just an anorak-wearing geek. d knows that this is important to me, and supports me whole-heartedly. I know that as surely as I know that contuning to breathe is a good idea. And likewise, I support her in her love and her interest. I'm still enjoying the journey, from Julia Child to Nigel Slater, to Top Chef and MasterChef and Hell's Kitchen and Cake Boss and, our latest find, the delight that is ChockyWockyDoodah. Yes, I whinge and bitch when I see the glorious desserts on screen, but that's pure envy, plain and simple, and normally, d will hand me her dessert for a good hearty sniff, and then I'll shut up, because she knows what I need, and she loves me enough to support me in my time of trial.

Also, quite apart from the fact of our three-dimensionalism, and if you want to get down to brass tacks, both d and I know that what this is is a way of getting me free. If I succeed in this, there's little reason why I won't be able to enjoy the whole range of tastes and flavours and sensations in this world. If I fail, and have to go the surgical route, I'll be forever condemned to having just a handful of bites of things. That's a worse fate than this year of whining and bitching and self-denial.

Besides - surely the time you need food porn most is when your genuine food options are more restricted than they've been in the past?

Sermon over, folks, move along now. As for me...I'm going back to the bike...