Today, I have an example of...to put it kindly...not good food writing:
When stewed in a cauldron, the big, tough-looking leaf becomes wonderful and delicious, tender and emotional. [referring to collard greens]
This appeared in my latest issue of Saveur in the article "Green Goddess."
I don't want to be mean. I don't. But this sort of writing brings out the mean in me. I love Saveur and I certainly won't cancel my subscription over this (because the photography alone is worth the price of admission, for me). But this writing is so affected and overwrought. "Emotional" collard greens?! No. Just...no. "Wonderful and delicious"?! No. It's one thing for an inexperienced blogger such as myself, but you're Saveur. For goodness sake.
On the upside, "emotional" has become a catch-phrase in our house. Adam and I enjoyed a late-night snack of burrata on toast this weekend and we absolutely declared it to be tender and emotional. It really was so good - with some lemon zest, flake salt, and fresh pepper - that I wanted to cry.
Eat, drink, and emote.
Note: Another upside is that the Collard Greens, Cornmeal, and Sausage Soup looks really amazing.
Signing up to follow you - KierstenWhite said something about books but, the blog took that right off my mind with that soup (thick polenta). I am worried tho' if the collards get emotional do they weep as you eat them, fight back or berate you?Fangs, Wands and Fairy Dust
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