Blank Doll eats.

This ought to be shown more care, thought and finesse but after jogging and the perspiration trailing down my forehead, I can't really summon the strength to do so.

What I meant to do was ponder about cooking. Is it not funny that cuisine, one of the great arts of living, is so laced with death? Each act of cooking, the spatchcocking of quails, the bludgeoning of a squid, the consumption of caviar on blinis, the very act of baking, is an act of death. I think the Greeks understood this for they celebrated the mysteries of Bacchus, the God of Viticulture, with the smashing of the harvest underfoot. The body of the God is crushed and in the process, the metamorphosis of grapes to wine is complete. (Childish rant: Transubstantion isn't a Christian novelty, so there, HAHA) The yeast in the making of both bread and wine, not for nothing is wine also called eau de vie, dies. Not even a sacrifice since it is Man who has manipulated the life of the yeast in his transformation of grain and vine.

I believe it is that faint taint of death that makes cuisine such a delight. Animals eat to surivive and in that process, life is perpetuated by death. It is as if Man seeks to forget that this is the atavism behind the joie de vivre that informs cuisine. The appreciation of food I think is at once the celebration of life, that exultant triumph of the predator, and also a display of defiance in the face of death.

There is another thread to it. Behind each bright spark of civilisation is the drawn out shadow that points to the provenance of Man. Civilized Man, how could he with his Magna Carta, his habeas corpus, his reverence of life, his worship of a living deity, endure the contradiction inherent in the act of consumption? How could he peer into the candlelight on the table and not see the smoky fires of a primeval era where in the first ages, Man partook of life in the vilest of fashion, where Man sometimes lived by the death of his brother?

Oh, and I managed the flip! I managed to flip my omelette (how do you spell that? I can never spell it, maybe I should just call it oeufs sur le plat)and then fill it with cheese. Perfect breakfast.

C'est tout.