A budding New York food blogger alliance?

New York, Feb 2012 005 by broylesa
New York, Feb 2012 005, a photo by broylesa on Flickr.

I had the pleasure of spending last Thursday night with a group of women who happen to write about food in New York City.

I was there to speak at a cookbook conference, and a friend had connected me with Rachel Wharton, the Edible Manhattan editor who, along with Amanda Kludt of Eater New York and Alyssa Shelasky from Grub Street, coordinates this casual happy hour. We met up at a newish bar on Bowery called the Wren, which was my first real outing on a three-day trip to the Big Apple.

This was their third get-together, so I wasn’t the only new face in the crowd. Some of them, like the go-team of Kat Kinsman and Sarah LeTrent of Eatocracy, I’d met at South by Southwest. I even persuaded the elusive-yet-everywhere-at-once Penny De Los Santos to join us for a New York minute. But most of them were talented, driven women who were the driving force behind online food journalism in one of the biggest food cities in the world.

I couldn’t help but bring up the Austin Food Blogger Alliance, a group that I’ve been involved with since its inception in late 2010 that brings together food bloggers of all stripes. “That could never happen in New York,” a number of them said. “New York food bloggers are too competitive. They are just doing their own thing.”

But as I looked around, I realized that they were already building such a group. When the Austin bloggers first started getting together, it was an attempt to set aside the competition part of what we do to focus on the connecting part of it that, thanks to social media, happens far more than it used to.

If there ever was a word that was more overused than “sustainable,” it’s “community,” but the cliched term doesn’t make you cringe so much when you’re smack dab in the middle of it, drinking cocktails with people you previously only associated with a screen name and realizing that we’re all just trying to do a good job.

It also makes you think a little harder before you spew some negativity out in the vast Interweb and think that it won’t come back to you.

Who knows if the group of a dozen or so female writers — yes, it’s a no-guys-allowed group at this point, or at least that’s the impassion I got — will move beyond a string of emails and on to a Facebook group, which is what several of them were talking about at the end of the night. I hope it does. There was a lot of goodwill being passed around, and the more of that in this big wide food world, the better.

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25 Minutes or Less: My mom, the blogger

This 25 minutes or less post is my latest attempt to continue to blog in my increasingly crazy life. It’s not exactly original content, but hopefully you’ll enjoy my mom’s original content until I find some time to create more of my own.

So, my mom started a blog.

She’s still trying to find that balance of personal and public, so she hasn’t announced it from way up high on a mountaintop, but the overlap between Feminist Kitchen readers and, say, the parents of kids who go to her school is pretty small, so I think she’d be OK with me telling you all about it here.

Blogging — and by extension, our social media livelihood — is a virtual fishbowl that we all seem to be swimming around in these days, and my mom is pretty good at living in a fishbowl. Ever since she was a kid, as the daughter of the high school principal, the middle sister of two brothers and now the school official married to the town’s up-and-coming real estate star, her life as been on display.

And now that she and my dad are living with my grandmother in the house she’s lived in for 50 years, it’s like she’s in a fishbowl inside a fishbowl.

Back on Pleasant Street is a place for her to explore what it means to be living in that same house, where the land line telephone number is still the same as when she was a child.

Being so brazenly open about somewhat personal matters is still pretty foreign to a person of her age in a place like her town, which is the kind of place where you talk about things, but you don’t really talk about things. (Even without modern communication tools like Facebook and Twitter, that town runs on chatter.) She was apprehensive about not only the new medium, but about bearing her journal-like writing for everyone to see.

But within five posts, you can tell she’s a natural. It’s obvious why she was my first writing mentor. Both she and my dad would help me write papers, but there was something evocative in her own writings that taught me something entirely different than how to use a Thesaurus and have a marketer’s ear for how something sounds. (Thanks for that, too, Dad.)

So far, she’s written an ode to my father’s silver hair and inspirational posts about being brave enough to hunt for new cheese and about going back to school (again) to pursue her professional dreams.

In this most recent post, she writes about family dogs, including my grandmother’s beloved dachshunds and Shiva, the salt and pepper blue heeler we had to give up when Julian was 2. Through those dogs you can get a glimpse of my mom’s corner of the world, a multi-generational household in the middle of America with three very unique individuals and one ailing puppy dog who isn’t a puppy anymore.

If only we could all capture our stories so well.

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What does it mean to “Lose Like A Man,” Charles Barkley?

Have you see the new Weight Watchers commercials with Charles Barkely?

The same people who’ve created a successful campaign with the oh-so-thin Jennifer Hudson are using Barkely to try to reach the simingly untapped market of overweight men wanting to slim down. (Belly fat ads, weird exercise devices and anything Men’s Health touches are the current offerings.)

Barkley talks about his own weight loss, and the commercial ends with the “Lose Like A Man” tagline.

The message: Be a man, lose some weight. And don’t cry like a girl while you’re at it.

What do you think it means to (or what do you think they meant by) “lose like a man”?

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February book club pick: “Spoon Fed” by Kim Severson

For the Feminist Kitchen book club + film series, we’re moving from one Southern writer who happened to write about food to a food writer who happens to be in the South.

Last night’s book club meeting on “The Help” was a huge success. Like any good book club should, we didn’t agree on everything, but we shared opinions and insight about this very controversial book and, hopefully, learned something new about ourselves or the world around us along the way.

To get an idea of what we talked about, check out the book club’s Facebook group, where I posted several videos, including a recent interview on the Colbert Report with Melissa Harris-Perry, the “Sister Citizen” author who is getting ready to start her own show on MSNBC, and a “60 Minutes” clip that profiles several white women who, after seeing the movie or reading the book, reconnected with the African American women who raised them.

(I’ve started channeling more book club-related content into the Facebook group, which you can join by clicking here. It won’t replace book club blog posts here, but it’s easier to quickly share content on Facebook rather than building a completely new post on the website.)

At the end of the meeting, we decided that our next book would be “Spoon Fed: How Eight Cooks Saved My Life,” by Kim Severson, the New York Times food writer who recently moved off the food beat to move to Atlanta, which is her home base as she travels throughout the South writing more newsy stories for the Times.

Severson is a delight to follow on Twitter, and her book is one of my favorite food books of the past few years. She explains how cooks, from her own mother to celebrities like Alice Waters and Rachael Ray, influenced her both in the kitchen and out of it, and she beautifully weaves those stories in with her own about her struggles with alcohol, coming out to her family and becoming a parent. (Here’s an excerpt of the chapter on Rachael Ray, which you might consider a surprising choice until you read why she picked her.)

Because the second Tuesday of February is Valentine’s Day, let’s plan on meeting at 7 p.m. on Feb. 7, at Thrice Cafe, 909 W. Mary St. See you all there!

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As more men do the grocery shopping, how are stores responding?

News flash! Men are doing more of the grocery shopping than ever before.

The story from the LA Times’  Emily Bryson York that ran in the business section of today’s Statesman certainly isn’t a revelation, but it’s nice to see news articles about how our domestic roles are changing. York’s news hook isn’t just that more men are shopping; she wanted to find out how grocery stores and manufacturers were responding to this change.

She only found a few that were making minor changes to accommodate men, who, according to one source in the story, “were terribly uncomfortable with the shopping experience.” Proctor and Gamble started playing around with “man aisles” in 2009, which grouped the personal care products targeted toward men in a single place instead of spread across the entire health-care section. Whee, so exciting, I know.

She tracked down a VP of “breakthrough innovation” at Kraft Foods Inc. who was quite proud of the “liquid flavor droplets” that his company had come up with to make water more appealing.

With somewhere between 30 and 50 percent of men doing the primary shopping for their households, I can’t imagine that mega food companies like Kraft or P&G will stop with water-flavoring droplets.

My favorite part of the story came from Phil Lempert, a grocery store expert who has built a crazy successful  consulting business called the Supermarket Guru. I’ve interviewed him for stories before, and the man knows his grocery stores. Lempert pointed out that many men are cooking to connect with their kids and, if they happen to be victims of the “mancession,” help provide for their families even when they don’t have a paycheck coming in.

“It’s very different from the whole metrosexual phenomenon of six, seven, eight years ago, but a much more down-to-earth [approach], not trying to show off, but trying to be part of the family,” Lempert said.

The above photo appears to be from such a dad. Dave77459 of Houston posted this photo on Flickr way back in 2007 with the caption: “Hitting the grocery store after dance to stock up for the weekend. I have the kids which means food flies out of the larder.”

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A reminder about the Feminist Kitchen book club meeting this week: On Tuesday (Jan. 10), we’ll gather at 7 p.m. at Thrice Cafe, which is located in the former Cafe Caffeine space next to Thai Fresh at 909 W. Mary St., to talk about both the book and the movie adaptation of “The Help.” Even if you know the general idea of the plot, you’ll be able to follow along our discussion. Come have a glass of wine (or a beer or a pot of tea or a plateful of Thai food) and join us!

 

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How do you move beyond something like “Last Tango in Paris”?

If you haven’t seen The Scene (three words: sex, butter and Brando), then you’ve probably heard about it, and if you haven’t heard about it, then you’re probably better off.

It’s a vulgar movie. The true beginning of the end for Brando, who had become as loathsome as he was appealing in those first few films. The 19-year-old who played the young Parisian lover, Maria Scheider, died in February of last year.

In the New York Times Magazine’s year-end obituary issue, she was among the people whose lives were honored. Victims of the Joplin, Mo., tornado, the man who invented cryonics, Jack LaLane, and Schneider, whose will forever be remembered as the young woman in “Last Tango in Paris” who, to be frank, appeared to be sodomized by stick of butter. In the graphic scene I don’t care to watch again, her character’s unwillingness and her own unwillingness are the same. “I instinctively felt I would be the one to suffer for it,” she later said.

She got paid $4,000 to play that role, a pittance compared to the wealth it earned Brando. She did star in another movie with an A-List chauvinist, Jack Nicholson, in “The Passenger,” but, like the majority of actresses in Hollywood, had a hard time finding decent work after the twenty-something glow wore off. (She even worked for an organization that helped older actors find work.)

As author Susan Dominus points out, the men (Brando and director Bernardo Bertolucci, specifically) around her, who were as much paternal figures as colleagues, failed to protect her and she didn’t feel she could get out of the situation. This movie would be her breakout role, and she knew that you don’t just have to be sexy, you have to be but edgy and shocking, too.

But it went too far, and she knew it. They knew it, too, but Bertolucci didn’t even hint at apologizing until after her death.

Artists, especially young starlets in the public eye, will always challenge the norm, and I think they should. That’s where innovation comes from. But the Joaquin Phoenix stunt, the Olsen twin-Kisses-Ben-Kingsley scene, Lady GaGa’s whole persona, et al, didn’t do what this single scene did to this woman.

My only solace after I read the NYT piece was to realize that I don’t think a scene like this would fly today. Not that seriously kinky, weird shit isn’t happening in the very vast world of porn, but I don’t think such relatively mainstream actors, directors and producers would go that far. There are more women in power and, while we seem to have an increased desire for graphic sex, nudity and near-nudity (like the almost bare-breasted pinup at a new fried chicken restaurant in Austin and the dancing women in bikinis on the Mexican variety shows on TV), my instinct says we have a lower tolerance for twisted sexual violence. (I did, however, once see a man raped by a horse on a Spanish-language telanovela in the middle of the day. That, I cannot explain.)

Bernardo Bertolucci was so proud that he’d sexualized something as commonplace as a stick of butter, an already slippery ingredients that had long been used as a lubricant and didn’t need sexualizing. It was about taking a woman’s dignity and capturing it on camera.

Even though Nigella Lawson insisted that her lusty caramel cover shoot was anything but food porn and we all knew better, she was still in control over that image. Rachael Ray has said she’d do the infamous FHM shoot again. Paula Deen can throw the butter sex joke right back at Maxim magazine.

Schneider didn’t seem to get that chance. “I was with Maria when she saw the film for the first time,” her best friend is quoted as saying on Schneider’s IMDB page. “She was absolutely shocked. She had no idea what they were going to do with her. She ran from the cinema screaming and I had to run after her into the street and comfort her. That film ruined her life.”

I’d like to think that as ridiculous as things can seem now in this whole world of women and food, at least it’s better than it was. Rest in peace, Maria Schneider.

Photos from IMDB.com, Daily Mail and by Addie Broyles.

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Guess who is missing from Guess Who?

Julian recently got the newest edition of Guess Who?, a favorite game of my own childhood.

It’s always interesting to see how such games evolve. Most of the time, like with the new Candyland, they pale in comparison to the original.

But Guess Who? is — or rather it’s development crew is — downright baffling in it’s inability to evolve. The game consists of 24 characters. Each player secretly picks one, and you ask elimination questions to try to guess the other’s choice.

When I was a kid, the diversity of characters was predictably out of balance, with an emphasis on white men, of course. It’s almost 2012, and this is passes for realistic in my kid’s fictional Guess Who? world:

Almost half of the characters (10 of 24) have facial hair…

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and only five of the 24 are women.

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This has nothing to do with food, but it annoys me all the same.

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Non-cooks are welcome here, too

Image from Picky Grouchy Non-Cook.

I found myself having lunch this week with my boss.

Not just my immediate boss or her boss, but the boss’s boss’s boss. Turns out, she’s a nice woman who is doing her best to lead the company in trying times.

I can’t remember what made me mention The Feminist Kitchen, but as soon as I did, she offered up that she doesn’t cook. Period. She even told a story about screwing up cheese toast for her daughter. She didn’t sound apologetic, but certainly confessional, and I went out of my way to try not to make her feel badly for not enjoying or knowing much about cooking.

And then I read this New York Times story by Jennifer Steinhaur complaining about the lack of homecooked foods at potlucks and bake sales. You lazy, misguided women, she seemed to be saying. You must not love your children or the women who cooked before you enough to prepare food from scratch when it matters most: When other people can judge you for what you do (or don’t) make.

Emily Matchar has written a much more thorough post about the ridiculousness of the article (what’s next? Complaints about moms who don’t sew their kids’ clothes?) on her wonderful New Domesticity blog, but for the purposes of this space, the article reminded me of all the times I’ve been trying to make non-cooks around me not feel badly for being non-cooks. Maybe it’s the holidays or the fact that I called this blog The Feminist Kitchen and not The Feminist Eater, but it seems like I’ve had a dozen exchanges recently like the one this week with powerful, enlightened women who throw down the guises and say — in the face of this growing food movement that includes too much shaming of people who either don’t cook or don’t know much about, say, sushi — “I don’t cook.”

Last month, another proud non-cook, Evan Harris, emailed me about her site, Picky Grouchy Non-Cook, which is part blog, part resource for other non-cooks. She has a series of profiles of non-cooks to help prove that “just because you are lame in the kitchen does not mean you are lame in life,” and an FAQ and manifesto that dig deeper into the psychology of what it’s like being a non-cook today. (Harris hints that non-cooks are as ostracized as smokers.)

The longer I’m in this food writing business, the more I see how snobbish even the well-meaning food world can be. There are lots of ways to keep yourself challenged and engaged with the world around you. Food is just one of them, but if it’s not at the top of your priority list, that doesn’t make you any less of a feminist in this kitchen.

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Bonus reading for January book club, plus a field trip to BookPeople for “A Mess of Greens”


If my pre-Kindergarten son can get 14 pages of homework over Thanksgiving break, I don’t feel too badly suggesting bonus reading for our January book club meeting.

Last week, I posted about our January 10 meeting in which we’ll be discussing “The Help,” both the movie and the book, including the controversies surrounding both. Earlier this year, Tulane professor Melissa Harris-Perry came out with a book called “Sister Citizen” that will add some depth to this conversation.

In her review for the San Francisco Chronicle, Tayari Jones explains why:

Perhaps because of the timing of the publication, there is a 500-pound pop-culture gorilla in the room that does not make it into the text: the blockbuster film “The Help.” Harris-Perry’s Twitter followers and viewers of MSNBC were witnesses to her outrage over the depiction of black women who worked as maids in the Jim Crow South. On television and in the twitterverse, she decried the lack of historical context in the feel-good film. She also argued that the way that black women see themselves was not truly addressed.

If this is the case, “Sister Citizen” serves as an antidote to “The Help.” In her discussion of the Mammy stereotype, Harris-Perry provides a particularly astute analysis of why the enduring image is so offensive. Unlike the loud-mouthed Sapphire and promiscuous Jezebel, Mammy embodies many positive attributes — she is kind, nurturing and capable in the kitchen. Indeed, many of the women in Harris-Perry’s study embrace these characteristics. What they reject is the idea that these traits that they so value about themselves are seen as benefits for families not their own.

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While you’re penciling in the Jan. 10 book club into your calendar (7 p.m. at Thrice Cafe, 909 W. Mary St.), mark down an event  at  7 p.m. on January 20 at BookPeople with Elizabeth Engelhardt, who recently wrote a book about gender in the South called “A Mess of Greens.” Edible Austin is sponsoring the event, which means there will be yummy things to nibble on and sip while Engelhardt discusses her book with fellow feminist foodies Carol Ann Sayle of Boggy Creek Farm and Stephanie McClenny of Confituras. Hope to see you there!

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January book club: “The Help”

I can’t believe November has almost ended and I still haven’t posted about the next book club. (I blame the Thanksgiving Staycation of 2011 in which I did such domestic tasks as knitting a scarf, building a chicken fence, eating slivers of pecan pie while standing in front of the fridge and watching as many Christmas movies as the boys would tolerate.)

My apologies, Feminist Kitchen book clubbers.

In an effort not to clog up an already busy month, we decided to skip December’s meeting and keep our eyes on Tuesday, January 10. For this meeting, let’s talk about “The Help,” the insanely popular 2009 book and 2011 movie that many of us have either already read/watched or at least heard something about.

I first wrote about “The Help” (the book) at the end of last year, and my glowing post (and later review of the movie in the Statesman) reflected the response that many youngish, middle class, white American woman had: Yay, isn’t it great that the racism reflected in this movie doesn’t exist anymore?!

So many people responded in this way that the Association of Black Women Historians wrote an open statement to fans, like me:

Despite efforts to market the book and the film as a progressive story of triumph over racial injustice, The Help distorts, ignores, and trivializes the experiences of black domestic workers. We are specifically concerned about the representations of black life and the lack of attention given to sexual harassment and civil rights activism. … In the end, The Help is not a story about the millions of hardworking and dignified black women who labored in white homes to support their families and communities. Rather, it is the coming-of-age story of a white protagonist, who uses myths about the lives of black women to make sense of her own. The Association of Black Women Historians finds it unacceptable for either this book or this film to strip black women’s lives of historical accuracy for the sake of entertainment.

Members of the ABWH certainly weren’t the only people who felt like “The Help” didn’t do anything but help white women feel better about themselves. Toni Tipton-Martin, an Austin food writer and historian, has spent years reviving the stories of real-life Minnys and Abilenes to break The Jemima Code, the mythology that still persists about black cooks in America. In her blog of the same name, she recently wrote about “The Help,” a woman named Idella Parker, who wrote about her experience as a maid for popular American novelist Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, and recent encounter with a black maid in uniform in New Orleans:

Though slightly distorted by the mist of a steamy humid morning, I can see a narrow black woman in uniform as she emerges from a dilapidated Chevy. She waves goodbye to the elder lady behind the steering wheel, makes her way up the cobblestone walk and knocks on the door of an opulent southern mansion. As I jog by, I extend morning greetings to them both and realize that while I have been straining to hear the voices of accomplished Louisiana cooks over the loud and unrelenting gaggle surrounding the record-breaking book and film, real women of color are still reporting to work in the homes of wealthy families in these “post racial” times.

I can’t wait to talk about this book and movie at our next gathering. The book club — 7 p.m. on Tuesday, January 10, at Thrice Cafe, 909 W. Mary St. — as always, is free and open to anyone.

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Guest Post: In feederism, getting off on gaining weight

Editor’s note: Ari LeVaux is a freelance food writer whose syndicated column, Flash in the Pan, runs in a number of papers around the country and on his website. He also writes food stories for the Atlantic and several other publications. I met LeVaux a few years ago at an Association of Food Journalists conference and have been impressed with his columns, which tackle everything from canning and processing his own chickens to food safety legislation and genetically modified pigs. But this column, about a sexual fetish called feederism related to obesity and overeating, really caught my eye, especially in light of the much more widely known fat acceptance movement. I asked LeVaux if I could republish the column here as a guest post for Feminist Kitchen readers interested in the connection food and sex, and he agreed. If you are interested in writing a guest post, email me at broylesa@gmail.com.

From time to time I like to cook my lady friend a nice meal and tell her “I’m gonna fatten you up for the slaughter.” But since I began researching the fat fetish known as feederism, in which weight gain is eroticized, I haven’t been able to keep a straight face while telling her my special sexy line.

In the feederism community, the gluttonous acts that produce fat are as alluring as the sagging, bulbous rolls of cellulose they produce. At the heart of feederism is the relationship between a gainer (or feedee), and a feeder (aka the encourager).
The feeder’s job is to help the gainer become fat, an arrangement that gives both parties satisfaction. A common aspiration among gainers is a state of immobility, where he or she is too fat to move around without help. At this point the assistance of the feeder becomes crucial. Immobility, according to many feeders and gainers, is the sexiest thing ever, though it’s rarely attained.

While the feeder/gainer relationship defines feederism, it’s but one of many ways people get off on weight gain. One self-identifying gainer named “Lisa,” who is married to a man, told researchers that she looks at pictures of fat women online several times a week, and masturbates.

This research appeared in an article “Feederism in a Woman” Archives of Sexual Behavior, 2009) by Lesley Terry and Paul Vasey of the University of Lethbridge. Lisa’s testimony is consistent with firsthand sources widely available on the many feederism websites, forums and chat rooms that exist.

During a period of active weight gain Lisa claims to have enjoyed great erotic pleasure, especially when weighing and measuring herself, but she ultimately gave up her gains over health concerns.

As I learned in a chat room on the website Fantasy Feeder, some gainers are terrified of doctors, thanks to the obesity-related diseases that plague the feeder community, including heart and circulatory problems and diabetes. One chatter with swollen ankles lamented, “my doctor says I have the feet of someone 200 lbs heavier.”

Lisa knew the risks, but when she experienced compromised immunity and extreme loss of energy she knew she had to get out. She slimmed down, got married, and started nourishing her inner feedee online.

“Lisa’s ideal website would have several pictures of the same woman over the course of the model’s weight gain so that she could see the progressive changes in the model’s shape and size. She said she was aroused by ‘the shapes of their bodies,’” wrote the researchers.

While sitting around and being fed, or stuffing your own face, might seem to be the epitome of sloth, many successful gainers describe their practice as hard work. Forum discussions about how to pack it on and keep it on are mirror images of the diet tips and theories shared in forums for people who want to get and stay thin.

Before her stint as a gainer, Lisa had a bout with anorexia. This is not uncommon. Feederism and anorexia share an obsession with body image and food, and both have their erotic elements.

Online gainer forums are filled with people discussing their weight gain goals. “I’m still testing this out but my preferred weight is somewhere between 250 and 300 pounds. Ideally I would like to be heavy enough to have a belly that touches my thighs when I stand up,” wrote one.

Another: “I would sell my soul if I could weigh 1500 to 1600.”

There are also recipe forums, where tips on 3,000-calorie smoothies are shared. And there are forums for lactose- and gluten-intolerant gainers, as well as diabetic gainers (of which there are many).

It’s tempting to look for a link between rising obesity rates and feederism. And maybe one exists. Certainly, the availability of cheap junk food enables those with obese intentions.

A man who goes by Dr. Feeder (and runs a website called Ask Dr. Feeder) told me via email that there aren’t good statistics on how widespread the practice is. “In a survey I did on Fantasy Feeder many feedees claim that their decision to gain weight and/or the amount of weight they’ve gained was strongly influenced by weight-gain sites on the internet. As a practice I’m sure it’s growing, for both those reasons and because it’s easier to find like-minded people.”

In his syndicated column Savage Love, sex advice columnist Dan Savage notes:

“We live in a society that’s deeply conflicted about fat and food: we’re not supposed to be heavy, but many of us are; we’re not supposed to eat junk food, but many of us do. Intentionally getting fat, or “forcing” someone to get fat, violates taboos about what we’re supposed to find attractive; since being fat isn’t healthy, “forcing” someone to gain weight is subtly sadistic. By “forcing” someone to eat a lot of crap, you’re pleasuring him and hurting him at the same time.”

Dr. Feeder considers being a feeder or a gainer is inborn, much like one’s sexual orientation.

“Many of us are aware of this from childhood (under 6 in my case) and whatever percentage of us that is, that probably hasn’t changed,” Dr. Feeder wrote.

“Lisa” also had early feelings on fat. At “7 or 8 years old,” according to Feederism in a Woman, she became fascinated with larger people and would pretend her Barbie dolls were gaining weight. When she was 13 years old she had a dream of a fat woman wearing a crop top dancing, her naked belly shaking around, and this was the inspiration for Lisa’s first orgasm in her sleep. “She also fantasized about being forced to gain weight and being teased for being overweight.”

I’m no psychologist, but I find it telling that Lisa’s fantasy about being teased for being fat was an early element of her sexuality. Even if it had never happened to her, it speaks to her early awareness that fat people exist, and they are teased. Perhaps developing an attraction to the thing she feared might happen to her – her mom was fat – was a coping mechanism. Might that be happening on a widespread basis?

If it is, and with obesity rates growing faster than ever, especially in children, we can expect a lot more gainers in the next generation. That’s good news for feeders, and their institutional counterparts, the food companies that happily and greedily fatten us up for an early slaughter. And maybe it’s good news for the gainers as well. After all, if you’re going to be fat, you might as well be fat and happy.

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Compare and Contrast: Bearded pie bakers and women who don’t cook

Tidbits of gender and food in American pop culture to ponder this gray November Saturday, just days before Thanksgiving:

Three burly men with beards — Bud Royer of Royer’s Round Top Cafe just outside Austin and the two hosts of “Hairy Bikers” — baking pies together in a clip from the History Channel reality show:

For a short time on Friday afternoon, “Women Who Don’t Cook” (originally tweeted, it appears, from this ridiculous account) was trending on Twitter, with disappointing fervor:

Thanksgiving is on everyone’s minds, including the very witty writers of “New Girl,” who are putting together what has turned out to be a very funny series. Star (heroine?) Zooey Deschanel gives us an even quirkier version of her real life self, which is reason enough to tune in, but it’s even more interesting to watch them build and break gender norms as the first season progresses.

The most recent episode is a classic wacky Thanksgiving comedy, with smoking turkeys, frantic cooks (this time, the high-strung roommate who won’t let go of his kitchen ego) and single women (at least one of whom can’t cook) opening and assertively expressing their sexual desires.

Do yourself a favor this weekend, and watch the episode on Hulu. I’d love to know what you think.

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It’s almost June in Idaho

My little sister is about to have her first baby, a little girl they plan to call June.

Chelsea and her husband, Kenny, moved to Boise, Idaho, this summer, but the distance from Austin to Boise isn’t near as far and Chelsea and I have come in our journey as sisters.

(I can’t listen to this song without singing “Hey, Chelsea” instead of “Hey, Jealousy.”)

Going through this pregnancy with her, less than a year after I went through it myself, has capped off a 10-year-road that for much of the way was littered with the rocks of our differences. We threw them down at the feet of the other, inspected them, carried them and eventually placed them off to the side so we could continue on just enjoying each other, recognizing that our differences are never as different as they first seem.

Food was one of the first things we really reconnected over. As Chelsea realized she was less tolerant of gluten than she thought she was, she started exploring all that the natural food store had to offer, which led her to farmers’ markets and other areas of food I spend many hours a week writing about.

But connecting over food is nothing like connecting over becoming a mother, which could happen any day now. Her due date was yesterday, and it’s finally settling in that June will be about as close to having a daughter as I’m going to get.

As a tomboy who generally preferred hanging out with guys than girls growing up, having two boys is both exhausting and immensely satisfying. I don’t miss having a girl as much as I thought I would, but as a niece, I know the sweet, borderline parental relationships that I have with my aunts and uncles. Thinking about that special bond that June and I will form over the course of the rest of our lives makes waiting for her arrival seem like a Christmas Eve stuck on repeat.

It just so happens that I think of Christmas Eve as mine and Chelsea’s holiday. Like most siblings, we have many holiday rituals, but none as special as watching “All I Want For Christmas” on Christmas Eve. It’s a cute, goofy holiday movie, besting “Home Alone” and “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” only by a tinsel thread. Chelsea and I haven’t lived in the same city for 10 years, but every Christmas Eve, without fail, I watch it and think of her, and she watches it and thinks of me.

(I can’t remember the last time we shared a bed on Christmas Eve, a tradition — like hunting for Easter eggs — that we carried on well into high school.)

I won’t get to meet June until the week before Christmas. We’ll make chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa with Julian and Avery while June sleeps in the other room. Then, unlike now, we’ll be able to look at the calendar and know exactly when Christmas Eve will turn into Christmas, but for now, we’ll wait.

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Magazine-themed book club meeting tonight at 7

The November book club meeting is tonight at 7 at Thrice, 909 W. Mary St..

No pre-reading required! Just pick up a few magazines on your way out the door, and we’ll flip through and discuss them.

I’m bringing in issues of Working Mother, Bon Appetit, Texas Monthly, Wired, Men’s Health, Self, Elle, More, Food Network Magazine, Sandra Lee’s Semi-Homemade that I’ve gone through and marked up with some interesting observations. I think we’re going to have a few special guests, including UT professor Elizabeth Engelhardt, who had the idea for the magazine-themed book club in the first place, and Ruth Gardner-Loew, a local food writer who helped establish the now-defunct food pages in Elle when she was living in New York.

See you all tonight!

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Trick or treat: Sexy chefs and White House meanies

Two food thoughts on this Halloween night.

First, since we’ve gone ahead and made Halloween the official holiday of dressing like a slut, why no sexy chef outfits? You can find sexy nurse and teacher outfits, representing traditionally female professions, and sexy cops and pirates, traditionally male figures, but I have yet to see a chest-baring, knife-wielding chef costume. (Well, isn’t Google helpful? There are, in fact, a number of sexy chef costumes, which makes me feel worse about this whole mess. It’s a little too late for this year, but check out Take Back Halloween, a site helping “women with imaginations” figure out an outfit that isn’t as degrading.)

Second, it’s worth noting that Michelle Obama got played as the bad guy this week when President Obama went on Jay Leno and talked about Halloween. “Halloween is coming up, and she’s been giving kids, for the last few years,  fruit and raisins in the bag. The White House is gonna get egged if this keeps up. You need to throw some candy in there. A couple Reese’s Pieces or something.”

I know he was just teasing her (and I certainly do not object to finding Reese’s Pieces in my kid’s stash), but it’s annoying that moms are getting nagged for trying to get their kids to eat healthfully, while at the same time being targeted as the root of childhood obesity in the first place.

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Food and feminism at the Texas Book Festival

The third best and most talked about weekend of the year is upon us (No. 1 SXSW, No. 2 ACL). The Texas Book Festival, which grows and improves leaps and bounds each year, takes place at the Capitol on Saturday and Sunday. So many interesting subjects, authors and books.

Here is just a sampling of the Feminist Kitchen-approved sessions:

On Saturday, UT professor (and food and feminism expert) Elizabeth Englehardt will be talking about her new book, “A Mess of Greens,” at the Capitol with fellow feminists in the kitchen Marla Camp of Edible Austin, Carol Ann Sayle of Boggy Creek Farm and Stephanie McClenny of Confituras. This really is a can’t-miss session, unless you have a friend’s wedding that just so happens to fall smack dab in the middle of the busiest food day of the year.

The session with Gabrielle Hamilton, moderated by her friend Paula Disbrowe, will probably be packed. I still hear people talking about “Blood Bones and Butter.” Not everybody loved it, but it got them talking.

Also presenting that day is Virginia Willis, who just published “Basic to Brilliant, Y’all.” We had a nice conversation about food and work life, where the Pork Chop Theory is happening before our eyes. The day after Virginia speaks at the festival, Paula Deen will take the stage at the Paramount Theater for what I’m sure will be a lively talk. Deen has been tossed around lately in the press, what with that tiff with Anthony Bourdain and Maxim’s recent announcement tinged with insult that she was their choice as hottest chef on TV. (“We find danger sexy,” they wrote. “Just imagining the slippery, sloppy butter-sex we’d have with Paula makes us…hungry for a bacon-wrapped, beer batter-fried stick of butter, weirdly.”) Her reaction? “I hope it’s salted.”

At 2:30 p.m. on Sunday, I’m moderating a session with Ellen Sweets, the delightful food writer who just came out with “Stirring It Up With Molly Ivins” about laughing, loving and eating with her dear friend. Ellen is carrying on the Molly way through her stories in the book and her contributions to the Austin food scene. Austin was lucky to have Molly and we’re lucky to have Ellen, too.

And then there’s Homesick Texan Lisa Fain, “The Splendid Table’s” Lynne Rossetto Kasper and so many more, including Gesine Bullock-Prado, whose “Confessions of a (Closet) Master Baker” would probably make for an interesting Feminist Kitchen read.

Here’s the full schedule for details. Hope to see you out and about this weekend!

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Book club + film series: Bake cookies to snag a man, ‘Because I Said So’

Ahead of tomorrow’s Feminist Kitchen book club meeting (come one, come all! Thrice Cafe, 909 W. Mary St. at 7 p.m.), my fellow food blogging feminist Melanie Haupt introduces some of the concepts we’ll be discussing. I’m hoping to set up a live blog over on my Tumblr page, so check back and participate online if you can’t be there in person.

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I am particularly interested in reading the first two chapters of Dinner Roles against Because I Said So; in the book Inness goes to great lengths to demonstrate that early- to mid-20th century cookbooks worked very hard to reinforce gender roles through a discourse of food and cooking. For example, she writes,

When picking a food, a girl was taught that aesthetics was more important than taste. This belief went beyond creamed potatoes: women were supposed to be concerned about attractiveness in all areas of their lives from home to personal appearance. This concern is one of the main signifiers of femininity. Thus, cookbooks were not just teaching a lesson about how to concoct a Jell-O salad; they were also giving an additional subtle lesson about how femininity was constituted. (41)

Broken down into its most fundamental elements, Inness’ argument is that these cookbooks operated as conduct texts. One of the questions I’d like for us to consider going into our meeting is how does the discourse of food as conduct text function within the movie? One other passage from Dinner Roles that stands out to me as I think about the movie is from Chapter 2:

Girls learned that good cooking skills were essential because the were the best means to attract boys (aka future husbands). Cookbooks taught about cooking, but they also taught how girls should make themselves appeal to boys. The cook who could whip together a stellar banana cream pie or the lightest, moistest chocolate cake was promised more men than she could squeeze into the kitchen. (45)

That last bit kind of reminds me of Pioneer Woman’s promises that her recipes will elicit marriage proposals. Anyway, is this the kind of dynamic that’s at play when Milly (Mandy Moore) makes sure that her house always smells like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies when a date is coming over? These questions and more await at Tuesday’s meeting!

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Miranda Lambert likes to eat, and other surprises

Happy Sunday, readers.

My computer crapped out a few weeks ago, so I’m on borrowed digital space when away from the office these days. (Thanks, Ian, for letting me use your computer! I promise to not leave greasy fingerprints on your keyboard.)

It’s kind of nice to have one less screen to pull my attention away from all the wonderful offline parts of life right now. Avery is way beyond just walking at this point, and Julian is right on the verge of actually reading the books he brings home from school. My sister is about to become a momma, and Ian is about ready to re-enter the workforce.

On my to-do list today is to rent “Because I Said So,” the movie for this month’s Feminist Kitchen book club + film series on Tuesday, Oct. 11, at Thrice, but I’m already scouring magazines for November’s meeting.

The idea is this: As you’re flipping through magazines over the next few weeks — any magazines, they don’t necessarily have to be food magazines — look for interesting ways that women and food are portrayed. It could be an ad for yogurt in the latest Cosmo, a letter to the editor about female-flavored gum in Harper’s or a textbook example of DIPE, documented instance of public eating, one of the oldest tricks in a magazine writer’s handbook.

Even Skip Hollandsworth, an executive editor for Texas Monthly whose writing I usually quite enjoy, is not immune. (Hell, I’ve probably done it, too, so I probably shouldn’t cast stones. So, instead of stones, we’ll just throw wads of paper.)

In this month’s cover story about Miranda Lambert, Hollandsworth goes straight for the chicken breast:

Four hours before Miranda Lambert is scheduled to perform in front of five thousand fans in Corbin, Kentucky, she’s making a beeline for the commissary that has just been set up by her road crew. “I’m sorry, but if I don’t start eating right now, I’m literally going to die of starvation,” she says to no one in particular as she fills up a plate of food. She sits down at a table, spears an entire chicken breast with her fork, lifts it toward her mouth, and then notices me sitting across the table, notebook in hand, ready to write down what will happen next. For several seconds the chicken breast hangs in the air, quivering on her fork. Miranda tosses back her magnificent mane of blond hair and stares at me with one eyebrow raised.

I bet you are just dying, literally, of course, to know what happens next, aren’t you? Well, not to spoil it, but she “rips into the chicken” and “after a few seconds of high-speed chewing, she takes another equally giant bite.”

Shocking. Just shocking, I tell you.

In an online Q&A, Hollandsworth says that her eating so voraciously was a sign of her “openness” and that it dispelled some preconceived ideas of what she’d be like:

You probably had some preconceived ideas of what Lambert would be like in person. When you finally met her, were you right on, surprised, or a little shocked?

I loved her openness. Read the first scene in the article, about her letting me watch her wolf down a giant piece of chicken. And how she let me wander around and watch her throw down a drink before she hit the stage. You think Carrie Underwood or Taylor Swift’s handlers would let me watch that? Not for a minute. And let’s be honest: She’s a spark plug, just a heck of a lot of fun to be around, outspoken—sort of like that pretty but feisty girl in high school you always wanted to date but you found just a little intimidating. Blake told me that he thinks a lot of guys secretly have a crush on her, and I think he’s right.

That’s like saying Gretchen Wilson wouldn’t take a shot of whiskey in front of a reporter for fear of how she’d be perceived. Miranda Lambert has created a public image of being a “rebel,” and apparently, devouring a chicken breast — Hollandsworth doesn’t specify, but I’m presuming the chicken breast was grilled and not fried or else that detail would have made it into the story to really challenge our notion of what and how women eat — and not caring if it undermines her “ladylike image” is what rebels do. (“Well, crap, there goes my ladylike image,” is Lambert’s first quote of the story.)

Anyway, this is one of the articles I’ll be bringing to November’s meeting (Nov. 8, mark your calendar). Be on the lookout for goodies to share, too.

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October Book Club: “Because I Said So” and “Dinner Roles”

My apologies for not getting around to live blogging or recapping our “Blood, Bones and Butter” discussion earlier this month. About 10 or 12 of us sat around Thrice and talked about Gabrielle Hamilton, memoirs, life inside and outside of restaurants and marriages. Someone asked on Twitter after the event if it was open to the public, and I realized I should probably reiterate that the book club + film series is open to anyone who wants to come.  Having read or watching that month’s book or movie will help facilitate the discussion, but no one will kick you out if you haven’t.

For our next meeting — 7 p.m. on Oct. 11 at Thrice, 909 W. Mary St. — Melanie Haupt is leading us in a discussion of “Because I Said So,” the Mandy Moore/Diane Keaton rom-com, and “Dinner Roles: American Women and Culinary Culture,” a book by Sherrie Inness.

Melanie is a a doctoral candidate at UT whose dissertation is about “how women use recipes, cookbooks, food blogs, and other texts to make themselves and their communities of meaning visible both within and outside of the context of domesticity.” She’s thought as much about women and food as anyone and has already published some interesting thoughts about the Pioneer Woman. (Oh, and she helped write a book about Texas barbecue.)

Melanie has offered to take over this month’s meeting while our fearless leader Caroline is away on a cooking adventure in Italy this fall. Instead of trying to show the movie (or parts of it) at Thrice, we’re asking people to watch the movie ahead of time in the interest of time. If you can get your hands on a copy of the book, see what observations you can find that relate to the movie, whose main character thinks she can tell whether her relationship will succeed or not based on if her souffle falls or rises.

See you in a few weeks!

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Food Selling Sex: As American Apparel as apple pie

Satire has always been sticky.

When Dallasite Nancy Upton heard about American Apparel’s tacky pitch for a plus-size modeling contest, she was pissed. She writes on the Daily Beast:

The message [was] that a subservient, nearly naked woman has always earned a place in American Apparel’s advertising with no trouble, but that larger women need to vote each other down and compete against one another to even deserve a chance.

If you’re not familiar with American Apparel’s advertising style, it looks something like this:

Size-2 women, usually not more than 24 years of age, wearing next to nothing. Unstyled hair, no makeup, ruffled sheets. You can almost smell the sex.

American Apparel hasn’t been very “plus-size friendly” in recent years, so Upton wasn’t the only person who felt their attempt to court slightly larger consumers was more than a little disingenuous.  (And what of the plus-size men who want to shop at hipster heaven? I’d like to see a similar “Booty-full” campaign targeted at them, American Apparel.)

So she hooked up with her talented photographer friend Shannon Skloss to create a series of images that circled the Internet at Mach speed.

Food — from a well-placed apple pie to a bathtub full of ranch dressing and a rotisserie chicken — is in every frame.

She submitted the photos to the American Apparel contest and, no surprise, she got the most votes by a landslide, but once the L.A.-based company realized they’d been had, they refused to name her the winner. (She has said she wouldn’t take the prize even if they did offer it to her.)

You can imagine the frenzy this has inspired. Upton was smart enough to start blogging about the controversy, so you can essentially read a play-by-play if you’re interested. (The latest news: American Apparel reached out to Upton and invited her to tour the facility, and she’s accepted.)

There’s been a lot of discussion about the thin line between “sexy” and “satirical,” and Upton’s photos are clearly both. Bloggers have pointed to a photo spread in French Vogue last year with a “plus-size” model posing graphically with food.

“Upton’s collection resembles what American Apparel might very well do in a plus-size photo shoot if left to their own devices,” writes blogger Autumn of The Beheld. “I’ve no doubt that if Upton had submitted the exact same photos but had sincere, not subversive, intent, her photos would be featured in their advertisements.”

Filmmaker Keeley Steenson gets props for tipping me off to this American Apparel photo contest thing, and a few months ago, she had also sent me a link to this video, which is weirdly appropriate for this post.

In the first few seconds of the video, it almost looks as if you’re watching an American Apparel ad. Then suddenly, the women clad in sweat bands, ’80s tank tops and high-cut leotards start gorging themselves on everything from marshmallows to pinto beans. The creepy pimp-like guy giving them the food might as well be the equally creepy American Apparel CEO, who has been known to masturbate in front of reporters.


Sincerity, subversion, sex, satire. If the food is supposed to be selling the clothes, and the clothes are selling sex, is the food therefore selling sex? (Usually, it’s sex selling food.) It’s almost 2012, so is glamorizing gluttony still really all that provocative? What if a group of three women who were ex-American Apparel workers made that music video instead of three self-proclaimed “grand Southern gentlemen”? The meaning would change completely.

Upton clearly had something to say, she used her physical beauty to help say it, and American Apparel heard her loud and clear.

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