Lamb and Mouthfeel

 I always get the purple wine lips. We like pinot noir best. I ask her what she detects and we don't look at the label. Sometimes chocolate, a hint of vanilla, blackberry, and usually cherry. We playfully talk about mouthfeel and the tannic nature of the grapes. But every joke is half serious.

Perhaps with a lamb shank, with ripples of flaky meat in a white bean Cassolet Toulousain and a bed of leafy greens with a balsamic vinagrette, the pinot is ideal.

What is it about lamb? Maybe it’s something in the cultural unconscious that takes us back to the days of animal sacrifice. Every time you eat lamb it’s like you play god.

Moment of post postmodernism: I always write about food. I love food. It is one of the three most carnal urges, along with sex and sleep. And although sometimes you don’t have the best meal, you know that you still need it and it is gratifying in itself. It just helps when it’s especially dank. Like lamb shank with pinot noir.

Winter in Post Postmodernism

Can you feel the winter? It’s approaching and everyone knows it. I’m a big believer in the idea our lives are governed by the seasons. After all, it was the determining factor in how our ancestors lived and farmed. That’s why we feel like we have so much to do during the spring, during the sowing, and right now, before it gets really cold, everyone gets a little crazy preparing for the holidays (the reap). Black Friday, for example, is a circuitous proof of this point.

I’m actually kind of afraid of winter this year. I dread January’s bleak nights. The cold wind will be bitter on the industrial truck route I take to work before I start to sweat. But in the darkness of the evenings, and my reluctance to leave my apartment, I will write prodigiously.

But I’m also excited and somewhat anxious about 2011, that weird odd year when we become more comfortable in this decade and get a little closer to the end of the world. Don’t expect any major breakthroughs next year; I bet it will be a year of expectation. Scoff, do you? The cultural unconscious is a powerful thing.

Propitiously,
Daniel Adler