i’ve found that the dramatic moment of a food-based memoir always culminates around a pig. novella carpenter‘s pigs were something else (though the badger stays with me) and this time, the hunt and corpse posing for the camera is the centerpiece, literally and literally. i’ve been a bit horny lately, i’ll admit it, and a call to an old (food) lover, however bittersweet, yielded these unintentionally insight-full words: “i’ll never forget how people in different countries live in their space, how it’s different from us (americans)”. werd.
“‘You know what the best kind of organic certification would be? Make an unannounced visit to a farm and take a good long look at the farmer’s bookshelf. Because what you’re feeding your emotions and thoughts is what this is really all about. The way I produce a chicken is an extension of my worldview. You can learn more about that by seeing what’s sitting on my bookshelf than having me fill out a whole bunch of forms.’” (131-2)