I meant to write a post about Padma Lakshmi's now-infamous "slutburger" ad for Hardee's/Carl's Jr. a while back, but somehow the chance to do so when it was still relevant slipped by me. So, I'm gonna do it now instead, when I haven't seen it on the air in weeks and no one cares. Awesome.
Still, here she is:
Anyone besides me want to help her lick barbecue sauce off her ankle now?
I consider my post-ad-watching desire to put my tongue in Padma's burger-filled mouth to be well within the realm of normality. However, it seems plenty of folks would rather call her a sell-out and accuse her of all manner of sexual indiscretion, rather than kiss her. And this, I both do not understand and find rather grotesque.
A few weeks ago, my mom sent me this little blurb about it from my hometown paper. It struck me as one of the most out-of-touch things I've encountered in a bit. First of all, it's author claims the slutburger ad is "the sort of thing you'd expect from a Paris Hilton" but not a "classy beauty" like Padma. Because only girls with porn vids running rampant through the corridors of the internet would dare flash cleavage while eating a burger, right? Certainly no one with goods enough to nab a preeminent novelist the likes of Rushdie would do that, right? Well, why the hell not?!
The blurb from The Tennessean's food blog wants to act like it's all indignant that this woman so often associated with schmancy food would dare lower herself to hawk fast food, but this surface argument that it's author is attempting to make holds absolutely no water. For Exhibit A to that effect, I bring you this behind-the-scenes video in which Padma explains her own personal nostalgia for shitty fast food burgers. And frankly, the idea that Padma Lakshmi, gosling-like goddess of the haute cuisine scene, has a big heart-on for a burger just makes perfect sense to me. I mean, I love labor-intensive, esoteric food as much as the next girl, but really? If you offered me a guacamole cheddar burger from Bobbi's Dairy Dip, a craphole ice-cream stand over on Charlotte in Nashville, I'd be on it so fast you'd think it was made of fuck-me shoes. Even the most committed gourmands among us still get all woody over the occasional junk food indulgence. It's not like that stuff doesn't taste good, even when we've gone to the trouble of refining our palates.
No, the problem with Padma's ad is not that she's eating a fast food burger rather than braised pork cheek on a bed of salsify and Jerusalem artichokes. It's that, as the food blogger says, she has a classy image and yet, in lending her fair countenance to Hardee's/Carls Jr., she's joined the ranks of other sluterific pop-culture-friendly ho-bags like poor Paris. Now, I've defended Paris before. I actually love that carwash fetish-girl burger ad. I think her vampy camera mugging almost makes up for her role as an unenthusiastic cunnilingus receiver in the aforementioned titty flick. She's sexy, she's clearly having fun with her well-heeled harlot image and she owns that ad. So the idea that it would be an insult to Padma to compare her to Paris is, well, insulting to Padma.
In reality, the import behind the rhetoric in that little newspaper post is the underlying assumption is that "classiness" and overt sexuality are incompatible. And to that, I ask, why can't Padma lick sauce from her fingertips and let us marvel at her stellar pecan-colored tits in that push-up bra and not still be a perfectly respectable food snob and ex-wife of a literary supernova? To use the term "tramp" (and mean it derogatorily) to describe Padma just reeks of the kind of advocacy for the compartmentalization of female sexuality that does no sexually comfortable woman any good at all.
Now, this is not to say that other Carl's Jr./Hardee's ads don't play on some problematic traditionally gendered behavioral stereotypes in which dudes become dim-witted, narcissistic cavemen and women become nagging harpies (although hot ones). But no one of either gender fares very well in those ads, and undoubtedly, only dumbasses who send email forwards like this one would think they're funny anyway. See Sarah Haskins' video commentary to that effect below. Haskins makes a worthy point regarding advertisers thinking they're clever in targeting the basest of aspects of culturally prescribed "manliness" and even goes on to demonstrate how Paris has talents for multitasking that exceed the norm:
However, Padma's ad isn't crass or puerile at all. It is, in fact, dreamy and nostalgic. And I continue to feel that her conflating of her sexual charisma with her foodie street cred seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Doing so is, most certainly, in keeping with her career trajectory thus far. I mean, it's not like she got hired on as the host of Top Chef because of her food knowledge. She got hired on because she knows food and because she's startlingly beautiful. (Some among us might argue that Tom Colicchio's smirking blue eyes don't hurt the show much either.) Even long before Top Chef, she put out this book. And if that cover doesn't draw a visual analogy between her body and all the luscious, juicy fruits of the world, I don't know what does.
It's hardly new news that food is sexy. There's also nothing revelatory about the idea that Padma Lakshmi is incredibly genetically blessed. So, saying she can't have her burger and make you want to fuck her too doesn't do much besides advocate the annoying cultural directive that women should lock their libidos in the bedroom and pretend they aren't all fuck-happy in their waking lives. I can't speak for Padma, but I do know that kind of compartmentalization is exhausting for me. And it also smacks of the kind of retrogressive restrictions on the behavior of women that, well, get us nowhere in terms of claiming our sexual personae as our own.
...Which is all just to say, if anyone wants to make me a guacamole cheddar burger with a good, black, crusty layer of carcinogenic char, I'll do my best Padma for you, all sexy-like.
Showing posts with label Fast Food Nation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fast Food Nation. Show all posts
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, July 22, 2007
OK, Cosmos, I get it. Message received, loud and clear.
I'm often impressed with the way the universe decides to drive particular messages home to me. I just put up a post about carbon emissions and animal livestock last Friday. My friend Jai just put up a post on his blog about The Center for the New American Dream's C3 project--a project designed to give people ideas for small ways through which they can reduce their personal carbon footprints-- and subsequently, I put a button for it down there at the bottom of my own blog. And for reasons that really have little to do with ecology, I'd decided to greatly reduce my own intake of animal products a couple of months ago. But it seems the mindful eating and mindful consumerism have become something of a crusade for me. And the universe just keeps putting information in my path that lead me to believe I'm on the right track.
By now, I feel like I've watched a million documentaries about how the American food pipeline is a wonderland of horrors. I can't remember the last time I frequented a McDonald's or a Burger King or a Wendy's or a KFC or a Jack-in-the-Box. The stuff those establishments peddle does not provide nutrition that would support a high-functioning body. Beyond that, contrary to popular opinion, that crap really doesn't even taste good. I know some folks will argue with me there, but if you can accustom yourself to eating a better quality of food, the smell alone of your average BigMac is likely to turn your stomach. But I dutifully watched Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me and I blogged long and hard about a documentary that I loved, Milk in the Land: Ballad of an American Drink. But I know a documentary is a hard sell for most folks (god knows why! Nonfiction filmmaking is in the middle of a renaissance of some note right now.).
So along comes Richard Linklater's latest ensemble piece, Fast Food Nation, based on the (nonfiction) book of the same title by Eric Schlosser. Somehow, these two, as a writing-directing team, have managed to magically conjure a deeply disturbing realist-fiction feature out Schlosser's exhaustive research on the fast food industry. The phrase "required viewing" or "required reading" has become something of a regular recurrence in my blog. And I realize that I've developed a propensity towards self-righteousness about all things food-oriented. But, holy hell, the message of this movie is scary--and important.
This film elucidates the way this industry abuses its immigrant work force (denying them disability and insurance rights on the merest suspicion of drug use, forcing them to work in a virtual war zone of animal offal and flayed carcases, undertraining them such that they are prone to slicing open the entrails of the animals in such a way that the fecal matter gets spewed all over the meat (and then blaming them for the mistakes), subjecting them to extremely dangerous machinery (that has been known to remove more than a few human limbs--I don't suppose it's surprising to learn meatpacking is the most dangerous job in the country, causing more than 24% of work-related deaths annually) with similarly inadequate and slap-dash training, etc, etc, etc...). It elucidates problems with the ways the industry exploits the primarily teenage workforce in the restaurants themselves. And it elucidates a grand, grand disconnect between the corporate marketers and the veritable sewage that they're selling.
And then the film shows us how unconscionably badly the cattle are treated. They're kept in miserably tight confines (often, there's not enough room for them to turn around) where they get to muck about in their own excrement and are seldom given access to actual daylight. Often, the animals are not only still alive, but STILL CONSCIOUS when the "processing" begins. The film is a top-down cross-section of one of the more corrupt business models in this country. And if you aren't appalled at all points throughout your viewing, I have no qualms with assuming you're a heartless, ethically devoid asshole. So there.
However, among brilliant turns in this film is Lou Taylor Pucci, the kid from one of the best coming-of-age films ever: Thumbsucker. Despite a dyed-black, scraggly-looking wig, it appears that his progressing adolescence is treating him very well. And he also had one of the best lines in the movie--he plays a kid involved in a high school group of environmental activists, and another character has an idea about cutting a hole in the fence that holds all the cattle slated for becoming burger meat. The discussion arises about how such an act could be perceived as an act of eco-terrorism and then all the kids would be subject to sanctions via the Patriot Act. And so, he says something along the lines of "Well, in this case, maybe the most patriotic action we can take is to ignore The Patriot Act!" Hmm-- well, it seems less forceful when I relay it here, but it was darn punchy at its moment in the movie-- and it draws an important and pointed connection between concerns regarding food supply and virtually every other major political issue at play on the American landscape right now. And IMDb tells me that he's in the forthcoming film adaptation of David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (can't wait!). Catalina Sandino Moreno is luminous as ever, though not quite as transcendent as she was in Maria Full of Grace. Wilmer Valderama is entirely too well-groomed and metrosexual to make a convincing bracero, but it's nice to see him as something other than the sibilant Fez from That 70's Show. An unexpected performance from Bruce Willis is another high point. And Ashley Johnson, who was once the youngest Seaver on Growing Pains, seems to have turned herself into a respectably intense young actress.
Also, because the movie is set all along the immigrant's trail between the Mexican border and a fictional Colorado town, Linklater saw fit to include a very nice little local cameo-- Fat Tire beer! For anyone who has ever lived in a Western state, Fat Tire is the quasi-local brew of choice, coming out of Fort Collins, Colorado (they were also the unofficial sponsor of any social event held at my house when I lived in Tucson, even if that event was nothing more than Michelle and I sitting around the mesquite grill, watching the portobellos cook!). In your inevitable (uh--highly encouraged) perusal of their website, please note their commitment to sustainability. It seems particularly significant that all the rebels in this film prominently tote their Fat Tire bottles and six-pack cartons. After all, whoever said eco-conscious activists didn't enjoy their adult beverages, too?
And then, when you've finished watching the film, there are several animated shorts on the DVD's extras menu that are not to be missed. Most of them can be found at this site. But the "Reverse Hamburger" one is probably the most disturbing of them all. This little piece somehow manages to summarize the entirety of Milk in the Land in under 5 minutes. And it does it with a cartoon. Perfectly brilliant.
Now, add all the information about the mainstream food pipeline that is to be gleaned from Fast Food Nation to all the information in my previous post about how animal agriculture is contributing to global warming and how can we all NOT be motivated to cut back on our consumption of meat and dairy? Seriously, readers! You don't have to go all vegan like I have, but maybe eating meat once or twice a week instead of twice a day? Maybe deciding that you really just don't want the folks behind the unethical business practices that control most fast-food restaurant chains getting any more of your hard-earned cash? Maybe signing C3's pledge this month and committing to consuming one pound of locally-grown food, so as to reduce the carbon emissions created by the transport of non-local food? These are such small things.
If you love me at all, you'll at least consider it. Pretty please?
UPDATE: I completely forgot to mention the scene in which Greg Kinnear sniffs chemicals out of bottles that contain the flavorings for all the various products that Fast Food Nation's fictional restaurant chain serves. He nods along saying, "oh, that's delicious!" or "hmm... maybe the customer will expect more lime with a name like 'Calypso.'" To this, an anonymous lap-coated guy rattles off the names of some complicated-sounding chemical compounds that correspond to the "lime" sensors in our tastebuds.
This scene is absolutely factually based. Our idea of "French fry taste" has very little to do with the actual flavor of a fried potato. "French fry taste" is solely a concoction of the behind-the-scenes chemists who work in fast-food restaurant test kitchens. And people doubt me when I say I don't think this stuff tastes like food? I actually DO eat real food. Therefore, I know what food tastes like. I'm tellin' ya-- liquid smoke, beef flavoring and fake lime are a far cry from a real hickory barbecue sauce or a real burger or a real caribbean-flavored anything. This is simply a matter of acclimatization. It is that to which we've all grown accustomed. It creeps me right the hell out.
Doesn't anyone else find the notion that our idea of what foods taste like has been wholly manipulated by a bunch of chemists, rather than determined by what food ACTUALLY tastes like, to be a little more than disturbing? Anyone?
By now, I feel like I've watched a million documentaries about how the American food pipeline is a wonderland of horrors. I can't remember the last time I frequented a McDonald's or a Burger King or a Wendy's or a KFC or a Jack-in-the-Box. The stuff those establishments peddle does not provide nutrition that would support a high-functioning body. Beyond that, contrary to popular opinion, that crap really doesn't even taste good. I know some folks will argue with me there, but if you can accustom yourself to eating a better quality of food, the smell alone of your average BigMac is likely to turn your stomach. But I dutifully watched Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me and I blogged long and hard about a documentary that I loved, Milk in the Land: Ballad of an American Drink. But I know a documentary is a hard sell for most folks (god knows why! Nonfiction filmmaking is in the middle of a renaissance of some note right now.).
So along comes Richard Linklater's latest ensemble piece, Fast Food Nation, based on the (nonfiction) book of the same title by Eric Schlosser. Somehow, these two, as a writing-directing team, have managed to magically conjure a deeply disturbing realist-fiction feature out Schlosser's exhaustive research on the fast food industry. The phrase "required viewing" or "required reading" has become something of a regular recurrence in my blog. And I realize that I've developed a propensity towards self-righteousness about all things food-oriented. But, holy hell, the message of this movie is scary--and important.
This film elucidates the way this industry abuses its immigrant work force (denying them disability and insurance rights on the merest suspicion of drug use, forcing them to work in a virtual war zone of animal offal and flayed carcases, undertraining them such that they are prone to slicing open the entrails of the animals in such a way that the fecal matter gets spewed all over the meat (and then blaming them for the mistakes), subjecting them to extremely dangerous machinery (that has been known to remove more than a few human limbs--I don't suppose it's surprising to learn meatpacking is the most dangerous job in the country, causing more than 24% of work-related deaths annually) with similarly inadequate and slap-dash training, etc, etc, etc...). It elucidates problems with the ways the industry exploits the primarily teenage workforce in the restaurants themselves. And it elucidates a grand, grand disconnect between the corporate marketers and the veritable sewage that they're selling.
And then the film shows us how unconscionably badly the cattle are treated. They're kept in miserably tight confines (often, there's not enough room for them to turn around) where they get to muck about in their own excrement and are seldom given access to actual daylight. Often, the animals are not only still alive, but STILL CONSCIOUS when the "processing" begins. The film is a top-down cross-section of one of the more corrupt business models in this country. And if you aren't appalled at all points throughout your viewing, I have no qualms with assuming you're a heartless, ethically devoid asshole. So there.
However, among brilliant turns in this film is Lou Taylor Pucci, the kid from one of the best coming-of-age films ever: Thumbsucker. Despite a dyed-black, scraggly-looking wig, it appears that his progressing adolescence is treating him very well. And he also had one of the best lines in the movie--he plays a kid involved in a high school group of environmental activists, and another character has an idea about cutting a hole in the fence that holds all the cattle slated for becoming burger meat. The discussion arises about how such an act could be perceived as an act of eco-terrorism and then all the kids would be subject to sanctions via the Patriot Act. And so, he says something along the lines of "Well, in this case, maybe the most patriotic action we can take is to ignore The Patriot Act!" Hmm-- well, it seems less forceful when I relay it here, but it was darn punchy at its moment in the movie-- and it draws an important and pointed connection between concerns regarding food supply and virtually every other major political issue at play on the American landscape right now. And IMDb tells me that he's in the forthcoming film adaptation of David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (can't wait!). Catalina Sandino Moreno is luminous as ever, though not quite as transcendent as she was in Maria Full of Grace. Wilmer Valderama is entirely too well-groomed and metrosexual to make a convincing bracero, but it's nice to see him as something other than the sibilant Fez from That 70's Show. An unexpected performance from Bruce Willis is another high point. And Ashley Johnson, who was once the youngest Seaver on Growing Pains, seems to have turned herself into a respectably intense young actress.
Also, because the movie is set all along the immigrant's trail between the Mexican border and a fictional Colorado town, Linklater saw fit to include a very nice little local cameo-- Fat Tire beer! For anyone who has ever lived in a Western state, Fat Tire is the quasi-local brew of choice, coming out of Fort Collins, Colorado (they were also the unofficial sponsor of any social event held at my house when I lived in Tucson, even if that event was nothing more than Michelle and I sitting around the mesquite grill, watching the portobellos cook!). In your inevitable (uh--highly encouraged) perusal of their website, please note their commitment to sustainability. It seems particularly significant that all the rebels in this film prominently tote their Fat Tire bottles and six-pack cartons. After all, whoever said eco-conscious activists didn't enjoy their adult beverages, too?
And then, when you've finished watching the film, there are several animated shorts on the DVD's extras menu that are not to be missed. Most of them can be found at this site. But the "Reverse Hamburger" one is probably the most disturbing of them all. This little piece somehow manages to summarize the entirety of Milk in the Land in under 5 minutes. And it does it with a cartoon. Perfectly brilliant.
Now, add all the information about the mainstream food pipeline that is to be gleaned from Fast Food Nation to all the information in my previous post about how animal agriculture is contributing to global warming and how can we all NOT be motivated to cut back on our consumption of meat and dairy? Seriously, readers! You don't have to go all vegan like I have, but maybe eating meat once or twice a week instead of twice a day? Maybe deciding that you really just don't want the folks behind the unethical business practices that control most fast-food restaurant chains getting any more of your hard-earned cash? Maybe signing C3's pledge this month and committing to consuming one pound of locally-grown food, so as to reduce the carbon emissions created by the transport of non-local food? These are such small things.
If you love me at all, you'll at least consider it. Pretty please?
UPDATE: I completely forgot to mention the scene in which Greg Kinnear sniffs chemicals out of bottles that contain the flavorings for all the various products that Fast Food Nation's fictional restaurant chain serves. He nods along saying, "oh, that's delicious!" or "hmm... maybe the customer will expect more lime with a name like 'Calypso.'" To this, an anonymous lap-coated guy rattles off the names of some complicated-sounding chemical compounds that correspond to the "lime" sensors in our tastebuds.
This scene is absolutely factually based. Our idea of "French fry taste" has very little to do with the actual flavor of a fried potato. "French fry taste" is solely a concoction of the behind-the-scenes chemists who work in fast-food restaurant test kitchens. And people doubt me when I say I don't think this stuff tastes like food? I actually DO eat real food. Therefore, I know what food tastes like. I'm tellin' ya-- liquid smoke, beef flavoring and fake lime are a far cry from a real hickory barbecue sauce or a real burger or a real caribbean-flavored anything. This is simply a matter of acclimatization. It is that to which we've all grown accustomed. It creeps me right the hell out.
Doesn't anyone else find the notion that our idea of what foods taste like has been wholly manipulated by a bunch of chemists, rather than determined by what food ACTUALLY tastes like, to be a little more than disturbing? Anyone?
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