Sometimes a meal offers a rebellion suspended in its ingredients, or social commentary woven into its method of preparation, or unspoken tales attached to its history.
in the style of the prostitute
On Butter. Eggs. Powdered Wigs. Painted Smiles and a sandwich.
Can you imagine the aristocrats of the day trying to maneuver some tough and dry leftover pheasant or some stiff and fibrous mutton thickly sliced between two hard pieces of bread? Elegant. Very. Whatever.
Truth: If it hadn’t been presented as chic by the Earl of Sandwich, they would have considered such mannerisms as ‘barbarism,’ ‘savage,’ and even ‘asylum’ material.
