As the lavatory stall to the world, Facebook is a conundrum. It's a veritable mindsuck, but it's also a font of information. Often, Facebook is where I get a head's-up on the latest news-- the recent deaths of poets Lucille Clifton and Ai, for example, well before their respective obituaries appeared in the New York Times.
Facebook is also how I linked to this story, having completely missed it in that day's Times. The entry that accompanied the link was roundly dismissive of the twits who post photo blogs of the food they eat, especially the ones who do it daily. Now I'm not a regular follower of any of these blogs, but I happen to like food pictures. The Big Boy in my hometown in Michigan featured a photo of strawberry pie that would make you howl at the moon (failing that reaction, you might order a piece). Frankly, the pie was terrible--the crust was gluey and the strawberry filling was so sweet it made your teeth ache--but the picture was delicious.
I've never before posted a picture of food (at least, not deliberately), probably because most of what I make looks like dog food. But when I made this plate of bruschetta last weekend, I had to take a picture of it before I ate it. I like how the red tomatoes look on the yellow Fiestaware plate, next to the blue wineglass, and the napkin and the crazy-colored table. After I took the picture, I ate some and I was happy and full, and it occurred to me that food should make us feel that way all the time, instead of guilty and full of loathing. That "bad" is a word we should reserve for wars and for disease and for people who hurt other people--not apply to ourselves because we ate a chocolate chip cookie.
