“It’s therefore very important to answer simple questions like, ‘How do you avoid a hangover?’
“Whilst further research is needed, this new research tells us that the answer is simple – drink less.”
I really think it comes down to technology, for a few reasons. One, is sensory deprivation. We have formed into a society that’s so accustomed to sitting in front of a screen and typing, for the vast majority of the day. And the truth of the matter is that it’s not exciting all of our senses. Through interviews over and over again, I kept hearing that people want something that’s tangible, that they can see and feel and smell and taste and that we’re the guinea pigs of growing up in that [digital] world.
At the same time, it’s also making us more isolated. We’re craving community. And food is also allowing us to access the globe, so we can find out what harissa is made with and how to prepare something with it, in two seconds on our phones.
With hints of our communist history still lingering in the city’s architecture, specialty coffee is eye catching, contrasting the very nature of the gray, washed buildings that dominate the busy boulevards. Like so many nations around the world, Romanians have borrowed their coffee culture from the Italians. The way they roast coffee, drink coffee, and what coffee means to them, is a distorted doppelgänger of the Italian coffee culture. But that’s starting to change—new influences are emerging from coffee scenes around the world, and what coffee means to people in Bucharest is changing too.
How did coffee and the way that it was consumed change London?
It sobered people up, for a start. Before coffee everyone was either slightly or very drunk all day long because you couldn’t drink river water — or to some extent well water because people used to fall in and their bodies would decompose — unless you had a death wish. One might say the arrival of coffee triggers a dawn of sobriety and that lays the foundation for spectacular economic growth, as people are thinking clearly for the first time in their history. But more fundamental is the idea of sociability, that people should be allowed to have opinions on stuff that matters.
Porumbul fiert a fost eroul sejurului meu, stîrnind pasiuni versificate şi replici de neuitat. Haznaua estivală se oglindeşte de minune în versurile de pe plajă. O scenă: „Luaţi porumbelul de la Gică Mondialul“, strigă un vînzător ambulant de pe plajele României. O doamnă se lasă tentată şi dă să cumpere porumbelul, dar dumnealui soţul o trage de coarda sutienului: „Şinşi lei un păpoşoi care creşte în grădină, fa? Ce, te-ai prostit de cap?“ „Păi, şi ce să fac, mă?“ „Să rabzi pînă acasă. N-o să crăpi.“
Here is the story of The Day Jacques Pépin Saved My Life. That’s how I tell it, anyway —at parties, over dinner, on those occasions when a friend finds himself drowning in his own life and I’m cast as an unlikely dispenser of wisdom. That’s when I try to assure him that salvation can come in the most unlikely of guises: in the guise, say, of Jacques Pépin, who, when I, too, was lost and deep in dark waters, came along and showed me the way to back to the light.
If you follow this simple principle, I can almost guarantee that you will eat better every time you go out to a restaurant. Not only that, but rarely if ever will you come away thinking that you’ve wasted your money or your time. (…)
The vast middle, in other words, is where most restaurants sit.
To put it more precisely: the restaurants that the vast majority of people think about when they thinking about going out to eat.
And you can probably guess by now what I’m going to advise you.
That’s right: ignore them.
If you want to be a happier, more fulfilled diner, then you need to ditch the middle.
That food should be fresh and natural has become an article of faith. It comes as something of a shock to realize that this is a latter-day creed. For our ancestors, natural was something quite nasty. Natural often tasted bad.
Fresh meat was rank and tough; fresh milk warm and unmistakably a bodily excretion; fresh fruits (dates and grapes being rare exceptions outside the tropics) were inedibly sour, fresh vegetables bitter. Even today, natural can be a shock when we actually encounter it. When Jacques Pepin offered free-range chickens to friends, they found “the flesh tough and the flavor too strong,” prompting him to wonder whether they would really like things the way they naturally used to be. Natural was unreliable. Fresh fish began to stink. Fresh milk soured, eggs went rotten.
Ce să-i faci, nu te pui cu credinţa omului! Dar nici măcar în creştinism nu-mi plac habotnicii, iar pe fundamentalişti îi detest. În ceea ce îi priveşte pe habotnicii cultului corpului, aceştia pur şi simplu mă scot din sărite. De fapt, mi se par ridicoli pînă în momentul în care, cu o privire de iniţiaţi, vor să mă convertească la dreapta lor credinţă şi să jur călare pe un aparat de fitness şi cu mîna pe morcov că voi muri sănătos, întru gloria corpului de-a pururea detoxifiat. De asemenea, deşi sînt o fire compasivă, îmi este greu să le plîng de milă cînd îi ia cu ameţeală la serviciu sau leşină pe stradă în urma îndeplinirii cu prea mult sîrg a sfintelor lor canoane de mîntuire a corpului. Aşa că, impertinent şi impenitent, mă declar eretic!
“It is a sign of aphuia” says he,—that is, of a nature not finely tempered,—”to give yourselves up to things which relate to the body; to make, for instance, a great fuss about exercise, a great fuss about eating, a great fuss about drinking, a great fuss about walking, a great fuss about riding. All these things ought to be done merely by the way: the formation of the spirit and character must be our real concern.”