Wow. In the space of less than a week, I've been subjected to four tales of cannibalism in just my usual, casual reading. I didn't seek out any of this on purpose! What's the zeitgeist here: Eat as local as possible?
First, I checked out Julie and Julia from the library. After a rather rough start (get this woman an editor!), the book settled into some good fun (and some seriously telling anecdotes about blog ennui). Before long, I came across the story of the German guy who advertised on the Internet for someone willing to be killed and eaten. This nut got his nut, and before he killed him, he chopped off his wiener and cooked it, and they both ate it.
Next, I bought Stefan Gates' book, Gastronaut, in which he not only talks about the same, ahem, "spotted dick" potluck referred to by Julie Powell, he also includes four essays on eating human bits: fingernails, scabs, boogers and even actual human flesh.
He's much creepier about it all than Julie, even confessing his own urges to bite some butt — his wife's.
Then this week's New Yorker arrives with a lengthy piece on the historic Donner Party. Did they or did they not resort to cannibalism in order to survive a snowbound catastrophe in the Sierra Nevada? Good reading.
But can anything top the increasingly ridiculous Tom Cruise's stated intention (later retracted as a joke; funny) to eat the placenta of his newborn daughter? I can see it now. "I thought you said this was polenta!!" Hey, Tom, how about a few recipe suggestions?
Yeah. Well. It just goes on. A couple of weeks ago, I made a spoofy reference of my own to cannibalism.
What the hell is happening?
I'm never gonna make an Aztec picnic joke about Cranky's splendid thighs again.