While Anselm of Canterbury's famous philosophical nugget was meant for no more than to simply illuminate the splendor of God to the unbelievers of old, someone nonetheless must have imagined as an intellectual curiosity the largest possible human being, one that could not be possibly any bigger if anyone could even try. That intellectual curiosity would nine months later emerge in Barkhamstead, CT.
I'm here to review not just the restaurants, but also the dysfunction, the dystopia. I feel I'm as much a reporter of the end of the world as I am the end-all brunch spots. Had I been so long in the suck of modern apocalypse that I never had an honest-to-goodness good time?
If food is alive, what food does food eat to stay alive? If food is alive, is it still morally acceptable, kosher even, for humans to eat that food? Is a live cookie the whole of the thing, or is it the sum of its live dough and live chocolate chips? Does a cake's life begin from scratch, from the first cracked egg, the first swish of the wooden spoon, or is it somewhere in the oven when the baking powder dances with the flour and rises up to life?
She wanted me to have a better life, full of rich experiences. All she wanted me to do was stop posting.