I am intensely knowledgeable on all matters nutritional but
somewhat ineffective in applying this knowledge to myself. A friend, the
novelist Tom McGuane, once said to me, “You can lecture a group of us on
nutritional health while chain smoking and drinking a couple of bottles of wine
in less than an hour.”
Sad but true, but how sad? Ben Franklin said, “Wine is
constant proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” Despite this many
Americans own a hopeless puritanical streak that makes them beat on themselves
as if they were building a tract house. The other day I took out a pound of
side pork from the refrigerator, exemplary side pork raised by E.T. Poultry
which I favor above all domestic pork. I put the package on the table and
circled it nervously like a nun tempted to jump over the convent wall and
indulge in the lusts of the body. My intellect warred against this side pork
while my heart and taste buds surged. I was again modern man at the banal
crossroads where he always finds himself bifurcated like Rumpelstiltskin.
Naturally the side pork won. My art needed it, plus I knew
that a simple bottle of Domaine La Tour Vieille would win the battle with pork
fat if drunk speedily enough to get down the gullet to disarm the gobbets of
side pork. To achieve health one must be able to visualize such things in terms
of the inner diorama.
CONNECT
CONNECT
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