Lauren says her new blogular gig isn’t some big political feminist platform. Nevertheless she has magnanimously focused the Twisty eye on glib egomaniac celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain and his tasteful views on misogyny and animal cruelty.
Like I always say, you can take the girl out of Feministe, but you can’t take the feminist out of the girl.
The story so far:
— Foie gras is expensive, delicious fatty duck liver obtained by gavage, a method of force-feeding that involves a human with a funnel on one end and a defenseless duck esophagus on the other.
— Gavage is deemed repellent by an assortment of groups for an assortment of reasons, one of which might reasonably be construed as an abhorrence of forcing imprisoned birds to grow 2-pound livers for the exclusive delectation of the well-to-do.
— Foie gras is summarily banned in Chicago, pissing off Anthony Bourdain, who views the protection of morbid obesity in ducks as a “noble cause” and the opportunity to eat their livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti as an inalienable human right.
— Bourdain leaves a comment on a foie gras post at Megnut arguing that because there are people starving in Sudan, concern over institutionalized animal cruelty should be no greater than concern for female porn actors, i.e. zip.
In order to impress the many-elbowed throng with one’s edgy hipster cred, a dude must boo-ya unto the hills his allegiance to porn. Some dudes accomplish this critically important posturing by incessantly likening everything to hottt sexxx with horny chixxx. Bourdain, Bourdain. So dudely.
You see how apt the comparison of porn to foie gras? For instance, when I say “respectable adult film ingenue,” your incisive young mind immediately leaps to an image of jolly Strasbourgiens shoving funnels down the craws of happy captive waterfowl who will later be slaughtered for their tasty livers. Right?
Bourdain, a trembling patriarchalist whose deepest fear is a vegetarian takeover of the world, really enjoys making this porn-to-abused duck comparison. In the aforementioned blog comment he says, ripping on people who delude themselves that force-feeding ducks is gross: “… a duck can handle what any respectable adult film ingenue considers routine.” And again, in a Salon interview: “These ducks aren’t doing anything that a porn star doesn’t do on a regular basis.”
See, Bourdain knows what time it is. He knows it’s cool to shove a cock down a woman’s throat for the amusement of paying customers, so it follows that it’s cool to shove a funnel down a duck’s throat for the amusement of paying customers. Hell, shove any old thing down any old throat for the amusement of paying customers. Whatever. It’s cool.
In the Salon interview, Bourdain asserts that, sure, some duck farmers are unscrupulous, but the good foie gras, it comes from happy ducks lovingly cared for by devoted duck worshiping sycophants. These contented animals enjoy their twice-daily gavages so much that they flappity-flap for joy when their personal force-feeder approaches their luxury resort accommodations. If they were able to walk — which they aren’t because their livers are 12 times their normal size — they’d strew rose petals in his path and quack out lyric odes.
Women in porn do have one thing in common with those ducks: assholes who want to justify their addiction to porn tell the same kind of feel-good stories about them. You know: sure, some porn producers are unscrupulous, but the good porn, it comes from decent guys who take care of their girls, and obviously the women are making tons of money and having the last laugh and striking a blow for women’s sexual empowerment, and they totally dig it or they’d bail for chrissake.
Here’s what some tool in Larousse gastronomique has to say about foie gras: “The goose is nothing, but man has made of it an instrument for the output of a marvelous product, a kind of living hothouse in which there grows the supreme fruit of gastronomy.”
Or, the woman is nothing, but man has made of her an instrument for the output of a marvelous product, a kind of living whorehouse in which there grows the supreme fruit of patriarchy.
Next time: To foie or not to foie?