Luke’s aunt and uncle drank blue milk. Alex drank his laced with barbiturates. Warf, Muad’Dib, and Londo all consume some sort of worm or worm byproduct. I won’t get into the alcohol particulars here.
Future cuisine scares me. There’s no joy to it. No flavor. Where are my tortillas or pad thai? And if I have to eat worms, where the hell is my Sirracha? It all seems to be created as a bet between some middle school kids as to who will eat what for a dollar. I’ll pass.
I wonder if writers forgot that it’s a basic part of ourselves to enjoy what we eat. If they feel that obtaining sustenance is an obstacle to be overcome. And sometimes it is. But that would be a far cry into the future from where we are now. Celebration? We eat. Memorial? We eat. We even have special foods that we only trot out on certain occasions that aren’t even that fancy. When’s the last time you had sweet potato casserole without Black Friday sales looming on the horizon? And when people come to visit, we don’t just play a game or watch a movie or even just talk. We eat.
And we go to restaurants. We look for new places to eat because we’ve eaten at the last place too many times. We are food obsessed. We sweat cheese.
Even soliders in the field get local foods when they can. No one was ever meant to live off of MREs forever. Sure, you could survive, but that’s not living.
(Unless you make the field pizza or a cheesecake. That was some good stuff right there.)
Jason Henniger on NPR had a few things to say too.