“She tells it like it is. I wish more people spoke as honestly as Ruth does.” — Tony Maws, chef-owner of
Craigie on Main, who kindly lent us the collection of heads in his walk-in, along with his own, for a
Every so often, the churning, bilious stomach of the Twitterverse belches something beautiful into our collective lap. In this case, it’s disgusting, witty, and strangely alluring commentary on everyone’s favorite scapegoat du jour: foodies. Appearing to us like a backlit god in a ravaged culinary landscape, rife with the smell of Batali’s Crocs and pretentious baristas, Ruth Bourdain arose from the Interwebz two years ago as an amalgam of former Gourmet editor (and flowery tweeter) Ruth Reichl and chef-cum-travel guide with a fondness for a well-placed cuss Anthony Bourdain. A James Beard Award for humor writing and more than 57,000 followers later, the bastard/bastardess’s true identity remains a secret. This month, he/she released a book, Comfort Me with Offal: Ruth Bourdain’s Guide to Gastronomy. And it’s fucking awesome. Subjects that demand mention include, but are not limited to, a survival manual for the vegan apocalypse, a guide to the art of getting gastrostoned (read: bong hits of mozzarella and tangerine zest), and, of course, @RuthBourdain’s bread and butter — plenty of digs at Guy Fieri.
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