Because kale shortages are on par with real food shortages, right? Oh, right.
The must-read of the week is the New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” take on the (pretty much made-up) Great Kale Shortage 2014. The shortage devolves from pickled kale, to black-market kale, to burlesque show kale, to kale rehabilitation facilities, to medical-grade kale. Life without kale is predictably hilarious; our favorite passages:
Yesterday, at our local grocer’s, Pa and I saw that there are not one but two competing companies trying to sell lowly cabbage as a “kale extender.” Pa said, “The only thing I’d like to extend is my middle finger.”
The black market and the looting continue apace; it’s a zombie movie told through the idiom of cruciferous veggies. I saw a looter last night brandishing a three-foot-long stalk of Brussels sprouts like a cudgel.
And then the New Yorker nails what this nonsense is really all about: “Perhaps travails such as these are only to be expected: when man narrows his focus to one or two foods, he becomes a prisoner of his virtue.” Because yes, we are all trapped in a green smoothie kind of world. (At least we’re not facing a ramps shortage.)
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