The greying, pretentious mass of pseudo-parents moved in unison through the odourless alleys and corridors of the convention centre with the sole purpose of mindlessly consuming as many adjective-laden fetish objects as possible before sundown. Infrequently, brightly branded aprons and pained toothy smiles of fellow retail drones could be made out through the cold sea of dark, lined faces and expensive casual jackets - bobbing helplessly through an ocean of menopause wearing the lifejacket of youth. Goods and condiments that could easily be mistaken for unassuming grocery items apparently took on a hypnotic quality to these people. Men with grey goatees and contact microphones had managed to not only make corporeal the abstract concepts of the natural, sustainable and organic, but also bottle and price them. Loud and unfriendly looking women hawked tourist packages for various exotic sounding valleys, glens and dales of rural Victoria and Tasmania with impossible promises of a return to pastoral Australia. Like a strange dystopian laboratory, the mad scientists behind the Good Food and Wine Show had devised a way of transforming small amounts of food into large amounts of money. White clad chefs took on the role of the infallible preacher, performing a perverse burlesque of teflon and propane in front of wrapt, devout masses. Never in the history of man has there been such a systematically marketed and distributed hype over something so arbitrary. Today, I attended the hallowed church of food, and it made me sad.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 12:43:21 +0000
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