>Return-Path: BRobinson@accolade.com
>From: Bill Robinson 
>Subject: Philosophy of Cooking
>Date: Mon, 28 Oct 96 15:06:00 PST
> "Jean-Paul Sartre's Cooking Diary":
>October 3 Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has
>never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home
>immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula
>for a Denver omelet.
>October 4 Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling
>blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers
>marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone.
>I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of
>existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the
>plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights
>off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.
>October 6 I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and
>is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of cigarette, some coffee, and
>four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am
>encouraged, but my journey is still long.
>October 10 I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of
>traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel
>so acutely. Today I tried this recipe:
>   Tuna Casserole
>      Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish
>      Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the
>      oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When
>      night falls, do not turn on the light.
>While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its
>inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater
>recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some
>other dish? I am becoming more and more frustated.
>October 25 I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an
>entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by
>itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling
>God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from
>each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six
>hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked
>myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. Afte several weeks
>of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of
>flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am
>afraid I still have much work ahead.
>November 15 Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of
>cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the
>word cake. I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly,
>but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my
>most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the
>Betty Crocker Bake-Off.
>November 30 Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as
>had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and
>bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver's powerful jaws are
>capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved,
>needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America's
>favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the
>subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.
>December 1 I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two
>months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so
>fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they
>were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now
>on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee
Gnarbaflex: A state when you are in 
one of the holes in the swiss cheese of expectation, 
when you enter an unforeseen and unexpected dimension.