Every month the pornography hits our mailbox. In these libertine times, the publishers don’t bother with plain brown wrappers. They taunt us with saucy covers of voluptuous breasts, meaty legs, and strategically-placed coverage. Inside there’s even more to pique our desires: Cheeky peaches, plump balls, and tanned skin. It’s my monthly haul of food magazines. Add to this the cooking and food/nutrition-related books, and you have our home as a temple of food porn.
My predilection for food smut has parallels with other genres of pornography. It can be aspirational. Your average schlep has no hope of bedding a centerfold model, and I’m no more likely to make some of the recipes in my magazines. If I do make a recipe, the results aren’t as pretty or posed as the picture in the periodical. There’s an obsessional component to acquire a complete set of magazines in a particular genre. Both make good bedtime reading. And there are food magazines for every desire, from vegan to Paleo, pastry to cheese.
Food porn is different from sex porn. I can read my magazines on the bus without askance glances from fellow passengers. I often see others reading food porn, so I’m not alone in my predilection. I’m not ashamed to loan my porn to friends. I don’t have to hide them when my friends’ kids come to visit. As many magazines and cookbooks as I have, hiding them isn’t an option anyway. Other than potential weight gain, the aftereffects of reading food porn are relatively safe.
Julian keeps threatening to find me a twelve-step program to deal with my addiction. However, he benefits just as much as I do from reading the food porn. In the last two weeks alone, he’s made three recipes from recent issues. I think I’m safe.
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