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Who’d want to eat a sickly pink gelatin ring cake, or fluorescent bologna ? Or how about a brunch plate that looks nothing like you’d see in a magazine, but rather one you’d find at a diner somewhere in hell ? When you get a look at photographer Martin Parr’s Real Food, you might just feel like skipping your next meal.
Ça roule, ma poule ? How’s my hen rolling ? Huh ? The last time I saw poultry roll was in a game of turkey bowling back in high school. Frankly, I thought the game was a waste of a good turkey – why roll poultry when you can eat it ?
There was never a more unlikely source for a recipe than my friend Paul. The first time I met this guy, I wanted to drop-kick him into the Seine. The suede elbow patches on his tweed jacket, his moleskin pants, and the tiny round glasses slipping down his nose all belied the cracked and unhinged apartment door where he greeted me : Paul had just been paid a visit by the huissier, or repo-man.