Alice Waters and Cheetos

I'm informed by TC, that Chez Panisse restaurant will celebrate its 40th anniversary soon. I was not invited. Here's why:

Dear T: I was not invited to the 40th Chez Panisse thang. Prob'ly cause I saw Alice Waters at a Milpitas 7-11 one night 'round Xmas buying a bag of Cheetos. At least she was about to buy 'em.

I said, "Yo, Alice! Don't tell me you jones on junk!"

"Oh, Greg, one of my most thoughtful and conscious diners, mentor to Michael Pollan, godfather to Fanny, I must say it's odd to see you here as well. How's Tina? I still can't put her pork loin with foie gras marmalade and toasts of escarole and faux shark fin out of my mind . . . but, no, I'm not 'Jonesing' as you so rustically put it. This bag of Chev -- oh let me look at the label again -- ah, yes, 'Cheetos' -- will be part of a demonstration in which we inveigh against filthy food. And you're here because . . . . ?"

"Alice, we go way back," I replied, "so don't try to turn the kitchen table on me and stop your lying ways. My dear junkie Alice, you got Cheeto dust all over your shit: your fingers, all around your mouth, a 'lil bit in your hair, and . . . oh-oh, on your palms, Alice, and you know what that means!" At which point she started to wipe her hands on a handsome sage-colored linen apron I'd given her years ago after she finally learned, with my instruction, how to kill and slaughter her own livestock. "On your palms, Alice! You should be 'shamed. Means you been stuffin' 'em in your moth, pushing them in . . . with your palms! BOTH palms to make sure nothing falls out. Oh, you're jonesin' Alice. Can't deny it. And as for me, I'm just here to get the Sunday paper for the restaurant reviews. I covered for Mark Bittman in Shanghai last week."

But she was not be be daunted. "Bullshit!" she screamed. "No one comes to Milpitas -- no one! -- except to hide their filthy consumptions. You certainly didn't come here just to get 'the paper'! And, besides, I can wash off this yummy Cheeto dust," whereupon she extended her tongue all over her hands and around her mouth, making it hard to understand her, "bu you gong nee mumfs ta take off tha fory poun uh Ding-Dongs and Bud gut!" Then after having sufficiently dog-cleaned herself, she stepped up to me and warned, "You may have made me, but I'll ruin you if this ever gets out to anyone!"

Well, Alice, it's out. And it's on. Turn me away at the 40th party if you dare.

g