Not a golden calf but the golden bunny of karstadt…a false idle all the same
And I'm so hot 'cos I'm in hell
i need to tell this to someone, even if it’s only the infinite vacuousness of the ‘Internets’
shit, how i hate germans.
If grandmothers around the world had a rallying cry, it would probably sound something like “You need to eat!”
Photographer Gabriele Galimberti’s grandmother said something similar to him before one of his many globetrotting work trips. To ensure he had at least one good meal, she prepared for him a dish of ravioli before he departed on one of his adventures.
“In that occasion I said to my grandma ‘You know, Grandma, there are many other grandmas around the world and most of them are really good cooks,” Galimberti wrote via email. “I’m going to meet them and ask them to cook for me so I can show you that you don’t have to be worried for me and the food that I will eat!’ This is the way my project was born!”
The project, “Delicatessen With Love”, took Galimberti to 58 countries where he photographed grandmothers with both the ingredients and finished signature dishes.
Galimberti said many of the subjects for the project were selected serendipitously, picked while he was working on a project about couch surfing that explored the global phenomenon of staying in other people’s houses. Since Galimberti never slept in hotels while working on the project, he was able to come into contact with people who introduced him to grandmothers in the area.
Galimberti acted as photographer and stylist during each shoot with the grandmothers, taking a portrait of both the women and the food they made for him.
From top to bottom:
Inara Runtule, 68, Kekava, Latvia. Silke (herring with potatoes and cottage cheese).
Grace Estibero, 82, Mumbai, India. Chicken vindaloo.Susann Soresen, 81, Homer, Alaska. Moose steak.
Serette Charles, 63, Saint-Jean du Sud, Haiti. Lambi in creole sauce.
The photographer’s grandmother Marisa Batini, 80, Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy. Swiss chard and ricotta Ravioli with meat sauce.
Normita Sambu Arap, 65, Oltepessi (Masaai Mara), Kenya. Mboga and orgali (white corn polenta with vegetables and goat).
Julia Enaigua, 71, La Paz, Bolivia. Queso Humacha (vegetables and fresh cheese soup).
Fifi Makhmer, 62, Cairo, Egypt. Kuoshry (pasta, rice and legumes pie).
Isolina Perez De Vargas, 83, Mendoza, Argentina. Asado criollo (mixed meats barbecue).
Bisrat Melake, 60, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Enjera with curry and vegetables.
[ I was going to post a long rant about some arrogant white yoga girl who insist people are ignorant for using olive oil to cook and should not eat fish or drink milk or eat cheese because of all sorts of problematic food issues, instead I said, let me focus on those who celebrate food. If you still want to see the link of the article she was waving on her Facebook, there you go. Privileged white people…ugh]So cool:)
the third set is calling my name. i’m calling my mama after work.
(via lati-negros)
stream of consciousness moment of the day
i’m sure that if i weren’t so pretrified of being alone right now i’d be:
1) single
2) content with my own company.
shit, when am i gonna get some self-esteem?
“Teddy told me that in Greek, nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound”
this quote from mad men about nostalgia has stuck with me since i first read it. i often think about it, since i often feel nostalgic, but then i’m also surprised about the moments and settings that stir that feeling in me these days. meaning that lately i’ve been looking back on some times of real solitude i had before, but that looking back is not in relief or self-pity, but indeed nostalgia. my mind wonders off to the streets i walked every day going and coming from work, what i saw and who i knew. how when i took a certain route (turning right on the first street going up and passing by the hotel and then by the bakery) i would often see that old man that lived in my building, and who really helped me out by taking me to the bus terminal in his taxi that firs time in august i was going home to visit, or i would see the cool dog perhaps, the one that often wondered that street. i think too about my little room and the utter loneliness of it and in it, all the single items reminding me i was one and alone (the one plate and mug, pan and pot, and single bed); yet what was then loneliness today seems as self-reliance and that is something to be missed. so i’ve come to the conclusion that nostalgia is not a pain from an old wound, but of today’s; and it is today’s pain that makes me look back to a place and time and it makes it feel painless, either as an act of self-delusion or teaching, or both.
