Retro invites us to curb—nay, nail firmly to the ground—every sophisticated, urban, cosmopolitan impulse we have. Retro food delights with its anachronistic humour. It reminds us of Aunt Mabel, polyester, poodle skirts, and fake blue Christmas trees. It works because it strokes the bones of humour. And Lord knows, where is the humour in food anymore?
Consider the homely Jell-O salad. Now there is a creation bent on amusement. The thing moves. It jiggles. It attempts to ensconce earthy vegetables in sugary gelatinous suspension. There is nothing serious about a Jell-O salad. To serve one, in this day and age, is to keep one’s tongue planted firmly in one’s cheek.
Live from Vancouver.
As it were.
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