I admit it. I am a grade-A elitist food snob—which is why I am
more than happy using words like “piquant” to describe a particularly
delicious pimento spread. I snack on Grecian Kalamata olives, brined in
the navels of nubile virgins, and I commonly dine on foie gras and
French cheese made by albino cave-dwelling monks.
But I learned something a few weeks back that rocked the alabaster
foundations of my snobbery. I was sitting in my stylish and
well-appointed living room, watching the poor bastards on the
NewsHour with Jim Lehrer ride their flagging journalistic steed
into oblivion. Two fingers into my three fingers of Napoleon brandy,
somewhere between a mind-numbing Ray Suarez interview and a
blood-curdling report from Iraq, a mousey economic analyst suggested we
might be headed toward a depression. Cue spit take.
Really? Has it become that bad? I’m told America is hemorrhaging
jobs at an alarming rate. I’m told gas prices are forcing families to
choose between driving and food. I’m told the Fed is dropping interest
rates like panties on prom night to soothe economic panic. So, I’ll buy
inflation. I’ll buy recession. I’ll even buy stagflation (whatever the
hell that is), but I find a “depression” hard to swallow.
Then I was hit by a wave of “what ifs.” Here I am, a newly hired
food editor at a time when food prices are obscene. I’d likely be the
first to go should the Mercury downsize. Is my job even relevant
when people can’t afford to buy goods and sundries, much less hit the
town for a $40 meal? My god. I may even have to resort to eating…
cheese crackers. No. Banish the thought.
With all of this in mind, I ditched the “Mercury‘s All-Star
Tribute to Filet Mignon” theme I had originally planned for this
issue. Instead, we bring you articles and information to help you eat
like a robber baron during this time of economic crisis. We’re talking
free. We’re talking cheapest. We’re talking “grow your own.” There may
be a depression coming, but that doesn’t mean you need to be depressed.
Even though times are hard, you can still eat well. We are giving you
the tools for survival. Consider yourself lucky. If your granny had a
Portland Mercury watching out for her, she probably wouldn’t be
hoarding those 500 cans of baked beans in her kitchen pantry.