Air du Temps™ (the røcipe)

Røticulate, Røtinal, therefore Røpetitive

Difficulty level: More mandatory than gustatory

Time: État gazeux in an advanced degree of putrefaction

Cost: Neo-Colonialist

Mise-en-Place

Please make sure that you are positioned in a place of alter-onanistic ostentation and in a permanently cynical deconstruction of the Real, for that being the most suitable environment for cooking this gore’met røcipe: leaving out the meat in order to eat the blood. For this dish, we will thus need a dialectical inversion of the Noble Savage myth, a freshly decapitated one, which should be organic and having a Protected Designation of Origin stamped in it; also peeled and deboned, no eyes or teeth, no expression or impression, no pet name. We also need to fearlessly embrace that civilizational level where it is already possible to consume tofu made out of pork meat, and turn that into the ultimate food trend, as if it was already true that we are living in the 21st century… We need a retrofuturistic oven and lots of cyberspace in the kitchen. Actually, we need a megalophysic kitchen, intense and widely ethereal, excessive and spiritual, über-imagetic and proto-apocalyptical. I suggest Bosch kitchens; late medieval is the Pantone-aesthetics for the year 2008, and the year 2008 is the Pantone-year for the year 2014. That is, the bio-machines produced from scratch by Singer are moved out, and unwashed Flemish hipsters, preserved in non-vegetable oil and intensely processed flavour enhancers (aka Fashion) are brought under the spotlight again. Very important: the “air” and “du temps” in season are the core-ingredients of the so-called Eschatological Diet™ and require at least 1 Petabyte of memory inside the freezer so they can be properly cured; their Becoming is the Global Cooling! Besides, this is all about post-capitalist luxuries that can only be acquired after some dozens of fluffy cats have been beheaded, and at least one concrete Ground Zero have been erected in the same location where previously there was this local-bio-farm with a global-graphic-identity. We can’t stay inside the closet for too long! — our brain synapses might be clogged with dust, and humidity can moulder our temper, attracting all sorts of germs that are only interested in doing work-in-progress stuff. Well, work-in-progress is one of those very useful strategies for those who are not willing to finish what they started. We are not sorry! As for Art, also Food has been turned into Design. Contemporary Røcoco is then a form desperately following a function: the hostile annihilation of the human species. But beware! Since History has a homeopathic water memory — that is, it suffers from Alzheimer’s disease —, by the time we start cooking this røcipe, we should never stop, not even to think! Straight line — everlasting nec otium. Until the End. Like this:

Ingredients

  • 1 H’egg’el yolk, room temperature;
  • 2 big spoons of Olive Oily’garchy;
  • 1 package of Boaventura Sousa Santos potato chips (flavour: Mediterranean Poverty);
  • 2 tea spoons of De Duve’s modernist mayonnaise;
  • 1 Schrödinger’s cat, slightly poached;
  • 1 cube of Oparin’s soup broth (bio);
  • 500 mg of Soma (retro package edition: Huxley 1932);
  • 100 gr of peripheral PIIGments, in many colours;
  • 1 cl of liquefied black matter;
  • 2 (or 3, if small) second hand embarrassments;
  • Some drops of Slavojuice;
  • Natural extract of baroque’s meat (to taste);
  • Artificial fast-food flavour (the brand Indie™ is the best…);
  • 1 package of Orwell cookies, to cheat hunger.

Preparation

Beat the H’egg’el yolk until it disappears completely in the air. The excess of gravity inside the Bosch kitchen will make the molecules accumulate in the lowest point in the ground, a place designated by American Gastronomy as “watermark”. Because that place is almost invisible, and in order to unveil it faster, tease the frisky Schrödinger’s cat with an Orwell cookie and let it snuggle with the corpse (be careful not to smash it). It is in that concave surface that a quantum equation (1+1=3) should be composed, along with the two spoons of Olive Oily’garchy, the whole package of Boaventura potato chips and the second hand embarrassments previously braised. Put everything in a mixer, not before removing all residual rhizomes (they taste really bad…), and let it rest inside a previously heated Higgs boson. Next, a hybrid should be built, hard-beating the dark matter with some drops of Slavojuice; its high acidity will break the dough, changing the capital of colour hundreds of times in just seconds. Do not stop harping on the same string (theory), adding the Indie fast-food flavour sparingly, tasting every now and then, so that it doesn’t turn into something overly tacky, only consensual enough to be easily quoted. Store the resulting mushy mash in a pastic community and put it in the fridge. Meanwhile, assemble the PIIGments salad and season it with some De Duve’s mayo and a pinch of baroque’s natural extract. Let it marinate inside an old wooden relational. Cover it with a cloth and let it ferment slowly until it reaches the Rancière point. At this time, transfer the mixture to an e-cool-logical piping bag and reserve. Lastly, do a regression to the Oparin’s broth, heating it in a metal cyberbullying; while waiting for the meter to reach the Zero™ point, swallow the 500 mg of Soma in one single gulp, self-inducing a psychotropic trance called Cybernoia™, that will make you foolishly believe that everything is interconnected and that all posts on Facebook are about you. As the delirium tremens is slowly vanishing, filter the regressed broth with the help of a thin social network and pour it down a stainless steel melting pot (it should smell like blood). With your hands dry, blend the mixture by doing some oily twerk movements, increasing the speed gradually until a spontaneous combustion happens. Adjust the seasoning. Reserve.

Plating & Tasting

When properly cooled, flatten the one-dimensional mixture. Its umami flavour is barely imperceptible. All røcipes featured in the Contemporary Cookbook taste the same: noodles-to-go that taste like food, canned soup that taste like food, home-delivered pizza that taste like food. A flat cake with no gluten, no lactose, no coloring or preservatives, no thickeners or acidity regulators, no sugar, aspartame or glucose syrup added, no sources of phenylalanine or genetically modified soy. 0% fat content. Chemtrails-free. It will be au point when it tastes like everything we know, that is, when it tastes like Nothing™.