Butchers as the New Porn Stars?
As saucisson mac mentioned in his comment on my last post, there was a ridiculous article in the Dining & Wine section of last week’s New York Times, touting certain young butchers as the new rock stars on the culinary stage. I’ve been holding back on any comment for almost a week, like when you eat something bad that completely blocks you up.
Just how is a butcher like a rock star? If you’re going to stretch the comparison to liken chefs to “arena bands,” farmers to “folk singers,” and butchers to “an indie band,” shouldn’t the things that they do have something–anything!–remotely in common with music? No, apparently that’s not necessary. All they have to have in common is a certain element of performance to their work.
The first butcher she features describes himself as a “producer of porcine pleasure,” and his dream is “to throw a 300-pound pig in the middle of a room full of people and just tag-team it” with “another rock star butcher.” His business at the moment is organizing what the author of the article calls “cutting demonstrations that sometimes feature cocktails and sausages” or “meat and liquor mash-ups.” As they say in the movies, any resemblance to actual butchering is merely coincidental. In events like this, butchering is a stage prop or window dressing for something that smacks more of an Iron Chef competition, a WWE event, a smackdown of porcine proportions, a slam pig party, or a culture-jamming meat rave. (It’s OK if, like me, you don’t have any clear idea what such terms might mean; the more incomprehensible it is, the newer, hipper, and cooler it would have to be, right?)
It reminds me of the story told by a friend here in town who played for a good band back in the 70s who found themselves opening for KISS in New Jersey. After their set, they watched KISS from the wings and poked fun at their ridiculous costumes and lousy musicianship. But when they saw how the crowd got into it and how impressive the production was, with smoke machines and flame throwers, he realized it was much more about theater and spectacle than music. That’s why KISS was the star of the show, while his band was not going to make it.
What the NYT article is talking about is not rock stardom, but simply stardom, or more banally celebrity. From the article, you’re not going to learn what these butchers actually have going for them other than the facts that they’re “young,” that some whackdoodles in NYC find them “sexy,” and that they’re famous. It’s not at all clear, from the article, how this celebrity works. The underlying logic, such as it is, seems to be that if you manage to get famous for doing something as unglamorous, as bloody and physically demanding, as butchering then you deserve further fame just for getting famous. (“Isn’t it cool and hot how these guys have managed to become cool and hot by doing something so uncool and unhot!”)
And the article is totally oblivious to the fact that, by writing about “the hipster hottie butchering phenomenon” in this pseudo-hip-hot manner, it is actually working to create the very fad on which it is supposed to be reporting. When did newspapers lose sight of the fact that story is not supposed to be the story, that they are still supposed to be a newspaper and not a fanzine?
As bad as all this fad-surfing, fad-feeding, or fad-mongering is, there’s an even weirder subtext. When she describes butchers, “with their swinging scabbards, muscled forearms and proximity to flesh,” it’s clear she’s conjuring up some “raw, emotional appeal.” Butchers are not just “hot” in the sense of being in demand, the latest thing; butchers, the author would have us believe, are hot in the sense of being “sexy.” “Butcher love” is not so much about acknowledging new rock stars as it is about crowning new porn stars. The subtext here is all about the meat and who’s got it. Stanley Kowalski, showing up at home with “a red-stained package from a butcher’s,” is still Stella (the “star”)’s Desire.
It’s an old story. And one this NYT article recycles without any irony or self-awareness. I tell you what: while hip hotties in NYC get some extensive therapy to get at the root of their “butcher love,” how ’bout I just take that steak home and enjoy a nice lunch, without the sideload of your issues?
Tags: butchering, media
July 15th, 2009 at 10:05 am
Larbo, I couldn’t help but comment on this.
I too think the trend of glamourizing any and every profession related to food is absurd, not to mention the rampant desire for celebrity that’s emerging, but I’m going to play devil’s advocate on this one.
The butcher shop I frequent most often is run by a couple of male butchers not much older than me (28). They are friendly, fun and always helpful. On top of that, they are intelligent, knowledgeable and passionate about their craft. Are they attractive men? I’m not really one to objectify, but if I was being honest, I’d say not really, they’re average. But what makes them sexy is the passion and dedication they exude. Perhaps that’s what the NYT writer was trying to get across (even though it somewhat failed).
And to be fair, I think most women would agree that we don’t find porn stars to be attractive in the way a lot of men seem to of the female variety. The men often seem to be hairy and sketchy looking, while the women are usually knockouts. In what world does that happen?
Good post though. I’m sure it’ll spur some lively debate.
July 15th, 2009 at 11:41 am
I dunno, mochapj, maybe the male porn stars are also for the men running the porn industry and consuming its materials!
Like you, I think it’s only appropriate to be attracted to someone who brings passion, dedication, humor, and intelligence to bear on their work, whatever it is. If people are finding craftsmanship sexy, I’m all for it!
But what’s mentioned in the Times article as sexy about butchers are their muscles, the blood on their clothes, the big knives in their hands, their “swinging scabbards.” It wouldn’t take much Freudian analysis to uncover what’s (barely) sublimated here.
July 15th, 2009 at 12:08 pm
Larbo,
I do agree. The flowery prose the writer has chosen does make her come off more as a groupie than a seasoned reporter.
Perhaps it was a slow news day and she was just fishing for a way to make the article more interesting. I’m sure we can all agree that the easiest way to do that is to pander to the lowest common denomenator (sex) in order to get hits.
Ah, well.
July 15th, 2009 at 1:54 pm
Bite your tongue, Larbo. Who knows how soon it will be until it will be sexy to stuff meat into casings. Don’t rob me of my limelight opportunity. Maybe, I can have an article written about me, with a picture of me cramming meat into a stuffer while wearing nothing but my apron………..HOT!
July 15th, 2009 at 4:01 pm
I have been biting my tongue. That’s where all the pictures for the abliguritions postings come from!
Scott, you’re quite right: with articles like this fantasizing about butchers being as well hung as the meat they’re carving up, how long can it be before they latch on to sausagemakers as the next Priapic god of their idolatry? If you start posting pictures posing with your HOT sausage (O, that n’duja!), I won’t be answerable for the consequences!
Free tickets to my next meat mosh for anyone who figures out what Sean Stasiak’s photo is doing in this post!
July 15th, 2009 at 4:59 pm
I’m going to lob a weak guess (even though I can’t make it to your neck of the woods) and say he’s there because he looks like a beefcake?
Seriously though, I have no idea who that even is. Some sort of wrestler, or tanning bed salesman perhaps?
July 15th, 2009 at 5:01 pm
Oh, I got it.
Wikipedia is such a wonderful thing.
His nickname is Meat. What a horrible nickname.
July 15th, 2009 at 5:07 pm
Just read this. It’s rather timely given the discussion:
http://food.theatlantic.com/back-of-the-house/should-chefs-get-out-of-the-kitchen-1.php
July 15th, 2009 at 5:45 pm
And the prize goes to mochapj! When I saw that there was a WWE wrestler whose moniker actually was “Meat,” I knew his picture had to go in here.
July 16th, 2009 at 10:06 am
Thanks, mochapj, for the link to the Atlantic article about people’s expectations when they go the restaurant of a “celebrity” chef. The story of the couple who left Alinea in tears in the middle of their dinner when it looked like another table was getting something more special than what they were getting is mind-blowing.
Delving a little deeper into this “hipster hottie butcher phenomenon, I’m finding that there’s a whole cultural history linking butchers with masculinity, animality, and sexuality.
As weird and wacky as it remains, it’s nothing new. It’s just the latest rewriting of a very deeply embedded story. Ah, more meat for another post!
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