work by Alex Deleuse.

Scallop carpaccio and sunken clams.
Here in San Francisco, food is what is on our minds. We are ill and drunk and foaming at every hour with a hunger that our stomach could have never dreamt up. The table has now become a refuge of the sick. It’s the ripe inversion of Hamsun’s Hunger, a slow glass clinking kind of killing.

Every great aunt’s recipe for yellowed duck.
Our stomach is simple, it won’t ask for what isn’t needed, but watch it be overruled by a mind that has fetishized our most important habit. Look for the foundational hunger beneath our cravings, a crying out for identity which can’t be found internally. We are finding ourselves one plate at a time.

Mussels in brine, mussels in stew, mussels in butter.
When you are a sad case looking to fit in, what can you rely on? When you are a lonestar stuck at a bar and need some quick credentials, what can you rely on? When you are a do nothing claiming creativity, what can you rely on? Food will be the answer for you in 2013. Do your research and buy a guide and be the most uncontroversial of lovers.

Large plate of lobster in tantric coupling, near death.
Tell me what you like. Is it avocado? Tell me what you like to put it on. Yes I feel the same. Tell me where you like to get it. I’ve been there. Now we’ve really got something going.

Coitus reservatus of sundried clams.
The senses are ruling these days, usually pointing to a restless state of mind that will grasp at all the quick pleasures in hopes of bereavement from itself. Nothing will soften the lack of an identity like mac n’ cheese with aged bacon and a stout. Sex is good for this too.

A small fenced-in plate of arugula, fennel, parsley, cucumber and radish.
The energy can go another way, when the restless mind wants control. Food is the way we take in the world, and this other group thinks that the proper handling of it will release us from all of life’s dangers. There are as many pickers are there are gorgers here. And pushers too, In Dolores Park on a Saturday: gluten free heroin.

Sandystoned pizza baked and brickfired in the round.
Enough of bread pudding, of salted caramel and pickled pigs, fried and deeper fried. What we need is just enough, just enough good food to settle our minds and give our stomachs a rest. Then maybe we can return to joyful dinners in a more balanced way.

A sampling from every exotic nation, feeds 7 billion. Please allow longer wait times.
In one or another hip San Francisco restaurants, you will see a mellow waitress who is working on her life in a strong and sober way. She’s bringing some new plate of food to a moneyed group of playpals. The lust for the food and for each other is hardly concealed. Their eyes are glazed and sriracha fevered and they are talking about the zombie apocalypse, as if it hasn’t come.

Paolo Veronese – The Wedding Feast at Cana