Word: savarin
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...peak, there is pop: an assemblage in which a real lawnmower leans against a painted canvas; Brillo boxes designed to look exactly like Brillo boxes; cartoons blown up to mural size, complete with dialogue balloons and lithographic dots; old bits of crumpled automobiles presented as sculpture; an old Savarin coffee can containing 18 brushes in turpentine and frozen in ineffable permanency. Sometimes the subjects are erotic. Edward Kienholz's plaster couple makes love in the back seat of a real, if dismembered, car. Larry Rivers' seven-foot, three-faced Negro in plywood achieves vivid connection with a complaisant...
...this welter of the current art world, it is still possible to say, or sense, that some things are good, some bad. There is the almost haunting fact that one metal glob or set of blinking lights will somehow tug at the imagination, while another will not. That Savarin coffee can full of paint brushes, which is in the Museum of Modern Art at the moment, is a visual bore. But Rauschenberg's goat with a tire around it is somehow amusing. Kienholz's latest exhibit, an abortionist's chair, complete with curette, bloody rags and fetus...
...Brillat-Savarin should have eaten so well. As a table fish, the steelhead offers the best of both its worlds: its flesh has the pink color and high fat content of a saltwater salmon, the delicacy and firmness of a fresh-water trout. Stuffed with onion, lined with bacon strips, drenched in tomato sauce, wrapped in foil and roasted over an open fire, the steelie is enough to make a gourmand out of a gourmet. But it is the sport, not the stomach, that makes a steelhead fisherman. Snorts one oldtimer: "Catching a steelhead for food is like visiting...
...things like river pike drenched in crayfish butter and will, under interrogation and a glaring light, admit that one day last summer he drove 75 miles out of his way to patronize a noted Norman chef, eating two complete meals in a gastric feat that might have made Brillat-Savarin wink in his grave...