March 10, 2004

In yet another dazzling display of uncreativity, I shall post something not my own. Call it indolence, call it a steadfast refusal to exert myself, call it literary leaching. I stand proud and undaunted by your charges.
My friends and colleagues may find my laziness especially intolerable, as this fine piece of writing graced my dorm room door last semester. Let them disapprove. I scoff.

The Jean-Paul Sartre Cookbook

We have been lucky to discover several previously lost diaries of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stuck in between the cushions of our office sofa. These diaries reveal a young Sartre obsessed not with the void, but with food. Apparently Sartre, before discovering philosophy, had hoped to write "a cookbook that will put to rest all notions of flavor forever." The diaries are excerpted here for your perusal.

October 3

Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver omelet.

October 4

Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.

October 6

I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is still long.

October 10

I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I tried this recipe:

Tuna Casserole

Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish
Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.
While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am becoming more and more frustated.

October 25

I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid I still have much work ahead.

November 15

Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the word cake. I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.

November 30

Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver's powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America's favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.

December 1

I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee.


The Jean-Paul Sartre Cookbook
by Marty Smith, Portland OR
forwarded by Alastair Sutherland ([email protected])
from Free Agent March 1987 (a Portland Oregon alternative newspaper), Republished in the Utne Reader Nov./Dec. 1993

Posted by jonsligh at March 10, 2004 10:53 AM
Comments

If you scoff at our disapproval, why the long disclaimer in your defense?

Posted by: apple at March 10, 2004 12:35 PM

And another thing. Do you know what your are doing by posting the thoughts of others? Jon, you are watering down what a blog truly is. You cheapen its worth and drag it through the mud. Jon, we want to know what you are thinking. The masses are yearning for gleanings from your intellectual table. Give us cake!

Posted by: apple at March 10, 2004 02:08 PM

Jon, I agree with Joe completely. You might say that I have a bias, but think of how appealing it is to actually read fresh and seminal ideas. These other entries are great, but it is YOUR blog, not another's. Why don't you attempt to write your own words instead of taking from someone else? Or is there a deeper problem that we should be aware of...Jon, are you suffering from the fear of rejection?

Posted by: Jessica at March 10, 2004 02:51 PM

I am a rock. I will capitulate to neither your wheedling nor your complaints.

Posted by: slig at March 10, 2004 03:27 PM

Even in your rebuttal, you quote S&G. Lame.

Posted by: apple at March 10, 2004 03:38 PM

What ever happened to the old Jon? The shy, lanky kid in leotards that we used to call Jon "Crazy Gus" Sligh. He was always so original. Why, I remember the time he borrowed my petroleum jelly for the school play and didn't care who jeered...

Posted by: sam at March 10, 2004 03:49 PM

rocks feel no pain..islands never cry.

here's another quote for you jon. it's quite possibly irrelevent but i like it.

Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.
-Salvador Dali

Posted by: gwen at March 11, 2004 09:48 PM
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