Fleischgeist = genius.

My sister, cultural lightning rod that she is, delivered into my hands the other day a little slice of brilliance, otherwise known as the Premiere Issue of Meatpaper, "your journal of meat culture." The magazine is guided by "fleischgeist," thus defined by the editors: From the German, Fleisch "meat" + "spirit." Spirit of the meat. From Zeitgeist, "spirit of the times." Ahem.

A little over the top, you say? Intellectual snobbery meets hipster meets slaughterhouse, you think? Perhaps, but after some consideration I decided that's one neologism I can get behind. The world does not need another food magazine with recipes for the busy housewife, but a slim, artsy volume with two pages devoted entirely to a closeup picture of mortadella? How do I subscribe?

I'm a little less enthusiastic about the meat poetry ("Meat marinated in sweat. / Meat stewed in own bile" reminded me a little too much of that wretched pig's tail. Blech.) but the self-portrait in hamburger and the flank steak dress are right up my (slightly creepy) alley. Best of all is the article about the old-school butcher shop in San Francisco started up by three female butchers. Bad ass. The anti-supermarket butchers, they specialize in humanely and locally raised meats and rare, specialty cuts you can't find everywhere else. I sense a pilgrimage to the city in my future.

One small digression before I leave off - caught Anthony Bourdain on the tube eating lungs and goat brains on the street in India. I am SO EXCITED for our upcoming trip there. I can't wait to make myself sick on organ meats and strange curries.