Saturday, 11 June 2011

Fusion Food

So I'm sitting watching Octopussy, one of my favourite 007 movies for a Saturday afternoon. I've had my classics lesson with Scott in the Trench, and now mulling over what I can say about the Playboy Club. For one, the resuscitation of mojo is clearly of import to that fantasy side of our lives that keeps us going (without fantasy, we might find the crash landing rather hard work, since fantasy is what our late capitalist world is based upon) on the other hand I'm amused that of course the restaurant, signature restaurant of course, serves 'fusion' food. Of course it serves fusion food, it can hardly serve Shepperd's Pie and Irish Stew. Whatever happens in Mayfair is about signs, it is necessarily bereft of reality, and that's why re-inventing the fantasy of the Playboy Club is so appropriate at this time and in that place. Fusion, of course, is nothing served as everything. Playboy, is now nothing but a brand, it is certainly neither a revolutionary idea nor a heartbreaking macho conspiracy, it is just a brand.
Highly appropriate for a place where everybody is supposed to think they are the latest James Bond.

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