Weekends pass all too fast. Enamored within the momentary veneer of freedom, precious hours trickle through the cracks of our fingers like diamonds—leavings us barren, ragged, and downtrodden come the executioner’s call of Monday morning. Our proletarian grind leaves little to the imagination—essentially disillusion incarnate—thus, to soar beyond these insipid lots, we must continually push the boundaries of temperance and decency.
By seeking the cavernous expanses nestled within the night—the zeitgeists, the myriad sounds, the kindred souls seeking connection—only then is rejuvenation truly possible. In the tireless war against the corroding taint of ennui and listlessness, a proactive approach to revelry is the only salvation.
“Oh, aren’t they beautiful?!” the Food Network star said of the audience as she emerged from backstage. Perfectly polished with glittery silver ballet flats, a lavender dress shirt and hair as fluffy as banana cream pie, she was every bit the Southern belle her fans know and love from TV.
But her story, as it turns out, is not so picture perfect.
Paula Deen—the face, the voice, the matriarch of Southern cooking—was interviewed in front of a live audience Tuesday at 92Y’s Kaufmann Concert Hall. But rather than quizzing her on the perfect buttery biscuits or the crispiest fried chicken, renowned psychoanalyst Dr. Gail Saltz picked Deen’s brain about her troubled early life, and the ironically traumatic evolution of her comfort food empire.