In the News 03.10.17 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets


In the News 03.10.17 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
In the News 03.10.17 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
In the News 03.10.17 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

Mayonnaise, Disrupted

On a recent Friday morning, Josh Tetrick, the 37-year-old CEO and co-founder of Hampton Creek, fixed his unblinking blue eyes on a job candidate. The pair was sitting at a workstation near the entrance to the company’s warehouselike San Francisco headquarters, where Tetrick frequently holds meetings in plain view of the company’s more than 130 employees. Around Tetrick—a muscular ex-linebacker in jeans and a T-shirt—was even more Tetrick: a poster of him watching Bill Gates eat a muffin, a framed photograph of him with a golden retriever, an employee’s T-shirt emblazoned with “What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?”—one of Tetrick’s many slogans. (Others include “What would it look like if we just started over?” and “Be gorilla.”)

The interviewee, who was applying for a mid-level IT job, started listing his qualifications, but Tetrick seemed more interested in talking about the company’s mission—launching into what he promised was a “non-consumer-friendly” look at the “holy-fuck kind of things” Hampton Creek is doing to ensure “everyone is eating well.” He gestured to a slide deck on a flatscreen TV showing photographs of skinny black children next to one of an overweight white woman. They represented, he said, a handful of the 1.1 billion people who “go to bed hungry every night,” the 6.5 billion “just eating crappy food,” and the 2.1 billion from both groups “being fucked right now” by micronutrient deficiencies. “This is our food system today,” Tetrick said. “It’s a food system that is failing most people in the world. And these pillars of our food system today, we think, need to be rethought from the ground up.”

Read the rest of this article at: The Atlantic

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In 1973, I Invented A ‘Girly Drink’ Called Baileys


My dinner-party party piece for many years was to say, “Well, actually, I invented Baileys. You know, Baileys Irish Cream. I did that back in 1973.”

If one of the unfortunate listening group is a woman – and this is based on actual past experience – she is likely to respond something like this: “Oh-my-God. Baileys. My mother absolutely adores it. Did you hear that, Jocasta? This man invented Baileys. It’s unreal. I don’t believe it. He must be terribly rich. Baileys Cream. Wow!”

And it’s not as if these rather posh people really adore Baileys. Or even hold it in the same esteem as, say, an obscure Islay single malt or a fine white burgundy from Meursault. Not a bit of it. They might have respected it years ago but most people of legal drinking age regard Baileys as a bit naff. To my mind, they’d be very wrong.

On December 3rd, 2007, Diageo announced the sale of the billionth bottle of Baileys since it was first introduced in 1973. That’s a thousand million bottles. And they will have sold at least a further 250 million bottles in the decade since then bringing the total up to something in the area of 1,250,000,000. If we assume that every bottle of Baileys delivered eight generous servings that suggests that over 12 billion glasses of Baileys have been poured since it all began.

The initial thought behind Baileys Irish Cream took about 30 seconds. In another 45 minutes the idea was formed. Baileys was like that for me. A decade of experience kicked in and delivered a great idea. It wasn’t as instant as it seemed. This is the story of its creation.

Read the rest of this article at: The Irish Times

This Is Glamorous x Belgrave Crescent

Shop the Kensington in French Kiss
at Belgrave Crescent &

Art By Algorithm

When IBM’s Deep Blue chess computer defeated the world champion Garry Kasparov in 1997, humanity let out a collective sigh, recognising the loss of an essential human territory to the onslaught of thinking machines. Chess, that inscrutably challenging game, with more possible game states than there are atoms in the Universe, was no longer a canvas for individual human achievement. Newsweek called it ‘The Brain’s Last Stand’.

Why was the loss so upsetting to so many? Not because chess is complicated, per se – calculating differential equations is complicated, and we are happy to cede the work to computers – but because chess is creative. We talk about the personality, the aesthetics of chess greats such as Kasparov and Bobby Fischer, seeing a ‘style of play’ in the manipulation of pieces on a grid. Chess was a foil, a plane of endeavour, for storytellers as diverse as Vladimir Nabokov and Satyajit Ray, and we celebrate its grandmasters as remarkable synthesisers of logic and creativity. It was particularly galling, then, for Kasparov to lose to a machine based not on its creativity but its efficiency at analysing billions of possible moves. Deep Blue wasn’t really intelligent at all, but it was very good at avoiding mistakes in chess. One might argue that its victory not only knocked humanity down a peg but demonstrated that chess itself is not, or does not have to be, the aesthetic space we imagined it.

Read the rest of this article at: aeon

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Why Do We Feel So Guilty All The Time?


I feel guilty about everything. Already today I’ve felt guilty about having said the wrong thing to a friend. Then I felt guilty about avoiding that friend because of the wrong thing I’d said. Plus, I haven’t called my mother yet today: guilty. And I really should have organised something special for my husband’s birthday: guilty. I gave the wrong kind of food to my child: guilty. I’ve been cutting corners at work lately: guilty. I skipped breakfast: guilty. I snacked instead: double guilty. I’m taking up all this space in a world with not enough space in it: guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nor am I feeling good about feeling bad. Not when sophisticated friends never fail to remind me how self‑involved, self-aggrandising, politically conservative and morally stunted the guilty are. Poor me. Guilty about guilty. Filial guilt, fraternal guilt, spousal guilt, maternal guilt, peer guilt, work guilt, middle-class guilt, white guilt, liberal guilt, historical guilt, Jewish guilt: I’m guilty of them all.

Thankfully, there are those who say they can save us from guilt. According to the popular motivational speaker Denise Duffield-Thomas, author of Get Rich, Lucky Bitch!, guilt is “one of the most common feelings women suffer”. Guilty women, lured by guilt into obstructing their own paths to increased wealth, power, prestige and happiness, just can’t seem to take advantage of their advantages.

“You might feel guilty,” Duffield-Thomas writes, “for wanting more, or for spending money on yourself, or for taking time out of your busy family life to work on improving yourself. You might feel guilty that other people are poor, that your friend is jealous, that there are starving people in the world.” Sure enough, I do feel guilty for those things. So, it is something of a relief to hear that I can be helped – that I can be self-helped. But, for that to happen, what I must first understand is that a) I’m worth it, and b) none of these structures of global inequality, predicated on historical injustices, are my fault.

Read the rest of this article at: The Guardian

The Thrill of Losing Money
by Investing in a
Manhattan Restaurant


If you live in New York City long enough and appear to be successfully employed in an industry that Bernie Sanders dislikes, you will be asked at some point to do three things: sponsor a table at a vanity fund-raiser, become a “producer” of a Broadway play, and invest in a restaurant. I had no trouble declining the honor of hosting a benefit or helping “Hedda Gabler” back to the stage.

I did the restaurant.

And while I am not dumb enough to have imagined I’d make much money as a passive, partial investor in a New York City restaurant, I was dumb enough to think that I could probably earn my money back-ish, while at the same time helping some decent young men fulfill their dream. (Also, it seemed more fun than investing in a municipal-bond mutual fund, which cannot, thanks to the killjoys at the S.E.C., give investors free beers.) But of the many failures of logic and foresight of that investment, which I made in 2010, the one that stings the most is not realizing that so few restaurants in New York make money precisely because too many restaurants in New York have investors like me.

My status as a one-forty-second owner of a seventy-seven-seat restaurant has not been a complete disaster. The restaurant survived seven years on a competitive stretch of NoHo, in Manhattan, and it looks as if I’ll lose only a third to half of my investment. The two decent young men who opened the restaurant remained decent throughout, if numbed by how hard it has been to support their families with a business that has grossed, consistently, two million dollars per year.

And being Mr. One-Forty-Second-Owner has provided an amuse-bouche of glamour, primarily because my friends didn’t know how little I owned or the size of the investment (which was the cost of a car, not of a house). Nonetheless, the mafioso power play of being seated before the waiting schnooks during the restaurant’s first year was long forgotten by the seventh year, when a table was available for seventy-six of my closest friends and me. My Barbra Streisand dreams of being lifted up by twirling waiters singing “Hello, Gary!” every time I entered the restaurant moved within a few years to embarrassment, when the original staff had turned over and I wondered how to remind the new staff that I was Mr. One-Forty-Second without looking like an ass. I failed, one way or the other, pretty much every time.

Read the rest of this article at: The New Yorker

P.S. previous articles & more by P.F.M. // Top images: @janicejoostemaa; @lucywilliams02; @lucywilliams02

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