By Natalya Jones
By Liz Tracy
By Anthony Hernandez
By Stacey Russell
By C. Townsend Rizzo
By Liz Tracy
By Falyn Freyman
By David Rolland
Now we know why it's so much better on holiday: Franz Ferdinand lead singer Alex Kapranos, author of a Guardian column as a self-described "gastro-adventurer," has been savaging menus worldwide on his band's travels. Somewhere between telling Terry Wogan how he made it and hitting the transmission party, Kapranos noshed on a pork chop sandwich in Munich, sipped coconut in Singapore, lapped up corn ice cream in Rio and compiled these into a book, due soon, titled Sound Bites: Eating on Tour With Franz Ferdinand.Endure the pun, dear reader, for you can very nearly hear the victuals in these tales. At one point, the former cook writes "I scoop out a dollop" of bone marrow in New York. "Glistening. Pink. Gelatinous. It reminds me of placenta. I spread it on the toast. It tastes... good... very good homely, comforting. It would be perfect for convalescing." The word slurp contains too few u's to convey this scene.
Not all musicians can craft such images nor make it sound cool to leave condiments in your Glasgow fridge for two and a half years nor make such a persuasive pro-haggis argument ("the chieftain of the pudding race, maligned in undeserved disgrace"). But so long as red wine and chocolate truffles lead to Al Green on repeat, food and music will be wed. Kapranos' book could signal an onslaught of culinary books from pop stars, if they can only expand these dining diary entries:
Christina Aguilera: "The back stage tonight was pimped out! So much food! I made a pig of myself. Not Britney level but still you know pretty bad! I dipped my celery stick in dressing and smelled some cheese cubes and ate four Triscuits in like an hour. After the show I even got through three 40s before I passed out. I love you East Rutherford!!"
Bono: "In Kinshasa, I had a devil of a time securing even a simple snack of cashews. You would think that when you ask a Congolese shopkeeper, of all people, whether his wares are cruelty-free, he wouldn't stare at you as if you were visiting from the bloody moon."
Ludacris: "Breakfast in Long Beach was chicken and beer. Lunch was chicken, no beer. For dinner I made beer-battered chicken with potato salad and beer on the side. Had a chicken snack later, but I told my crew to stick with beer when we played Madden back in the bus. Hate it when fools get the controllers all greasy."
Ted Nugent: "Scarcely had the maître d' seated us in my customary booth when a waiter bustled past with an aperitif, and the aroma of rosemary and braised quail eggs met my senses. Wang dang sweet poontang, what an aroma! The baroness, seated to my right, must have seen the foodlust in my eyes. 'I know you've been famished since croquet this afternoon,' said she. 'But do save room for the crème brûlée. I venture that it rivals your own.' If only every tour could bring me through Luxembourg!" Sam Eifling
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