By Gwyneth Doland
There's nothing like looking through food magazines to work up a wicked hunger. After a week of drooling all over copies of the latest foodie rags I've somehow managed to lose my appetite for anything that isn't actively glistening, steaming or oozing juices. Also, I only want to look at my food in the warm light of a fire's glow, preferably as I lay on a fluffy Persian lamb rug at my house in Aspen (or wherever it is these food magazine people hang out in February). If firelight doesn't do it, I know I can also try holding a bite below a tungsten bulb and looking at it up really, really close. I'm not sure why, but for some reason extreme close-ups of food seem to make me drool. In Gourmet I flip past a long shot of croissants but am stopped dead by a larger than life Triscuit topped with cheddar cheese, salsa and sour cream. I don't even like Triscuits but I think I can actually see the grains of salt shimmering within the wheaty woven cracker and it makes my mouth water. If only there were a team of 10 prepping my every morsel and I never had to leave my furry perch in front of the fire. I guess I'll just have to pump up the glisten factor of my teriyaki chicken bowl with extra sauce and eat it by the warm light of the TV.
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