When I first met Fanny Singer, we were graduate students living in the kind of housing where the batterie de cuisine is usually limited to one giant dented pot, or maybe a frying pan so scratched it resembles a Cy Twombly canvas. And still, Fanny would turn out meals so elaborate and thought-through, it was like you were attending a Michelin-starred restaurant. One Thanksgiving , all the guests got hand-written menus, and we signed a magnum of red wine at the end of the meal.
She may be exaggerating a little, but as anyone who has ever faced ground-up, shelf-stable baby food that is somehow also “meat” can attest, her sketch of the supermercato shelves is not that far from the truth. “That was really one of the underlying premises for Green Spoon,” says Fanny. “It struck us as so strange and bizarre that you would give your kids something that you yourself would not eat. You’d sooner wipe it off your jeans than put it in your own mouth if you got some on your hand.