There's a particular shade of beige that seems to follow Kendall Jenner around. It's the color of her $18 million Los Angeles mansion, a minimalist expanse of travertine and linen captured in countless Instagram posts. It's the color of her preferred tequila brand, 818, its bottles lined up like trophies in her impeccably organized pantry. And it's the color, increasingly, of her culinary choices, documented with the same studied nonchalance as her latest Met Gala gown.
Now, I'm no stranger to a restrained palette. Give me a perfectly tailored black blazer, a crisp white shirt – you get the picture. But there's something about the unrelenting beige-ness of Jenner's food world that leaves me, frankly, a little cold. It's as if flavor itself has been sacrificed at the altar of aesthetics, each dish chosen for its ability to blend seamlessly into the background of her carefully curated life.
Take, for instance, the now-infamous cucumber sandwich incident. A clip from the family's Hulu show, "The Kardashians," went viral, showing Jenner attempting to make the simple snack. Her technique, or lack thereof, sparked a thousand memes. But beyond the awkward knife skills, it was the sheer blandness of the endeavor that struck a chord. White bread, cucumber, a smattering of what appeared to be mayonnaise. It was a culinary embodiment of Jenner's brand: aspirational yet strangely unappetizing.
And it's not just the sandwiches. A quick scroll through Jenner's social media reveals a steady stream of similarly beige-toned fare. Avocado toast, meticulously arranged on – you guessed it – beige plates. Bowls of oatmeal, their creamy surfaces unmarred by any rogue berry or sprinkle of brown sugar. Salads composed primarily of iceberg lettuce and pale, wan tomatoes. It's all very...clean. Very controlled. Very much lacking in the kind of messy, vibrant joy that I, for one, associate with good food.
I recall a dinner party I attended years ago, hosted by a prominent fashion editor. The food was exquisite, a riot of colors and textures. There were platters piled high with glistening prawns, their shells still flecked with sea salt. Bowls overflowing with plump, jewel-toned olives. And at the center of the table, a magnificent roast chicken, its skin burnished to a perfect golden brown. It was a feast for the senses, a celebration of abundance and indulgence. It was, in its own way, a work of art.
Jenner's approach to food, on the other hand, feels more akin to a fashion shoot. Every element carefully considered, every angle meticulously chosen. It's beautiful, certainly. But it's also a little bit sterile. A little bit too perfect. And ultimately, a little bit boring.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh. Maybe Jenner genuinely enjoys her beige-toned meals. Maybe her seemingly bland palate is simply a reflection of her busy, jet-setting lifestyle. Or maybe, just maybe, it's all part of a carefully constructed persona, designed to project an image of effortless elegance and sophistication.
Whatever the reason, one thing is certain: Kendall Jenner's gastronomic world is a far cry from the messy, chaotic, and utterly delicious world of food that I know and love. And while I admire her commitment to her aesthetic, I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her taste buds.
Because let's be honest, life's too short for beige food.
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