Click Here for the Post Gwyneth Paltrow released a new cookbook last week and, as a result, a conflict in my heart. Will I buy it? Can I seriously take health advice from someone who shills jade eggs for one’s vagina?
Before I can answer, I should disclose the following: historically speaking, I have been known to worship at the throne of Her Royal Goopness (Goop being the actor’s wellness company and lifestyle brand, valued at $250 million in 2018). She won an Oscar for her role in one of my favorite movies of all time, “Shakespeare in Love.” She was an early and hardcore proponent of yoga, before it was anywhere nearly as popular as it is now, when doing yoga meant that you were (ahem, I was) mostly a weirdo. And while I’m baring my soul here, we were once married to men who look uncannily alike. Chris Martin, her first husband. Not the new guy.
I’m still married to Not Chris Martin, but on our honeymoon, the staff at the hotel where we were staying did remark with visible disappointment that he was not, in fact, “the man from Coldplay.”
Let’s get back to the vaginal eggs, shall we? Perhaps more than anything, Paltrow has promoted of late the eggs, made of jade or quartz, represent the high (and high end) quackery that Goop has come to represent. In the end, the eggs were not just wacky but downright fraudulent or even dangerous, resulting in a lawsuit in which Goop agreed to pay $145,000 in civil penalties.
The lawsuit illustrated that Goop’s wackadoo wellness claims had gone too far, but it was hardly the first time, or the last. With recommendations of purposefully getting stung by bees to ward off inflammation (I have trouble typing that nonsense of a sentence), vaginal steaming (like it’s a dumpling, not a body part), and all manner of cleanses to rid the body of dreaded “toxins,” it seemed there was no limit to the zaniness or the price tag associated with a Goop-approved lifestyle.
A word on juice cleanses. We need to call them what they are: liquid (read: starvation) diets. I’m not a fan. I worry that they are promoted carelessly, often to young women who don’t need any more messages of diminishment, and foster unhealthy ideas of what wellness is. But back to Paltrow’s cooking and my conundrum.
This is the problem: the woman can cook.
Her cookbooks contain good recipes. They often contain ingredients I love. They’re not hard to follow and they produce dishes that resemble and taste like your expectations of what the dish should resemble and taste like. This is no small feat. We have all attempted a dish using a recipe that, in hindsight, may have been written by a fourth grader who was winging the measurements or one that was so complex that training at the Cordon Bleu might be a prerequisite for making it.
Meanwhile, the Roasted Cauliflower and Chickpeas with Mustard and Parsley featured in her second cookbook, “It’s All Good,” is on heavy rotation in our house. All of us love it: me, Not Chris Martin, and Not Apple, though the apple of our eye, naturally.
Paltrow’s tip on cooking quinoa made mine foolproof when, before, it was often lackluster (use a less than 2-1 ratio of water to quinoa and tuck a paper towel between the lid and pot while the grains rest). I received her first cookbook as a gift more recently. It’s called “My Father’s Daughter,” which is fitting since I am the daughter of a chef. Hello, Fried Rice with Kale, you’re a breeze, and my kid devours you in adorable handfuls.
So, look, it’s complicated. Can I separate the out-of-touch, over-the-top, scientifically unproven, extravagantly priced approach to wellness promoted by Goop, from Paltrow’s new recipes in “The Clean Plate” for, say, Turkey Meatball Pho or Sheet Pan Chicken Broccoli?
Separate — or should I say consciously uncouple?
I suppose it depends on how hungry I get for new menu inspiration.
Rebecca Pacheco is a writer, speaker, and yoga and meditation teacher. She is the author of “Do Your Om Thing: Bending Yoga Tradition to Fit Your Modern Life.” You can connect with her on social media @omgal.
