![]() Some culinary films glide over tables of exquisitely crafted food you feel disinclined to damage this is one you actively want to bury your face in. But, oh, then comes the food: fat Cubano sandwiches spilling spiced pork shoulder, badger-sized clubs of juicy brisket, a garlic-laced yarn of spaghetti. And certainly, while watching a chubby, tattoo-smeared Jon Favreau agreeably bluster his way through Chef (Lionsgate, 15), pornographic thoughts of any variety lie rather far from one’s mind. “F ood porn”: never the most appetising of terms for a film subgenre that aims for wholesome titillation.
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