But a recent mea culpa from the cake’s actual creator broke through our collective efforts to block its memory from our consciousness. On the Huffington Post, food stylist and recipe writer Denise Vivaldo claimed essentially to have been backed into a corner to make this thing up. Needing the money to pay her staff, she researched and wrote the recipe, she claims in a story that spares no opportunity to trash Lee at every turn. (The word “disgusting” takes a star turn, and there’s some mention of blood seeping from the walls when Lee gives her a call.)

But it’s easy to throw Lee under the bus when she’s a millionaire for making food from cans. And after watching her crack open and pour a can of apple pie filling into the hole of an angel food cake for the ninth time, I had to ask, “Wait, someone ‘researched’ Kwanzaa for this cake?” Can this dish actually have something to do with Kwanzaa tradition?

I talked to Jessica Harris, a professor at Queens College, and author of dozens of books on the foods of the African diaspora, including a cookbook called “A Kwanzaa Keepsake,” and the forthcoming “High on the Hog: A Culinary Journey From Africa to America.” During our conversation, we talked about the real problem behind Lee and Vivaldo’s cake, what foods are important for Kwanzaa, and what Kwanzaa really is, anyway.

When I first e-mailed you the link to this video, you wrote back saying, “It is just so wrong, disrespectful (and yes that was done with a full frontal Aretha-esque finger snap!)” So let’s start from the top: What do you find disrespectful about this cake?

Well, I first want to say that I don’t find the semi-homemade thing problematic. It’s called “doctoring stuff up,” and it’s fine. So the questions become: What’s the end result? And how do you attribute that cake to a holiday that is not of your ethnic persuasion?

The thing that’s potentially offensive to me is characterizing/determining a holiday about which neither the cake preparer nor the recipe designer has the first clue. When you create a recipe to be attributed to someone else’s culinary tradition, that demands a knowledge of the culture and a judicious handling of things. But this cake has no cultural relevance.

Worse, it’s just something I don’t want to put in my mouth. Much of the offense for me, personally, comes from that. You’re going to make that and call it mine? No thank you! You have to question what kind of holiday cakes the recipe writer makes for her own people.

I’m not saying the food of the African diaspora can’t be an inspiration for other people, because that’s a sign of a great cuisine. But this cake is an abomination. I wouldn’t want that on the table and be called my birthday cake, and that’s the biggest holiday I know!

So you can’t see anything even vaguely Kwanzaa-related in this cake? Did the recipe developer just make it all up?

Let’s see what there is in this thing. Angel food cake is certainly not an African-American tradition; maybe if it was pound cake. Cocoa, vanilla, cinnamon frosting — cocoa does grow in Ghana, but is that where she was going with this? I don’t know about the cinnamon, which is not indigenous to Africa, and don’t even ask me about a whole teaspoon of it! Pumpkin seeds, apple pie filling … corn nuts. Well, corn is called for in the Kwanzaa holiday.

And then there are the candles, which the recipe writer went to lengths to insist were Sandra Lee’s fault, but the candles are the only thing that give that cake any connection to Kwanzaa. Otherwise it’s just an ugly brown cake!

Corn is used in Kwanzaa? What other foods are traditional on the Kwanzaa table?

In the Kwanzaa ceremony there is an ear of Indian corn — dried corn — on the centerpiece for each child of the house. As somebody once said to me, “Corn is primordial,” because if you have corn, you have more corn in it. You can grow corn from corn, so it’s a symbol of potential.

Corn is the only thing I know that is called for. There is supposed to be a basket of fruit on the table, but it’s up to interpretation; there’s no mandated tradition. On my Kwanzaa centerpiece, I try to have black-eyed peas, yams, sugar cane, things that have significance to Africans and the places they have gone to.

But what’s a holiday with no food traditions?

There really are no specific foods attributed to the holiday, nothing that says, “It isn’t Kwanzaa if there isn’t X.”

The name comes from the Kiswahili “matunda ya kwanza,” “first fruits of the harvest,” and it’s based on East African or pan-African harvest traditions, but it’s a very new holiday. It’s only 44 years old. So there are individual familial traditions, but none that are codified.

I wrote a cookbook for Kwanzaa because there are no foods, and so all foods are possible. One of the fun things about this new holiday is that you get to create your own family tradition in a real way, based in a real framework; it’s fertile ground for the African-American talent of improvisation. Speaking of cakes, at one point, I thought, why not do a Kwanzaa cake, but with the icing made to look like kente cloth? You could do it with store-bought stuff, but it would be rooted in some form of African tradition.

It’s not designed as a religious holiday; it’s secular and about community, reflection and self-affirmation, so you can celebrate it alongside your faith traditions. It’s a seven-day event, with each day focusing discussion on a different principle; the words are very “’60s political”: collective responsibility, self-determination. [Unity, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity, and faith are the others – Ed.] Each night, the family gathers around the centerpiece and pours a libation for their ancestors before reflecting and discussing the day’s principle. And then, of course, there are gifts.

This video is 2 years old; its popularity is no doubt because of the cheesiness of Sandra Lee’s shtick mashed up with the idea that she was celebrating an African-American holiday. Why was there not more outrage?

Well, if it weren’t for you, I would have lived my life in blissful ignorance! I don’t think it was the folks celebrating Kwanzaa watching the video. I think the people who were watching it thought it was hysterical because she’s clearly misguided in her efforts. It’s the juxtaposition of that woman, that awful cake and a holiday that is attributed to folks that don’t look like the lady involved. But equally, that same trifecta probably took it off the radar of the folks who do celebrate Kwanzaa.

I have written encyclopedia articles about Kwanzaa, but I hadn’t seen this. So that to me indicates that the video phenomenon really just kind of existed in a different sphere. I mean, her Chanukah cake seems to be equally horrific, and that didn’t raise any hackles either. 

Kibwe Tavares’ short film “Robots of Brixton” imagines a world where sentient machines are given inhuman treatment by humans. An interesting memorial to the 1981 Brixton riots.

3. Joey Chestnuts, official winner of Nathan’s Famous hot dog eating contest

For the fifth year in a row, Joey “Jaws” Chestnuts won Nathan’s annual hot dog-scarfing contest in Coney Island. 

4. Actual winner of hot dog eating contest

Professional eater Takeru Kobayashi technically ate more ‘dogs on the Fourth than Joey (setting a world record with 69 buns and beef) , but was considered ineligible for the Coney Island event since he won’t sign an exclusive contract with Major League Eating. 

5. Twin infants sync laughter

Well, this is almost as creepy/adorable as those talking babies. 

The most fascinating of these photos is called “Pig Cafeteria”:

The caption reads:

“The Pig Cafeteria” was an exhibit produced by the Department of Agriculture to educate farmers about new methods of farming and raising livestock — specifically, what to feed pigs so that they would be healthy and profitable.

So maybe it’s just poor word choice, because when I see Wilbur here licking his lips and holding out his plate at a Pig Cafeteria, I assume that he will be in for a sad and delicious shock, smothered in barbeque sauce. But maybe Pig Cafeterias are just cafeterias for pigs, not serving them — the way we call where kids eat lunch “Human Cafeterias.”

Definitely check out the rest of the exhibit up in the Times, especially the poster demanding “Eat The Carp”:

Or the kind nurses that come to your home and tell you about the benefits of this “dairy product”:

Man, the past looks totally terrifying and not at all tasty. I’ll take Reagan’s “Catsup is a vegetable” decision* over carp demands or pushy milk women any day. 

*Yes, I know it didn’t actually go down quite like that.

But how “friendly” is Ronald? A new study done by outside marketing group Ace Metric found that in a survey group of 500, an overwhelming amount found a guy with big red lips and white greasepaint more creepy than cute.

McDonald’s refuses to give up on Ronald, though, and its defense on why it needs to keep a terrifying clown as its mascot would be charming if it weren’t so ridiculous and backward. Below, five of the responses McDonald’s has given for keeping Ronald on the payroll.

1. Complaint: “It’s really remarkable how often I saw the word ‘creepy’ [in regards to Ronald],” says the V.P. of a company that conducted the survey.

McDonald’s response: “For everyone who may feel that way, there are more who feel the opposite.”

2. Complaint: Ronald McDonald is an evil clown.

McDonald’s response: “He is a force for good,” says McD’s CEO, Jim Skinner.

3. Complaint: Too many damn clowns running around.

McDonald’s response: “There’s only one Ronald,” McDonald’s chief creative officer Marlena Peleo-Lazar said in response to several questions about how many actors portray the smiling clown.

4. Complaint: He is hurting a brand image that is trying to be more adult … like Starbucks.

McDonald’s response: He is the brand image. “It would be almost as if the Geico gecko disappeared, or the Aflac duck,” says one marketing strategist. God forbid.

5. Complaint: Ronald encourages childhood obesity.

McDonald’s response: Around 2004, McDonald’s christened Ronald as a “balanced, active lifestyles ambassador,” and stuck him in commercials where he trained for the Olympics. He got workout clothes. He got a tuxedo. He moved from McDonaldLand into the real world. 

You know who can also move into the real world after being trapped in a fantasy land? Freddy Krueger.

It’s actually in CAI’s favor to have a scary mascot act as a deterrent for children trying to buy fries. It should be thanking McDonald’s for keeping such a creepy figure right in front of the golden arches.

Following in Hawaii’s footsteps, Washington, Oregon and, most significantly, California have introduced statewide legislation that would make it illegal — and highly fineable — to serve or even possess shark’s fin. (Hawaii’s law calls for fines of $5,000 to $15,000 for even first-time offenders.)

Ban supporters talk about the trade’s inhumane treatment of sharks and an outsize environmental impact. The “Ew-ick-how-can-you-do-that” argument is that fins are largely harvested by cutting them off of live sharks, then dumping the shark back in in the water to die. But the more big-picture concern is about the scale of finning: researchers estimate that 73 million sharks are killed every year to feed an exploding demand in fins by a huge, growing middle class in China. Some scientists estimate that ocean shark populations are just 10 percent of what they used to be, and there’s no telling what kind of impact that can have. As Dan Cartamil, a researcher at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, said on the KPBS radio show “These Days,” “You take away the sharks, and, for example, many coral reef ecosystems become degraded. There are suddenly lots of stingrays, because now they have no natural predators, and then they may eat all the oysters, which is a commercial fishery.” And on and on. So the current scale of shark finning is a real problem.

But then I think, again, of my grandfather, and the night he took a teenage me to a nondescript, fluorescent-lit noodle shop in an undistinguished, vaguely smelly part of Macau. Walking past folding tables with diners on stools, going through an unmarked door behind a curtain, we found ourselves suddenly in a plush, one-table dining room, with relatively regal carpeting and a tablecloth of bright red, the color of celebration. I remember the dinner being wonderful, and that the strands of shark’s fin in the soup were thicker than spaghetti, a sign of quality … and extravagant expense. And it became clear that the room, the table, the whole dinner — so strange and luxurious amid such undistinguished circumstances — was built around the event of that soup; the metaphor of that soup was undeniable. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that much of my grandfather’s life was built around that soup, built around the idea that he could show the world and himself that he’d finally made it, that he could literally feed his family his success. For him, and tens of millions like him, that feeling of satisfaction must be unparalleled.

And so foes of the ban, including Chinese American California state Sen. Leland Yee, are tempted to say things like, “This is an attack on Asian culture.” And Jon Kauffman of SF Weekly sharply noted that it’s not hard to see “an anti-Chinese subtext in the ban,” with the language of the debate rife with “echoes of Americans’ fear of the rising Chinese middle class, and the persistent suspicion and disgust many Americans feel toward other cultures’ foods.”

But, Kauffman continues:

“Globally, we’ve reached the point at which the collapse of an ecosystem has to take precedence over one culture’s culinary heritage. No matter who the primary ‘market’ is, overconsumption is taking sharks — and bluefin tuna, and Atlantic cod, and hundreds of other species — away from all of us, and we all have a right to demand action. The situation is becoming drastic, and drastic, across-the-board bans are warranted.”

If the science is correct, I’d have to agree. (Sorry, grandpa. Really. I’m sorry.) I mean, the cultural import of the dish is, to be frank, as much about the demonstration of status as anything else, and there is no limit to the creativity of aspirational culture to come up with the next big status symbol. I mean, go ahead and buy another pair of Prada shoes instead of taking me out for shark’s fin. It’s fine. I don’t mind, and after a while, you’re not going to mind either. After all, the nature of status symbols is that the more they’re attained, the shallower their actual meaning, and the more attractive the next, other thing eventually becomes.

And cultures evolve. As Judy Ki, of a pro-ban group called Asian Pacific Americans Ocean Harmony Alliance, said, “I personally don’t think our culture is that fragile that it would fall apart without one little delicacy. My grandmother’s feet were bound. That was part of ‘our culture,’ and I’m very glad we’ve said that’s wrong.” (It’s worth noting that several California Chinese American legislators support the ban — and the bill was originally co-sponsored by a Chinese American assemblyman.)

But there is something disconcerting about this ban. A Chinese American chef, Jonathan Wu, noted, “It’s a tough call, but I support the ban. While we are at it, I’d also ban Caspian caviar and bluefin tuna [Caspian sturgeon and bluefin tuna are both considered endangered by many scientists] until their fisheries recover — no doubt, that would raise an uproar in certain other cultural communities.”

And that’s the thing: It’s not that this ban is “racist” as some have put it, it’s that it’s the kind of thing that smells a bit of cynical political posturing, scoring cheap environmental points because no politician is going to lose any votes that matter. Get rid of a grody-sounding food that only the Chinese are stupid enough to save up their money for? Easy! Try to take away the endangered tuna from voters’ Friday night sushi date, though, and there’ll be hell to pay. And don’t even think about doing anything about factory farming, the cheap-meat industry that is unequivocally ruining huge swaths of our ecology and our health. It’s not a good state of affairs when we can easily get up a head of steam behind laws that take away others’ pleasures, but refuse to even take a hard look at our own.