Archive for April, 2018

Sumo. Oranges. Bulletproof vest.

April 2018

Things I coulda gone to my urn without hearing: “How do you know a restaurant is safe to eat it in? By the smell. It’s just like a nursing home.” Oh. Kay.

Burp that frozen Adam’s apple

April 2018

Pretty rich to see Panchito denigrating an actress for having the audacity to run for governor without working her way up from UWS coop board. Wasn’t his experience at being the new Mimi mostly having eaten at the McD’s at the Spanish Steps?

Serrano, saluting 

April 2018

Also pretty rich to see the high holies all up in arms over a mere ice cream. We were just in Buffalo, at the Broadway Market, where we bought a Last Supper rendered in chocolate. At some point we will bite the head offa Chocolate Jesus and be able to thank the Catholic parishioners who molded it. Right now, though, I’m imagining someone Instagraming Sweet Jesus in an egg spoon. And blowing the world up.

Once was a food editor who insisted recipes specify “hot red pepper sauce”

April 2018

Way back in the last century my consort and I took the Tabasco tour on an awesome trip through Cajun Country, and I still remember we were only allowed to see the factory through a window because of “liability.” I was pissed at the time but now see it was simply another reflection of how far ahead they are on issues. Now it’s global warming. Denial is a pretty crappy defense, even as sriracha eats their lunch.