Big week: You can finally throw out the barely touched fresh cranberry sauce from last Thanksgiving. // Wonder if the people at the high-minded farm-reformation forum who are arguing for eating insects pitch their King Arthur flour when it hatches. . . // Pro-tip: Always use 1900 as your birthdate on entering liquor sites. Makes ‘em drink more. // Your wine should never cost more than your turkey. // Note to flacks: If your client is charging for the food, it’s not aperitivo. // Pumpkin in chili is one of the best ideas ever. In anything chocolate? Squanto would retch. // Even ghostwriters have ghostwriters. // It figures a fatal outbreak of listeria would be linked to a company called Wholesome Soy Products. // Probably not a good thing when you can’t tell whether the splotches on the menu are design or grease spots. // Gluten-free gelatin is in the house. Hope no one sensitive learns what it really contains. . . // Tagine = failure?
Archive for the ‘twittchy’ Category
I’m so old I remember when people complained that soda was cheaper than water. . . // Language debasement continues: “Culinary nutritionist”? The fuck! // Best lemon-tart filling advice ever: “Beat it like it owes you money.” // Spritz or sponsored? You decide. // “Senza Expense Account” would be a helluva wine blog. // Hate it when I cut into an expensive cheese and think I could mop the floor with it. // Trying to figure out why there would be an expiry date on a box of sugar. // Culinary is a long-winded way of saying food. // I can be the food shrink for the holidays: Throw out all the hysterical “advice.” Just marinate your guests. // Two more in head-scratching: a burger described as a delicacy and a tarte Tatin as a confection. // When guests say “I don’t want to make you have to cook,” I hear: “Please fucking don’t.” // Outlaw superlatives and you put fud magazine cover-line writers out of biz. // Was a dentist what invented Halloween, no? // If you love something you should spell it right — it’s La Lunchonette for a very good reason.
Great thing about cooking/baking: No matter how long you do it, you can still fuck up. // Lunches do eat up a day. // Funny how there are so many classes on how to become a food writer. (Pro tip: Type.) Almost none that teach how to make a living by eating. // It’s not lard but the lard comeback story that’s having a comeback. // Hope Ten Speed has hired more monitors for the slush pile — good piece on publisher via @Soumak. //Shouldn’t all chefs be described as hot, unless they’re using microwaves? // Hate it when I flip through a cookbook and hear trees weeping . . . // And w hen do you really know how to cook? When you can do it without a recipe.
Even I sometimes forget ears are different from cobs. // Some cookbooks should be titled “Shoulda Started Yesterday.” // “Nose-to-tail tamales” unfortunately made me conjure pig snout on pig poophole. // 50 shades of Francis Mallmann: “Weeping Lamb” on facing page from “Leg of Lamb on Strings.”// I always hear chiffonade and think chifforobe. // Every time I have a conversation with a farmer this time of year, I have new appreciation of the term “punch-drunk.” // Got my first VD pitch. And we haven’t even gotten to turkey panic. Why not go straight to Return-of-Jeebus chocolate? // Just got another pitch that makes me wonder why no one has declared National Toilet Paper Day. How many lobbyists does it take to proclaim the obvious?
Corn maze always sounds redundant. // I passed a place called “Papa Kebab.” Dad on a stick? // Somebody puked in the Sunday magazine. // Dog “manure”? The streets of Paris must be very well-fertilized. // 2nd-grader in me had to laugh at Photoville: figures someone would cut the cheese in the Leiden exhibit. // If you’re willing to spend 10 bucks on an apple crisp mix, someone needs to take your credit cards away. // After hours of “audience is all,” 2 convos tonight on why NYT recipe database is arrogantly doomed: No interactivity. // Nothing like dinner next to first-daters to remind you it gets better if you aren’t a jackass on initial eating experience. // Not sure karaoke should pop up in a farm-to-table search. Unless lowing is involved. // And if a chef really wants to make “the best smoked salmon,” why start with farmed fish?
“Obligatory Caesar” is redundant. // NYT should put corrections behind a paywall. And run more of ‘em. Who wouldn’t pony up to see #Pelacciothirdfromleft? // Scarier than “melts” in cat food? “Single-cell protein.” Coming soon to a label near you. . . // The special K is karma as an editor learns you are not the boss of you. // Phrase I never expected to hear in a Key Food: grass-fed. But I suspect they’ll soon learn to lock up the Urbani. // Hope I was hallucinating. Thought I saw a young guy with Halloween Peeps at Chelsea Fairway. . . // “WTF is that?” should never be your first reaction to a fud foto. // 50 lashes with a salmonella-infected turkey gorgle for anyone sending out Thanksgiving releases right now. // Might not be the best time to boast that TOTG’s chef is a headliner at your event. . . // DQ patrons have $ to cyber-steal? // If bacon needs a national day, water must be dying of attention-thirst. // Saw a coat hanger symbol on a door in a restaurant. Thought it was the ladies’ room. // And: My mise will never be en place.
Never buy the green salsa. // One of those weeks to remember you can die at TOTC and everyone will just move on. #countmeamongthegutless // More gracious women than I will not point out that there was some serious “you didn’t build that” warranted in the fud world lately. // Scoured BizDay looking for its story on the French effort to regulate restaurant food claims. Guess you don’t need three to make a trend now. // Saw “curated” and “crafted” used in the worst way possible: to advertise condos. // “Italian Grandma Salad”? I’m not sure sure about the main ingredient. . . // Always hope the sad souls flogging booze get to tipple before typing. // Just a suggestion, but any Thanksgiving release from here on out should come with a shot of hemlock. // Constantly amazed by NY burger lists that rank feedlot beef so high. #nomadcowinthegrass // Knew nothing about German bread last week. Now learning left and right down to the museum. // “Prochetta,” “prociutto,” “zuccini” and “vinegrette.” In just one release. // Message from Crab Weekend: Sunday Styles pages make the best absorbent for the yellow gunk and picked-clean shells. // Drollest note from an email from a friend advising a neighbor on how to bait an electronic mousetrap: “The peanut butter does not have to be organic.” // Got two $25 gift cards in the mail for one resto. Decided neither was worth subway fare for what Biff described as “if clowns had a cuisine.” (Dream on, Hairy Anus. No one as creative.)
Have to say I never would have thought Americans would grow up enough to accept pork belly & not a euphemism. // Once upon a time “frozen profiteroles” would have qualified as a good name for a band. Or a blog. // Always a reason why poaching is penalized. Crappy way to cook a fish. // Great moments in NYT display type: “Chips of a different munchability.” // Lamb is my deer meat. // Anyone asks where to eat in the West Village, save your brain cells. They’ll just wind up happy at #Barbuto. // Squanto is a vastly underrated character in American history. // And: Good question from a friend — wonder if Squanto had any regrets . . .
Butter may be back. Ghee never went away. // Couples’ fights at a farmers’ market are always the most revealing. // Great piece on lobster, tail to taste. // Had occasion to flip thru Fho file just now. Jeebus, what they let her get away with, to this day. // And I second Yuet Lee’s salt-and-pepper squid in this “10 things to love about SF.”
Old, but I’m not wasting: Imagine a real food movement with clout. // Things I learned today: Time needs a tax break to move to cheaper offices downtown. While farmers pay land taxes. // Restaurant Guys who read NYT Style section for latest pants/shoe advice should also check out WSJ on how to buy a jacket that fits. // See a guy eating alone & chewing with his mouth open & you know why he’s eating alone. // Just saw “potatoe & beacon soup.” And “humanly raised chicken” (which would be an oddity). // Remember when Corner Bistro was considered a top burger place? Get the shivers every time I walk by. // “Vibrant frizzante character” sounds like a casting call. // OMFG: there are gluten-free aphrodisiacs? // With seven tons of hummus recalled, you can safely consider ground chickpeas the new ground beef. // And some chains’ food trucks would be better labeled as port-a-johns.
I dread ever going back to Paris, judging by the reports coming out of that wannabe Williamsburg. // Funny how people grossed out by mayonnaise love “aioli.” // Saying it again: If you have to be described as “celebrity chef,” you really aren’t. // Porridge is actually a very pretentious word. // How to tip a craptastic bartender? If you were a woman, you’d know the answer: Tip better so they don’t think you’re a “typical” woman. // Sign spotted at Zabar’s: Some sushi products may contain raw fish. // In from dinner and drinks in the richest ZIP and wondering, after seeing all those 1% faces: Would the plural be a flock of facelifts? Or a saggle?
Sad to realize whoever invented “dough conditioners” will probably get an obit. And ponzu will always sound like a scheme. Also, sadly, too: It’s a good thing Orwell is not around to hear “botched execution.” You use that verb for brownies, FFS.
Bodega had a handwritten sign for Clif bars. F looked like T. // Worst abomination yet: “Panino’s.” // The fuck — putting a Wienermobile ad before Werner’s “Abyss”? // New game after “Thousand Island or Pepto-Bismol” is “XXX or Martha.” // I never mind being the most geriatric person in the room at food events. Hate it when olds ask me if the sidewalk is too slippery. // Italian somm friend in late 80s always lamented Americans wanted only insipid pinot grigio. Clearly, we’ve come a long way. // You know who also wasn’t a chef? James Beard. // I suspect MFK is glad not to be around to have to read entries in any contest named after her. . . // I saw what you did there: “Sitting around on Sunday? Make pork butt.” // And as some Monty Python character must have said: At least I never had to make listicles.
Determined to move to daily posts, I am going to cheat here, right under the wire, with a few backlogged RTs/MTs&UTs: Pretty funny when waitress said she wanted to kill the kitchen for slow food. That solves everything. // Plaza Hotel really feels like “The Shining.” Expected to see Scatman in food hall. More surprised to get good food. // OFFS. The Pilgrims did not have blueberries in November. Let alone a freezer from which to extract them. // Pitying those who have to clean the bathroom after a juice cleanse. // Saw a huge roasted beet with a tail in an open restaurant kitchen the other night & thought it was a bloody rat. // “People complain about noisy restaurants, but they don’t go back to quiet ones,” says Pat Kuleto. Food Arts. 1994. // Not even durian will stink up your whole apartment like Dunkin’. // Should be a statute of limitations on restaurants posting NYT reviews. Especially of $25&Under variety. // And: Pretty funny where the Guardian files @anamariecox Duck Dynasty column. Cook their geese . . .
Dissertating about pimento cheese is like architecting about Legos. // With rhubarb and baking, it’s all known unknowns. // Sad to realize some rock salt is so outsized a dingbat Scout leader would try to break it down. // Have yet to see a functioning water dispenser in a Chase bank. Either water or cups always missing. Saving for $13 billion fine? // How could you tell if feta went bad? // Think I liked the good old days when Vitamix hid naked chefs better than the content-obscuring bullshit does today. // So where does Tuscan go to get its reputation back? Looking at you, Subway, and that “chicken melt.” // Times will never say boo about real ghostwriters. Chicken if not shit. // Someone should sell Thanksgiving Escape Packages. // Mia held that revenge until it could be served very cold. // Guess no one in NYTmag cover meeting stood up to say: This food looks like shit. Overwrought shit from behind a dated curtain at that. // If you’re promised an “exclusive,” it ain’t fucking news. // Starting to realize I liked the food world so much better when it was a backwater, not a mosh pit. // Saying it again: Who could ever have imagined food “journalism” would one day require costumes? // And how can anyone advocate eating a creature this amazing?