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.)
Archive for the ‘twittchy’ Category
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?
Used, again, Emeril skillet I got as swag. Reminded, again, that chefs put their names on some pretty shitty shit. // “The bigger the set, the crappier the quality.” // “Underground chef” sounds like one who cooks in a cavern. Beware the roast stalactites. (Necromuncher, @dirtydiningdsm responded) // “Hangar” steak should only be served in airports. // The poor heartland — shut out again. Kolaches to me will always be Nebraskan. . .
I’m so old I remember when coke fueled the fud world. Not Coke. // What’s filthier than lucre? Touch screens as menus. // Sad to see “legit” journamalists touting sponsored content. But then Butterball pandering predates BuzzFeed. // Who needs terrorists when we have Big Ag? // Was told at @UnSqGreenmarket it’s “last day for the blues.” Except for berries, j’doubt it. // I’m so old I remember when Meatpacking District had a double meaning. // Oilier than molasses? //And yes, I am going to stage my own intervention, thanks very much.
Lunch date mentioned a woman who wrote 70 cookbooks. More likely one cookbook 70 times. // Doesn’t “flavor’s only skin deep” imply all that rubbing will leave you thinking “tastes like chicken”? // Washing dishes, I always remember chefs put their names on some pretty shitty shit. // Stocking Halloween candy in stores before Labor Day should be a capital offense. // The everything bagel was a pretty dumb emblem for an NYC campaign. What, you’re seedy and hollow at the core? // Whenever I accidentally ingest papalo, I understand how cilantro haters feel . . . // Young power ladies lunch. Olds buy nights in the George V with chairs & knives. // And blame Columbus for ratatouille.
A market with a single farmer is just a stand. Apostrophes matter. // Always remember hearing of an 80s megarich socialite who would lunch at Le Cirque on a (plain) baked potato and a diet Coke. // Green Tea Jesus wept: a recipe for Rice Krispies Treats using matcha? // Never order a mixed drink in a beer bar. (Wine, I already knew.) // I guess we should feel glad wingnuts only want kids to starve, not be poisoned as in India. // Hope no one drowns at TCOT this year. // And things I enjoy typing: Oh, fuck the JBF.
Buttered necks are harder to choke. // DOMA Day would have been a good time for the Butter Guzzler to announce she was marrying a Lady. // Scary movie concept: “Last Tango in Savannah.” // “Literally anything you can think of, you can probably find on a cruise,” said Carolyn Spencer Brown, the editor in chief of Cruise Critic. Shit on a shingle, perhaps? // “A Hijacking” is one great movie about a cook, a fish, a goat and greed in a global economy. // Had papalo in my cemita. Now understand how people feel about cilantro . . . // “Grade pending” is the new “keep out” sign in NYC. // Unfortunate sign at a farmers’ market: “I am standing for Turkey.” Breast or legs? // Specials are like tryouts in Philadelphia. But you’re paying for NYC tickets. // Chef is a grievously abused word. A 17-year-old w/out a kitchen staff? Does. Not. Qualify.
An heirloom tomato from a greenhouse is still just a hothouse tomato. // A photo of a pulled pork sandwich should never look like a used Kotex. // Would never want to be caught at happy hour with MoDo & Ginny Noonan. The bitters would flood the joint. // Not sure anyone ever wants Brussels sprouts in macaroni and cheese. But definitely not in asparagus season. // First time I tasted black truffle thought it was like something you’d scrape off your shoe bottom. // Tip for restaurants: Don’t have “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” playing while you keep people on hold forever . . . // If I were the grudge-holding sort, I’d wonder where the E-Rectum mob was when the Schnorrer recycled a feature that once made them grab their pitchforks to defend his originality. // Just read that “jewelry” falling into produce is a big threat to food safety. Yep, those diamonds on poorly paid fingers do carry the bacteria. // Excellent Colbert on the aspersions on the asparagus. // And pinot grigio is Italian for insipid.
Also, too: I came home from the 15 CPW commissary and Tweeted/FB’d that rich people don’t care about flavor. To which one Swift-savvy reader responded: Yeah, they eat the poors with ketchup without tasting them first.