Thursday, May 31, 2012
1c Dulce de Leche
1 1/2c Flour
1/4c Cocoa Powder
1/4c Malt Powder
1/2tsp Baking Powder
1 1/2c Chocolate, coarsely chopped
1/2c Vegetable Oil
1tsp Vanilla, ice ice baby
First you need to make your Dulche de Leche, which is what pretentious shitbags call caramelized milk. My Mexican girlfriend made it once by boiling a can of sweetened condensed milk for three fucking hours. Not only did this seem like way too long for some crappy milk caramel but also appeared incredibly stupid since the can bulged out like crazy. I thought that shit was going to explode spraying shrapnel and hot cream all over. Luckily that didn’t happen but I’m not going to do it again as I don’t want to be the headline of the local news.
In any case, on the can of condensed milk it provided a much easier alternative to boiling the can while explicitly stating that they do no recommend boiling the can. It suggested you pour the milk into a shallow pyrex and place it in another larger pyrex that has some water in it, effectively creating a oven double boiler, and bake it at 425 degrees for 50-60 minutes. After 50 minutes, it was apparent the can had lied to me. After two hours, I took the empty can outside and pumped it full of lead. After the same amount of time it would have taken to boil the stupid fucking can, it was done. Set aside and let it cool completely.
Whisk together the first four ingredients and stir in the chocolate. Dump in the remaining ingredients and stir until smooth. Pour the batter into a greased 9x9 pyrex or something similar and evenly pour the milk caramel over the top. Since you’re one of those people who always has something to prove, feel free to swirl a knife through the layered batter to marble it.
Bake it at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes. Let it cool completely. Top with finishing salt to let the world know you have class and are special. Morton’s is not finishing salt. Eat it.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Food Newswire: US Citizen on Mexican Food Tour Unwittingly Sleeps with Hooker Due to Language Barrier
On a recent vacation to Puerta Vallarta, US food tourist Andrew Cason got the bright idea to leave the comfort of his pimp-ass all-inclusive resort to discover the true culinary flavor of the city just like all those people on the TV.
Perpetuating the stupid American stereotype he said, “I was getting tired of this beautiful hotel with its pristine pools, swim up bars, world class food, and armed guards. After watching all those travel shows I wanted to indulge myself in the culture and street food of this beautiful beach town so I could reflect on just how awesome America really is compared to the rest of the world.”
According to reports he ventured into the most poverty stricken neighborhood where he wandered into a small bar with complete disregard for his personal safety. “See, this is the kind of Mexico I want to experience!” a bar patron overheard him say as he walked into the godforsaken establishment. In a vain attempt to act like a local, he tried to order a Grande Fajita Burrito, slammed a couple tequila shots, and pounded a Dos Equis while doing his “Most Interesting Man in the World” impression.
Andrew then noticed a dashing young woman in the corner making kissy-faces at him. “I summoned her over, bought her a few drinks, and had a great time. I didn’t really know what she was saying because I don’t speak Mexican but this chick was all over me.”
Andrew then brought her back to his hotel room where he experienced love making like never before. “I thought everything was going great but when I got out of the shower she was holding my wallet and screaming at me. That’s when it dawned on me; I had just fucked a Mexican hooker.” After forcing him at knifepoint to empty his bank account at the hotel lobby ATM, she ran off and Andrew was left alone in his room for the night.
“It really wasn’t so bad,” Andrew admitted. “I didn’t have to cuddle or have a meaningful discussion about bullshit hopes and dreams like every other time I’ve gotten laid. I think I might even start paying for sex when I get back to the states. It could have been a lot worse. At least I didn’t get kidnapped.” Andrew still has six more days in Mexico and acknowledged that anything can still happen.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Earlier this week the food news blog Eater.com announced that Anthony Bourdain, the junkie line cook turned cult leader, will begin filming on yet another spinoff of his show No Reservations. Unlike his other shows, The Lavatory will focus on the expulsion of food rather than the consumption.
“Everyone gets to watch me travel the world and eat exotic foods but I feel people need to see all aspects of my culinary adventures,” Bourdain said in an exclusive interview with Eater.com. “Just like my minions, I mean viewers, I take a lot of dumps and some of them can get pretty fucked up. What I really like about the show is that we will also cover the best public restrooms the world has to offer so there will be takeaway information from a full hour of watching me sit on the porcelain throne squeezing my shit out.”
Eater.com also unveiled its new, unorthodox, first-hand journalistic approach to covering The Lavatory by promising full Blumpkin and Wiping coverage, finally making the jump from the figurative to the literal in their Bourdain reporting. “We will have one staff member performing fellatio on Tony during each bowel movement and another will wipe his ass when he finishes. Real time updates will be posted to the website and both staff members will be live tweeting during each airing of the show.”
When asked how he felt about Eater.com’s bold new take on journalism, Bourdain said he is “looking forward to it” and hopes he can finagle a Cleveland Steamer and/or Hot Carl in addition to the regular Blumpkin to spice up the show.
The Lavatory will initially only be shown in Germany but individual episodes will be available for purchase online.
1/4th Large White Onion, minced
4 Garlic Cloves, minced
1 Pint Strawberries, quartered
4 Chipotle Peppers in Adobo, diced
1/4c White Sugar
1/4th Lime, juiced
Mini-chickens are wonderfully tasty and a regularly overlooked grocery store item. In case you don’t know, and you probably don’t, mini-chickens are just the runts of the normal chicken litter. The chicken farmer kingpins immediately separate them from their loving chicken family and keep them in windowless solitary confinement to make them extra tender and juicy. The mini-chickens are then strung up by their feet in a single file and one lucky farmhand gets to run down the line with a freshly sharpened blade decapitating them all in one fell swoop. The mini-chickens are then shoveled into a large bin and individually wrapped for sale to the general public.
Melt the butter over medium to medium-low heat and sauté the onion until softened. Add the garlic until fragrant. Dump in the strawberries, chipotle peppers, honey, sugar, and salt. Simmer for a long ass fucking time until thickened. Squeeze in the lime juice and immersion blender the shit out of it.
Rub down the mini-chickens with a liberal amount of salt and a conservative amount of black pepper. Bake them breast side up at 350 degrees for about 53.7562 minutes, basting with butter every 17.349 minutes. Pull them out, slather with the glaze, blast the heat up to 400 degrees, and cook for another 13.8294 minutes.
Now it’s time to reenact the T-Rex devouring the goat scene from Jurassic Park. Eat it.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Kendall Summer, a self-absorbed attention whore, always makes sure to let everyone within a 30 foot radius know she is completely and utterly gluten intolerant. Her psychosomatic ailment arose shortly after a Today Show segment on the less than 1% of the population who are actually allergic to gluten. Once she realized she could harness the power of this intolerance to force every person she comes across to succumb to her absurd demands, she quickly jumped on board.
“That bitch makes me read off every single ingredient in each goddamn item on the menu every fucking day” said Johnny Simms, a waiter at the neighborhood restaurant Kendall frequents. “Once the other customers realized how much attention she required, they decided to follow in suit. Now half the population of this stupid town is gluten intolerant. It’s bullshit!”
After receiving a 20 minute lecture on Kendall’s restrictive diet and the oppressive accommodations required, the newly hired waiter Walter Wolfe rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen unconvinced there was really anything wrong with her besides an overinflated balloon head. Super pissed off she had wasted so much of his time during the lunch rush, he had the kitchen prepare a dish almost entirely comprised of ingredients that contain gluten. When he delivered the dish he assured the insane woman, who also suffers from Fibromyalgia, that it was entirely gluten-free. She ate the meal gleefully, paid her tab, and left to go meet up with her book club to discuss the literary brilliance of The Hunger Games. When she came back to the restaurant the next day, Walter asked her how she had been. She replied she had never felt better in her life.
“My dad is a doctor,” Walter told us. “He said all these people are full of shit. I knew that dumbass would be fine.”
To take his ruse to the next level, Walter served her a gluten-free meal this time but when she was finished he told her he accidentally served her a negligible amount of gluten. Kendall promptly fell ill and was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Bystanders reported hearing her pleading for her life while sticking her finger down her throat.
“See, it’s all in the mind. People create their own realities and live within them no matter how detached,” Walter philosophized. “People like her have very low self-worth and need constant reassurance they are special so they claim to have obscure diseases. The problem is that they get so invested in their delusion that becomes real to them. Really I just feel bad for her.”
While Kendall is suing for pain and suffering as well as medical bills, the restaurant’s lawyer replied with a formal document stating they plan to countersue in the court of “Get Over Yourself.”
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
With a title like this the dish should probably be a football sized microwave burrito that requires you to unhinge your jaw and deep throat it but I think burritos are stupid as fuck so I decided to rub my huevos all over some spicy meat tacos. They may not be “moi authenticos” but I don’t live with 16 family members and my kitchen isn’t cluttered with a shitdickload of Baby Jesus and Virgin Mary candles either.
Squeeze the pork entrails from the plastic tubing into a pan and fry them up until nice and browned. Set aside. Toss the corn, black beans, white onion, and lime juice. Scramble some eggs. While the eggs are cooking, warm up the corn tortillas on a dry pan over medium heat for about a minute per side.
Assemble your tacos and top with cilantro. It’s like Mexico all up in your mouth but without the drug violence and shitty accordion music. If you are unable to control your pathetic fat American impulses, grab a flour tortilla the size of a dinner plate, dump everything in the center, add two cups of rice, an obscene amount of sour cream, and roll that shit up. Eat it.
Massay Douchant, the critically acclaimed molecular gastronomist, opened his highly anticipated experimental restaurant in SoHo this week. According to the official press release,
“The menu is prix fixe and includes 61 courses each designed to be individual in nature yet remaining a cohesive whole that ebbs and flows like the composition of a fine opera. Furthermore, each dish is completely naked to the human eye and assembled under a high-powered microscope. Every table has an iPad installed in the top so diners are able to see what they are consuming. For an additional fee, a cocktail pairing will be provided for each course.”
The most elite members of the food community in New York attended the maiden voyage and unsurprisingly gave glowing reviews:
“Such genius has not been seen in the culinary world in this generation,” reported a gallery director and self proclaimed foodie. “Massay has blended the line between the culinary arts and the visual arts. It is truly amazing.”
A local debutant and socialite stated her favorite elements were the scented smoke machines and auditory pairings for each of the 61 plates. “When the microscopic soufflé came to the table, ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ began blaring and there was the unmistakable scent of burning school children. It was magical. There is no doubt this is the pinnacle of food evolution.”
Not everyone was convinced, however. Ronald “Raw-D” Dawson, a schizophrenic transient, gave a different side of the story. “I was taking a shit in the alley behind the restaurant that night when I noticed the door to the kitchen was open. I tried to sneak in and lift some food but there wasn’t a single scrap in the whole place! All the cooks were just sitting around stacks of clean plates, counting money, and smoking opium. It’s a grift that is based on Bourgeois elitism, mob mentality, and artificial demand. Fucking genius is what it is.”
Despite Raw-D’s backhanded complimentary review, Les Habits Neufs de L’Empereur has a 36 month waiting list and Massay has been nominated for 16 James Beard Awards. At time of publishing Massay could not be reached for comment but his publicist said he was traveling through Southeast Asia for a vacation that was “definitely not a drug fueled sex tour.”
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
1lb Shrimp, deveined and peeled
Mix all the spices with the vegetable oil and adobo. Use at least 3 tablespoons of each spice, 4 cups of vegetable oil, and 1 cup of adobo. Toss it with the shrimp and let it sit in the oven at 250 degrees for three weeks.
When the shrimp have fully cured, place them on refrigerated flour tortillas. Top with large chunks of onion and pulverized cilantro. The lime wedges may look enticing but under no circumstances squeeze them into your tacos. Eat it.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
“That’s disgusting, dude.” What? “The name of the dish. It conjures up pornographic imagery! What the hell is wrong with you?” You’re the one who apparently reads sexual innuendos into seemingly innocent food descriptions. You should take a long hard throbbing look at yourself and then put your mouth all over some crawfish creampie, you sick depraved pervert.
Make a roux and add the onion, garlic, and Old Bay. When the onion has slightly softened and the garlic is fragrant, toss in the broth, cream, cream cheese, and salt to taste. Let the cream thicken until it has reached the desired consistency and squeeze in a conservative amount of lemon juice.
Pour the mixture into mini crusts and top with mini crusts. Bake them at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes. “What about the proportions for the mixture? How am I supposed to make this without you spelling out every little detail for me?” You are lucky I gave you this much information. Figure it out your own damn self. Also, some white wine couldn’t hurt this ingredient list and I’m sure some ass backwards southerner will complain about the lack of green bell pepper and celery but fuck that shit. Eat it.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
I had a bunch of crawfish heads left over from a dish I was making but rather than discard them like some chicken-brained mongoloid such as yourself, I decided to make stock. It’s incredibly easy, it freezes well, and it has a plethora of applications. Those crazy fucking assholes in Louisiana just add a shitdickload of Appalachian White Lighting and call it breakfast tea.
Dump all the heads in a pot, fill it with water until fully submerged, and stir in a liberal amount of Old Bay. You can use some bullshit Cajun seasoning if you want but that crap tastes like powdered horse’s anus compared to Old Bay. Some people, stupid ones, add the Trinity or Mirepoix but I find them unnecessary. Bring it to a boil, drop the heat, and simmer for ~45 minutes or until it tastes like it’s fucking done. Pour the entire contents into a large container and refrigerate overnight. The next morning run it through a fine sieve, jar it, and use/refrigerate/freeze it.
And that’s how you turn garbage into garbage juice. Eat it.