5 Egg Yolks
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
2c Whole Milk
2c Heavy Cream
5 Egg Yolks
5 Egg Yolks
2/3c Sugar, half white half brown
1/2c Brown Sugar
1/2 Stick Butter, diced
In the interest of full disclosure, I did not make this ice cream. My girlfriend, however, did. Therefore, I will steal her idea, recipe, method and dignity by posting it here and claiming it as mine. Henceforth, I own all intellectual rights and merchandising for Blueberry Streusel Ice Cream. Let it be known.
While bringing the milk and cream to a boil, whisk the eggs, sugar and spices together. Mix a little of the boiling dairy into the eggs to temper and add it to the dairy. Lower the heat and thicken until it does a nice job of coating the spoon. Place the mixture in an airtight container and refrigerate overnight.
Place the blueberries in a pot and slowly simmer with the sugar. I’m not sure how much sugar was used because this was the point where I stumbled in the door drunk and proceeded to tell her how she was “doing it all wrong.” I added more sugar until it was perfect but I have no recollection how much. After about 30-45 minutes, remove from heat, let cool, and refrigerate overnight.
Mix the ingredients for the streusel together with your hands. Refrigerate overnight.
Turn your ice cream maker on and pour in the dairy mixture. When it gets all nice and thick, churn in the blueberry and streusel mixes for another 6-10 minutes.
So next time you want ice cream, give your girlfriend this recipe, stand over her while she is making it, correct her glaring errors, and take all the credit for it. Eat it.
Food Newswire: Woman Who Over Pronounces Names of Foreign Foods Receives Lukewarm Reception at Japanese Restaurant
Missy Wimbelton prides herself on being able to drop her natural southern drawl to perform stellar vocal renditions of foreign food names.
“Dem Yanks thank we down round hair sound unedumacated and stoopids,” said Missy. “I tell you what now that coulnt be more wronger. I been watchin the foods channel and tat der Giader learned me to say all serts of fanciful wordings. Ya’ll needs to see how impraressed the Whole Foods people are when I ax fer Prosciutto and Parmesan Reggiano. It done make me feer so shofisticate and urbanitey like them sexy city girls on the tee vees.”
The Whole Foods lady, however, tells a much different story.
“After that lunatic started coming in here I had to have surgery on my eyes from rolling them back too far in my head. The other day she ordered Jamon Serrano and Manchego for the first time. It was so painful I wanted to stick a fork in my brain.”
Despite the conflicting accounts, Missy continued to live in her bubble of purported high culture and worldliness until one fateful day when her husband took her out to dinner at a local Japanese restaurant.
Fully entranced by the Japanese décor and sushi chef hats, Missy was unable to contain herself. “Look at dis here, Josiah,” she loudly said to her husband. “Dey have cata-PILLA rolls an chicken terri-AKI,” managing to pull off the most disparaging and culturally insulting pronunciations the world has ever heard. When Josiah quietly asked her to keep her voice down because she was embarrassing him, she said “What? Yous entimidated by mies knownins? Eyes defernetly gettin me some Cali-forn-ia rolls,” using a mock Asian accent to pronounce an American state. “I’ms goin to ax that der cute little waitress if theys gots a rickshaw special taday!”
The sushi chef, being within earshot of the incorrigible woman, became so enraged he walked to their table and began yelling at them in his native tongue to get the hell out of his restaurant. Loosely translated he said, “You stupid American can fuck the shit that comes out of a dog after he gets sick. Leave now before you become an item that lives on the menu.”
After Josiah explained to his wife she had insulted everyone in the entire establishment and they should leave, Missy argued that “He is jus thanksing me for sayin the dishes rights. He jus sound angry because theys always talks like that.”
Soon after her delusional, inherently racist statement, they were ushered out of the restaurant. Josiah promptly dropped her off at home and drove straight to the courthouse to file for divorce. Missy continues to maintain she did nothing wrong and is currently practicing rolling her r’s for an upcoming trip to Arizona.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
2lbs Country Rib Pork
1Tbl Curry Powder
1tsp Kosher Salt
Mix the spices together and slowly rub down your thick, juicy pork. Slide it into the warm awaiting oven and jiggle it around. Rotate it between the top, middle, and bottom rack. Pull it out right before it finishes to ensure future financial freedom.
Cook it at 250 degrees for four hours flipping intermittently. Slather with the citrus BBQ sauce for the last hour. Eat it.
1 White Onion, diced
1 Grapefruit, separated into wedges and halved
2 Oranges, separated into wedges and halved
1 Lime, juiced
1 Habanero Pepper, minced
2/3c Tomato Sauce
3/4c White Sugar
3/4c Brown Sugar
Sounds fucking weird, right? I decided to take a gamble with this cockamamie harebrained idea and I’m glad I did because it turned out to be straight legit. I used the skeleton for my vinegar based BBQ sauce but replaced the vinegar with citric acid and added a buttload more sugar to cut the tartness. Here’s to having balls and creating new things.
Sautee the onion in some butter over medium-low heat until softened. Dump in the remaining ingredients, turn the heat up to medium, bring to a boil, turn it back down to medium-low, and simmer for a half hour or so. Use an immersion blender to puree it into oblivion.
“Is that a Pace salsa jar?” Yes it is. I’m glad you brought that up because it raises a subject I would like to discuss. Every drinking glass and storage glass I own is from a product I purchased. From huge pickle jars to little clam juice jars my cabinet is a hodgepodge of assorted glassware. I also save the lids for future storage. It’s too bad you bought all those crappy glasses at IKEA like a sucker.
Liza Hethrow, an independent strong single woman, recently made a bold career move and became a vegan activist for PETA. She had grown weary of her desk job at a national car insurance company and wanted to get out in the world and breathe some fresh air.
“I saw PETA was hiring a front lines vegan activist and it sounded like it could be fun. Plus, the base pay was pretty good with an excellent commission package based on your number of arrests and attraction of media coverage,” said Liza. “It was hard to stop eating everything animal but I realized I can make enough money over the next five years to squirrel away a great savings cushion. After that I’ll be able to leave this job and eat whatever I want.”
While Liza enjoys her time working outside on the street, she claims the most difficult part of the job is dealing with people after she clocks out. “Every time I go to a party, people want to talk to me about vegan activism. Dude, I’m not at work. I’m just here to relax and have a good time. Oh, you’re a bartender? Why don’t you get me a fucking drink?”
For further information on the vegan lifestyle you can find Liza at Governor’s Park downtown or outside Fantastic Furs from 9-5 every weekday.
Brussels Sprouts, halved
Bacon, coarsely chopped
Salt & Pepper
A long ass time ago I explained to you fools why roasting brussels sprouts is far superior to every other method. Well, over the years I have mixed things up and created a side dish that will fuck your mouth and forget to pull out. I didn’t think to post it until now when I snapped this professional as shit picture. Pretty impressive, huh? I should watermark it and sell prints. I’d call my company “Shooting from the Ass.”
Mix together everything but the onion in a shallow casserole dish. Roast it 350 degrees for 20 minutes, drop the heat to 325 degrees, and continue to roast for about another 30 minutes. Saute the onion in some butter over medium-low heat until softened. Toss it into the shit that comes out of the oven.
I love eating vegetables, as long as they are smothered in hog fat. Eat it.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Hear that? It’s the sound of throbbing lady-boners collectively rippling through the interwebs. I have no idea why but women go fucking apeshit over Nutella. You could smear Nutella on rhinoceros birth discharge and chicks would get in line to eat it.
Did you forget her birthday? Accidentally kill her cat? Get caught in the alley with the ladyboy from the Thai restaurant around the corner? These individual sized pastries are the perfect way to tell a woman you are sorry. Plus, if it works you will know you can get away with anything.
To make the filling, mix some Nutella with blueberries, banana, brown sugar, and vanilla. The addition of fruit allows women to convince themselves the pastry is healthy thereby clearing the female food-guilt hurdle.
Scoop the filling into squares of thawed puff pastry. “You didn’t make your own? I’m shocked and disappointed.” I need to give these as an apology and then go commit another unforgiveable (unless Nutella is offered) offense. My schedule is too tight today to make my own puff pastry. Wet the edges, pull the tips together, and pinch to seal. Bake them at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.
Consider this your new “Get Out of Jail Free” card. You now have the freedom to commit egregious crimes against humanity with reckless abandon. You’re welcome. Eat it.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Gerald Watterson works 75 hours a week to provide a comfortable living for his large family. There is only one problem; he resents them for it and will do anything to avoid spending time with them.
“Whenever I’m home, my bratty entitled little spawn are bitching about some new material possession they require. I wanted to give them a privileged upbringing so I have been working my ass off since they were born. Oddly enough, it seems my absence has taught them to seek comfort in material possessions. They don’t even seem to understand how hard I work to provide all this crap for them. It’s like they have developed an untreatable mutated form of entitlement. I can’t stand those superficial hollow punks. And don’t even get me started on my whore wife.”
In order to dodge his terrible children and their plastic busted up mother, Gerald purchased an oversized grill/smoker combo. This gives him the perfect excuse to sit outside alone and drink beer.
“I knew none of them would bother me out here because their dumb elitist mother taught them that the outdoors is for poor people. God, I can’t stand that woman. This grill was the best thing I have ever purchased in my entire life. Now I can just pretend those shitbags inside don’t exist. See that? It’s a Boston Butt I have been smoking since I woke up this morning. It will be done in an hour and I’ll go to bed an hour after that. Life has never been better.”
At the time of publishing Gerald had managed to not speak a single word to his family for 7 weeks and counting. He was also booking them a vacation cruise along the Somali coast this summer.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The Eckerson Family in Cleveland, Ohio has a combined weight exceeding that of a herd of elephants. While most disgustingly fat people blame genetics, fast food corporations, bone structure, or the boogeyman for their horrifying condition, the Eckersons are far too obese to have their heads up their asses.
“Of course we know eating McDonalds every day for every meal is bad for us,” said the father Randy. “I don’t need a bunch of scientists and politicians telling me it’s not healthy. I mean look at us, we’re fat as shit. We didn’t get this way eating salads. It’s my decision to bring my family here every day. How is that McDonald’s fault?”
Randy then turned his Rascal around and wheezed out his usual order: Three of everything on the menu except those crappy salads. After recovering from the exhaustion of ordering, the whole family wheeled their rascals around the one handicapped table to await their excessive lunch.
That’s when the unthinkable happened.
Another family, with legitimate non-self-imposed medical conditions that require them to use wheelchairs, slowly rolled through the double doors. As they glanced at the Eckersons their blood pressure surged (which usually only happens after they eat at McDonalds). First, that fatty family stole the one handi parking spot and then they take the only unabled table in the whole restaurant? Something had to be done.
“Excuse me,” said, Roger, the Father of the normal-sized truly-disabled family. “But why do you have a handicapped parking pass?”
“Well,” replied Randy, “we eat like fucking disgusting pigs and now we can’t move around properly. So in order to keep our health deteriorating we got the pass so we don’t have to move around so much.”
“My family is exhausted from wheeling across the lot while you sit there stuffing your gigantic fat face,” yelled Roger. “Is that three of everything from the menu except salads?” Roger took a second to remove his mind from going down the wormhole of realizing how much food that is for one person to consume. “If anything, you fake handies should be required to park at the back of the lot so you can walk off some of that fat.”
“How about I walk over there and kick your ass?”
“I’d like to see you even stand up.”
In a blind rage Randy stood up from his Rascal and every bone below his waist shattered into dust. While he was being treated my paramedics, the McDonalds manager came over and whispered into his ear: “Remember you always said it was not our fault.”
At the time of publishing, Randy had won a 142 million dollar lawsuit against McDonalds for ruining his life. McDonalds is appealing the court’s moronic decision.
Leroy Jackson, an insurance salesman and avid College football tailgater, attended a party in his neighborhood the other night and consumed a microbrew for the first time.
“The host handed me a glass bottle and I was like, ‘what in the hell is this?’ He said it was one of those fancy-pants city-boy microbe-beers. When I asked if he had any Coors Light he said he only supports local beer. What the fuck does that even mean? Tons of local stores sell Coors Light. I buy it all the time!”
After an initial stage of confusion due to the unshotgunnable nature of the glass bottle, Leroy did the unthinkable and took a sip despite his well-founded reservations. “Well what else was I going to drink,” Leroy posited. “Wine? Sorry, I don’t have a vagina.”
Unfortunately the beer’s flavor took him by such surprise that he accidentally spat it all over his gracious host. While everyone stood there in shock, Leroy’s overbearing wife smacked him upside the head with her purse. “What is the matter with you,” she asked rhetorically. “This is why we can never go anywhere!” She subsequently grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the car. “You sit here and think about what you’ve done,” she commanded. “I’ll come get you when the party is over.”
During Leroy’s period of quiet self-reflection he came to the realization that he really liked the beer he just tasted. “It actually had flavor and body. I’ve never had a beer like that before. There may just be something to these nancy-beers. I only wish I could drink them without my tailgating buddies making jokes about me wearing skirts and having an inverted penis.”
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Rachael Sampson, a stay at home mom and full time food blogger, has been grappling with the fact that no major publisher has offered her a book deal. Despite her tireless hours in front of the computer screen hopelessly promoting her food blog, Sandra’s Sister, she has failed to attract the attention of anyone remotely tied to the publishing industry.
“I just don’t get it. I post a new recipe every single day that I make directly from Sandra Lee’s Semi-Homemade cookbook but with my own twist. For example, yesterday I posted her Turkey and Red Bean Gumbo recipe but instead of the recommended Knorr or Lipton brand package of Cajun red beans and rice I used the generic supermarket brand because it saves my family money. This is the kind of valuable information other parents need in this poor economy.”
In addition to adding her own personal touch to Sandra Lee’s flagrant whore advertisement cookbook, Sandra’s Sister also provides invaluable insight into Rachael’s family life.
“My favorite post was when I made Sandra’s Korean-Style Rice Bowl (use gluten free brown rice instead of Uncle Ben’s Ready Rice but don’t skimp and be sure to purchase the Birds Eye frozen Asian vegetable mix! SO tasty! LOL!!!). My 3 year old Jeremiah didn’t like the so he fed it to our six cats under the table without me noticing. That little rapscallion! I guess he is just too young to recognize the infinite wisdom of our eastern counterparts. Don’t worry, I’ll be taking him to the Mother and Son contemplative meditation class at the Everything Asian co-op in our suburb’s local strip mall next week. Be sure to read the forthcoming post!”
But it seems that neither her incredible ability to modify sub-par cookbook recipes nor her dull family life has been able to attract the attention of publishers. This neglect has left Rachael searching for answers.
“It’s not like I’m not trying. I am very active on multiple food blogger forums, I regularly post pictures of my meals on Instagram and Facebook, and yet the big-wig fancy-pants New York publishers don’t return my repeated emails and phone calls. Hellooooo!?! After two years I have just over four hundred pageviews. That translates to four hundred books already sold! What more do these people want?”
Despite her family’s pleading to spend more time with them than on the stupid computer chatting with other delusional food bloggers, Mrs. Sampson’s headstrong determination has led her to think about taking her blog in a different direction to attract more meaningless internet attention.
“I’m thinking of trying to cook the entirety of Giada de Laurentiis’ Giada’s Kitchen but the recipes seem really hard. Turkey Osso Buco? I’m not a professional chef! Jeez Louise. LOL!!!!”
I just threw the leftover Beef ‘n Beans in a quiche. Pretty fucking incredible right? I’m on the cutting edge of culinary innovation. Oh, I also added cheddar cheese. Boom.
I have made more pie crusts than a pie maker who makes lots of pie crusts but this time I did something a little different. I threw caution into the wind and picked up a bag of that yuppie holy grail King Arthur flour. It sucks and I hate it. Big fucking surprise. It might work for breads but it sure as shit can’t make a pie crust. I’ll stick with the extra-bleached, heavily-processed, actually-works flour thank you very much.
Since you are just fucking dying to know how I made this amazing, earth-shattering quiche, I’ll tell you. Make a pie crust and form it into a pie pan. Layer the bottom with grated cheddar cheese, or in your case American cheese slices. Dump in a bunch of Beef ‘n Beans. In a large bowl whisk the shit out of seven eggs with a bunch of whole milk / cream, salt, and a splash or two of water. Pour it evenly over the fillings in the pan. Bake it uncovered at 350 for 30 minutes, put a tinfoil tent over it, and bake it for another “who knows.” Figure it out your damn self. Eat it.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
After a decade of undeserved elevated social status, many chefs have found their Golden Age to be in rapid decline. The days are over when even the most mediocre line cook could easily score a six-figure publishing contract for their poorly written memoir. During the rise of Chefdom, the kitchen transitioned from cigarettes and whiskey to foam and edible flowers. The public has grown weary of people who cook food acting like they are fucking God’s messengers and are once again marginalizing them to the back of the house.
“I can’t seem to get my own television show anywhere,” said recent culinary school graduate Don Bundt. “Not even the Travel Channel will pick it up. What the hell is going on? I also tried selling my book about the insane rock star chef life but no one seems to be interested. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Work in a restaurant? That’s some serious bullshit. I didn’t get these sick butchery themed sleeve tattoos for no one to see. I’m a goddamn cultural icon!”
Even the chefs with the most developed personality cults are feeling the decline in public fascination. “We were bigger than the Ska musicians of the 90’s,” reminisced a chef with his own bobblehead line. “The world was ours to hold and we fucked it all up with our limitless egomania. Now those talentless hack bartenders are getting all the attention. Oh, you mix a bunch of liquids together? That’s fucking hard.”
The public’s expanding ripple of disinterest has devastated the Food Network. In order to retain even a modest viewership they have resorted to the lowest possible form of programming: Reality television. Their fall lineup includes the following new shows: Big-Knife Hard-Look Chef Staring Contest, Profanity Laden Shouting Match, Food-Related Tattoo Showdown, Bacon Grease Chugging Champions, and Food Truck Drag Race.
However, even the biggest names in the industry admitted the dissipating celebrity of their trade has its silver lining. “Hopefully people will stop calling themselves foodies,” said one Food Network star. “Everyone likes food; we need it to survive. You’re not fucking special. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on this private jet with my giant bag of money. See you suckers later.”
At the time of publishing, bartenders nationwide were reveling in their new top post. “I just got a huge book deal and we’re going to start filming a pilot about my super cool life,” said Chuck 'Mustachio' Dawson, a self-proclaimed artisanal experimental mixologist. “Our industry is finally getting the recognition it deserves. I’m totally ready for eternal stardom. What could possibly go wrong? Hey, check out that shark! Watch me jump it guys!”
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Food Newswire: Man Arrives To Popular Restaurant To Discover It Just Closed, Writes Scathing Yelp Review
Jerry Numenthal, a self-proclaimed foodie and amateur restaurant critic, attempted to visit the highly acclaimed restaurant Unagi Sunday afternoon to find they had closed ten minutes prior to his arrival.
“I had been looking forward to dining at Unagi for a very long time and I finally made it over there but they were closed at 8:10pm on a Sunday,” reads the one star Yelp review. “When I walked in the hostess told me they were closed and no longer seating for the evening. I said ‘how can you be closed? The door is open and there are people in here!’ That lowly peon employee replied that the current customers were seated before closing and they are not legally allowed to lock the doors with customers inside. I was so mad I almost punched her in her fucking face. What a bitch. If I could give this place negative stars I would. Their food probably sucks anyway.”
The Hostess, Jennifer Ronson, told us she works at Unagi part time to help her get through her PhD program at the University of Chicago. She also said Jerry acted like a total dickwad. “This asshole kept yelling ‘do you know who I am’ and then ‘I’m a big fucking deal on Yelp and Twitter.’ Who gives a shit? We close at 8pm every single day. It’s not a secret; it’s on the door. After he left all the patrons started clapping and our favorite regular Denny put it best when he said, ‘That guy’s life must really suck.’”
Jerry also wrote a notarized letter to the owner demanding Jennifer’s termination. Unagi’s owner, Hugo, replied with his own letter telling him he was ever so sorry he had a poor experience at his restaurant and to ensure this never happens again “your picture has been posted behind the bar and you are banned from ever entering my establishment again.” The last line of his mocking letter states “you and every other self-important know-nothing jackass on Yelp can go fuck yourselves.”
Jerry subsequently started protesting outside Unagi every day at 8:10pm so Hugo extended his hours to 9pm to accommodate all the people who show up to laugh at his pathetic ass. At the time of publishing Hugo stated, “Business has never been better.”
Friday, June 8, 2012
1 3/4c Oats
2tsp Baking Powder
2 Sticks of Butter, chilled and diced
3/4c Peanut Butter
1 1/2c Brown Sugar
Honey, a fair amount
Chocolate Chips, a handful or two
Mini Marshmallows, a handful or two
Today I asked my three year old daughter what kind of cookies she would like to make. She said she didn’t know so I suggested she look in the pantry and figure it out. She grabbed chocolate chips, peanut butter, honey, and mini marshmallows. I asked if she needed anything else and she pulled out the flour and sugar. Not too bad for a three year old. What’s your fucking excuse? If you can’t create without the crutch of a cookbook or the Food Network, remember that someone who has only been on this earth for 1,200 days can. Mull on that one for a while, shit for brains.
Toss the flour, oats, baking powder, and salt in a food processor. Jack that shit up. Dump in the diced butter and use “on and off” turns until incorporated. Set aside. Cream the peanut butter, brown sugar, honey, vanilla, and eggs in a super gigantic bowl. Slowly and gradually mix the dry into the wet. Stir in the chocolate chips and mini marshmallows. Roll into balls and place on a baking sheet lined with tin foil. Bake at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes. Once they are done, immediately move the cookies to a cooling rack or else they will stick to the foil and you will have an enormous fucking mess on your hands. Eat it.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Last Thursday, Donald Johannson was walking past his local bodega when he noticed a Doritos truck parked out front.
“I got all excited because they had been out of the Cool Ranch flavor for a whole goddamn week and that one is my favorite,” said Donald. “But then I looked in the truck and it was filled with pallets of Fritos. What the fuck is that about?”
Donald then approached the Doritos truck driver and demanded an explanation. After the driver explained to him that he just follows delivery orders and does not make the decision of what gets loaded into the truck Donald blew a gasket and demanded Cool Ranch Doritos. When the driver was unable to provide them Donald clocked him in the face and knocked his ass out.
Donald was booked on assault charges but his elderly mother posted bail making sure to bring a family sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos when she picked him up from jail. “I’m not really surprised this happened,” his mother said. “He loves those stupid chips.” Donald will go in front of a judge for sentencing next week and he has already filed a multi-million dollar lawsuit against Frito-Lay for false advertising.
I made my Stoned Beans but I threw some beef stew meat in it. Perfect for those cool summer night potlucks in front of the trash can fire under the bridge. Another stellar, world-class recipe from Cooking for Assholes. You’re welcome. Eat it.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
6 Strips of Bacon
1/2 a Large White Onion
1 Jalapeno, minced
4 Garlic Cloves, minced
15oz Can Diced Tomatoes
Vinegar, a healthy splash
1 Red Bell Pepper
1 Yellow Bell Pepper
15oz Can Black Beans
15oz Can Black Eyed Peas
This dish is as Jamaican as a pasty white dreadlocked hippie in Vermont but who gives a shit? Not me. Their food probably sucks anyway since they are too busy fighting street gang wars and trafficking cocaine. Plus, I’ll never ever forgive them for unleashing Peter Tosh on the world so fuck them and their crappy food.
The recipe is basically a rip off of my Italian oxtail stew over pasta but this one has Caribbean spices, beans, peppers, and is served over rice in a fucking steel drum. Brown the oxtail in some oil, remove and set aside. Add the bacon and cook that shit up, remove and set aside. Sauté the onion and jalapeno in the bacon fat until softened. Add the garlic and spices. Cook until fragrant. Dump in the canned tomatoes (if you want to boil, peel, and crush your own tomatoes be my guest), beer (it is mandatory you drink one, or seven, as well), water (up to half of this may be beef stock if desired but not necessary), bay leaf, vinegar, and a shitload of salt. Bring to a boil, drop the heat, and simmer for about three and a half hours. Add the remaining ingredients and simmer for another thirty minutes or so. Strip the meat off the vertebrae and give the bones to your dog/ugly wife. Serve over rice.
Possible improvements: Add chopped carrot when you add the onion, add fresh grated ginger when you add the garlic, and serve with lime wedges. Also a stable government, less abject destitute poverty, and a public trial resulting in the life imprisonment of Peter Tosh for creating the worst music the world has ever heard. Eat it.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
20oz Can of Diced Pineapple (Yeah, canned. Whatever. Fuck you.)
1/2c Brown Sugar
2 Serrano Peppers, thinly sliced
1.25lbs Head on Shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 Garlic Cloves, minced
Thumb Sized Piece of Ginger, peeled and microplaned
Ah! This shrimp is super yummy dericious #1! It rike Pearr Harbor arr up in your mouth. Sweet rike unprovoked attack; hot rike fire! It a favorite runch dish at the nair saron and tasty to eat with chopstick whire driving Honda minivan with knee. You give me sweet and spicy shrimp me rove you rong time. Five dorrar more get you extra nice anar time, Bangcock styre.
Mix the pineapple, brown sugar, peppers, and salt; Pour the mixture over the shrimp. Set aside
Get out a big ass wok style pan thingy and heat up a little vegetable oil over medium heat. Sauté the garlic and ginger for about a minute and dump in the bowl of shrimp. Turn the heat up to medium high and cook until the shrimp are completely pink, stirring occasionally. Ladle over rice and serve with lime wedges.
To get the goodness out of the shrimp heads stick the opening into your mouth, squeeze the base, and suck the juice out. Fucking pervert. Eat it.