My peeps (and I mean that in a non-Easter way), this is where the action is: Britain’s boomingest culinary throwdown, Pimp My Snack!
The typical approach seems to be creating ginormous versions of familiar (to Brits) candy — easily the most successful, in visual terms and from a writing perspective, is the mega-terrifying Jaffzilla.
Thanks to Karine for the link. Respeck.
AV sent me this link along with the words “thorax cake.” I should’ve known what I was getting into. I’m still a little squeamish thinking about my surgery, and can’t really stand looking at anatomy photos, so the gory thorax cake was quite a shock. But then I started reading all the details, and it all started seeming quite friendly and delicious. I’ve got to get me some of this modeling chocolate.
This all reminded me of when I lived in Indiana, and Jen made a Bleeding Heart cake as a surprise for, I can’t remember but I’m guessing, Valentine’s Day. The rest of us were all duly shocked when it began to ooze horribly. And what a great use of grenadine syrup…
It’s so simple, yet so genius: deep-fried Cadbury Creme Eggs. Explain to me again–why did the British lose their empire?
Having walked all over Chinatown today in service of the Rough Guide New York update, I was very pleased to find this:
Baffling. Astounding. Hilarious. Thoroughly unappetizing.
And once you’re through with that, here’s a very good explanation of how things got just that bad.
P.S. I know the title of this post is tacky. But I’m not sorry. I blame Team America.
Ripe to You is the best thing that’s happened to me this winter! Well, I guess life-saving surgery is up there, but a 20-pound box of mixed citrus flown straight from California is also a fabulous treat.
Thanks, Saveur magazine for tipping me off to this gem. Thanks also to Peter’s colleague who is a devotee of mail-order food, and who was running through a list of tasty treats (none of which I can remember now–some kind of marshmallow cookie things, at least) that he received regularly by post. This litany of gift boxes must’ve set Peter and me in the right mood to throw down the cash ($35 for a 20-pound box seems reasonable…oh, but wait, the shipping…ouch).
Also, I was missing California a little. I still can’t get the image of the one farmers’ market stall in Santa Monica that dealt in nothing but tangerines. There were about 80 varieties, all with free samples out. It was like a dream. I began to taste each one, to make an educated decision, but I realized it was hopeless and just grabbed a three-pound bag of some nice ones with the stems still on. Of course they were insanely perfectly delicious.
Speaking of stems, that’s a small selling point of Ripe to You–a lot of the fruit still has stems and leaves on. It looks nicer, and I secretly think it keeps the fruit a wee bit fresher longer. Always, always when you buy supermarket tangerines with the stems on, they turn out to be the best ones you get all winter.
Also, Ripe to You is educational. Did you know the minneola is a cross of a grapefruit and a tangerine? I did not.
Oops, I think I may have eaten all the minneolas already.
The Economist has a thorough obituary for a man I never thought to blame personally: Robert Rich, the guy who invented the prototype for what’s now known as Cool Whip.
Man, I was a sucker for that stuff when I was little. Because at my house, of course we could only have real cream (yawn), and only with very good dessert, on special occasions. Whereas at my friends’ houses, I could eat Cool Whip every day after school, by the giant spoonful, before it could even find its way to the bowl of ice cream, the kind that was very fluffy and came in those square cartons. And then we’d watch The Dukes of Hazzard and argue over who was cuter, the blond one or the dark-haired one, or we’d dance around while Kenny Rogers sang “The Gambler.”
Boy, those were the days–before I thought to read ingredient lists, and didn’t know quite how chilling the words “whipped topping” were. I’m afraid that Cool Whip is all still in my digestive tract somewhere. I hate to imagine.
No, really, that’s just the title of a blog by someone named Parsnippity.
I wish I’d thought of that nickname. I love parsnips. (Karine and I were going to start a parsnip promotional board, complete with informative website, a few years ago. But I think someone had already registered parsnip.com, and was using it to slag off parsnips. Jerk.) I can also be kind of snippy.
Anyway, you might want to visit this blog if you have a soft spot for vegetables, or for felt crafts. I’m especially fond of the radish barrettes (you have to scroll back in the archives a little for those).
If you think those veggies are too soft and cute, check out these mean little non-beasties. What kids get up to with a crochet hook these days…
Thanks to Jeremy and Chantal of the Frozen North for alerting me to these.
So sad to wake up this morning and find that Edna Lewis, queen of Southern cuisine, had passed away. Here’s the the New York Times obit.
We’ve eaten her fried chicken (fried in butter and lard flavored with country ham–see, I told you she was the queen of Southern cuisine) many times chez Tamara, not to mention her apple cake with salt caramel topping.
Sniff.
(Here are links to her two most popular books on Amazon: The Taste of Country Cooking and The Gift of Southern Cooking. The latter has the life-changing fried chicken recipe in it.)
A post that has nothing to do with my health: A Faithful Reader from NC sent me this article, about death-row inmates’ last meals, highlighting the following quote:
He figures some readers might sympathize, thinking: “I’ve never killed anybody with a hammer, but I do love fried chicken.”
I’ve thought that, often.