Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Which is why the holidays is when we truly shine. Not that we need an excuse to test out the latest in pastries, but it does make them all the more accessible.
It has been a non-stop month of holiday dinners, brunches and snacking. At about midnight on Christmas I actually felt defeated, declaring mid-bite, “I just can’t chew anymore.” So I took a break.
There was some baking done on our end as well this year, which makes it all the more rewarding while eating. I took one of Giada’s Macaroon recipes and made it come to life. It took a lot, not to finish them before arriving at the fam’s house. Thankfully there were enough to go around when I got there. While making them I did not think the simple act of adding cranberries to these coconut bites would cause such an uproar. Family members left and right were in disbelief. “Who ever heard of putting cranberries in macaroons?” asked dad (several times). They’re related so they still tried them of course. To their surprise they loved them too, so went back for more. Success.
Another fact: We also like to make sure our friends and families eat well. It worries us when they don’t.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Because when you send a few consecutive days chewing and swallowing everything that is either salty or sweet, there is no exercise in the world that will prevent weight gain. Our solution for next year is simple: to wear jumpsuits.
After careful analysis, we have concluded that a zip-front, one-piece racing suit is invaluable for aggressive eaters such as ourselves. Beyond the obvious style points, it will also, crucially, permit the kind of motion that one needs to reach across the coffee table to scarf yet another appetizer, while pretending to listen to what someone is saying about their kids.
And instead of being sponsored by car companies and such, we will affix patches that pay tribute to our favorite brands. Hostess, Entemanns and Wonka. Or even a photograph of a giant piece of cheese on the back. Whatever. We are still brainstorming, remember.
Toward the end, we have begun reaching out to designers to make our dream a reality. Perhaps Halston. Or Margiela. Whoever it may turn out to be, we know two thing about our jumpsuits: 1) they will match and 2) we will look totally badass as we rapidly fill them up.
For better or worse.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
But the good adjectives—at least in the places that we frequent—are thankfully more plentiful. And descriptive. And they too elicit reactions. Nearly physical ones. Like drooling. That kind of physical.
Here are some of our favorites:
Frosted (as in Donuts)
Fried (as in French Fries)
Melted (as in Cheese)
Stuffed (as in Mushrooms)
Filled (as in Pie)
Sauteéd (as in Shrimp)
Shaved (as in Truffles)
Sprinkled (as in Jimmys)
Infused (as in Vodka)
Deep-Fried (as in Chicken)
Baked (as in Chocolate Cake)
Braised (as in Osso Buco)
Barbecued (as in Ribs)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
For example, I just put on a pair of jeans and pulled a half-torn wrapper of some sour candy out of my pocket. I have no idea where the rest of it is, but I know where it would be, if we, say, robbed banks: at the effing crime scene.
The newspapers would have a field day: "Candyland Crooks Strike Again!" or something to that effect. The cops would stake out the Duane Reade candy aisle, and when we moseyed in for some Sour Patch Watermelons or some Rainbow Nerds, we would be nabbed..
Something for us to keep in mind, as we figure out how we want to spend the next 4-7 years.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Another thing about us is that we sometimes, um, talk to our food.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
There are some that are genius and make great sense—like the Sour Patch family, which has grown and multiplied in all sorts of delightful ways. And those Snickers Ice Cream bars taste as if God’s own hands created them. Other times? We are left with Mountain Dew Red. Or Twizzlers Rainbow Twists. Sad sack attempts to stay current with the younger set. Shame on you, Twizzlers. Very undignified of a quote-unquote prestige candy brand.
On that note, we went into the supermarket the other day and saw something that stopped us dead in our tracks: there was about a half-acre of 100 Calorie packs. Everything from Pecan Sandies to Ritz Bits. The question isn’t why companies are doing this: everybody’s a whore and everybody who is paying them is fat and consciously so. Ergo, these small portioned packages that will eventually smother our landfills.
Our question, rather, is this: who decided it was 100 calories and not, say, a more realistic number like 200 calories? With 100 calories, they have shrunken Oreos down to the point that they resemble chocolate communion wafers. One Hundred calories of Yodels is like, a crumb and a scratch-and-sniff photograph of an actual yodel. One Hundred Calorie Fritos? A paper origami Frito that dissolves in water and makes a salty drink. (Surprisingly enough, that one sells very well in Tibet.)
Someone screwed this one up. Clearly. Obviously. Royally. But we are willing to let them off the hook, because the economy is as lousy as lousy can get. While you contemplate that statement we will discuss divvying up the contents of a 900-calorie package of Maynard’s wine gums, next time we meet.
Counting calories? Like Gerard and Nothing, that’s our middle name.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A lot of people have food blogs where they profess deep and profound love for food. Good for them. We have no reason to doubt anyone else's sincerity; it’s just that we think we feel the bond deeper than them. Actually, we know we do. That’s all. We’ve always thought two meals and one pack of candy ahead. Both of us. Since we were five. Maybe earlier.
We look at every meal is a chance to try as many flavors as possible. Salad appetizers? Not gonna happen, unless they contain a meat or a cheese or, preferably both. Lettuce is optional. Seriously. We are on a two-person campaign to have the dreamy Cobb named the nation's official salad. It's a slow grind, but worth it in the long run, don't you think? You don't? Hey, you're crazy.
Last year, we were obsessed with a woman who called herself ‘The Chippie’ and had a blog about potato chips. It was great and she was very funny and kooky. When she disappeared, before we were able to hire her to write about her true love, we were pretty bummed out. We deemed them “mysterious circumstances” around the office, but that was mainly to keep the name ‘The Chippie’ in circulation. In reality, she probably met some normal guy and is, as we speak, hiding her addiction from him; scarfing chips during the commute or at lunch.
There is an assumption that no two people are quite the same when it comes to obsession. We beg to differ. Why? Because the other day, we both independently came to the same conclusion: if either of us had a daughter, we would want her named ‘Autumn’. After the new combo sandwich from Lennys.
That is the God’s honest truth.
Monday, December 15, 2008
I lugged them home, sliced one up and spread Jif Superchunk peanut butter around, put some mini chocolate chips on them and poured a glass of....
Jesus, I've started sweating. Already. That's not good, is it?
Friday, December 12, 2008
Before we get started, we just have one question: are you going to eat that last potsticker?