Like the great restaurant that has realized there isn't enough cheese on their menu — God forbid — TFW will be going on a hiatus for a bit while we decide how best to work on our issues.
We will let you know if and when we will be ready to resume expanding both your horizons and our waistlines.
In the meantime, we have one question: Are you going to eat that last potsticker?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Nobody Puts Tapas in the Corner
Tapas. It's a grand word. One of our favorites, actually. We are at our best when we are ordering small plates of food, because we can distract our dining companions with a humorous bon mot or something (we are so those people—witty as hell), and begin to order as if a giant, flaming asteroid is screaming toward Earth making this, ostensibly, our very last meal. Like, "Code Blue" ordering. Finally, when someone stops us, we still have the reflexes to sneak in a "...and pork tacos" as the waitperson is walking away.
See? It doesn't matter, it's tapas. Small plates. So what if last time we did it there were about 14 plates for three of us? Okay, sixteen, and some dessert stuff, too. But, for argument's sake, let's call it 11.
But it's all soooo good. Meats, cheeses, sauces, fried potatoes, and if you are lucky, a combination of all of those. It is truly a wondrous eating concept, tapas is. And probably a great name for a pet or child. "Come here, Tapas!" Now, doesn't that make you happy?
As far as us over-ordering, don't worry your pretty little head about that. We'll be fine. Just drink your stupid wine while we clean the plates. See? All better.
See? It doesn't matter, it's tapas. Small plates. So what if last time we did it there were about 14 plates for three of us? Okay, sixteen, and some dessert stuff, too. But, for argument's sake, let's call it 11.
But it's all soooo good. Meats, cheeses, sauces, fried potatoes, and if you are lucky, a combination of all of those. It is truly a wondrous eating concept, tapas is. And probably a great name for a pet or child. "Come here, Tapas!" Now, doesn't that make you happy?
As far as us over-ordering, don't worry your pretty little head about that. We'll be fine. Just drink your stupid wine while we clean the plates. See? All better.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Cupcakes vs. Donuts: It’s On!
Cupcakes are pretty, certainly. They are often decorated with lovely flowers and are sold in bakeries that are precious, too. So what if they are $7 a piece? They were on Sex & the City. They are like individual works of art. Like edible sculptures. Deal with it.
They are also a very silly pursuit. And a lot of needless work. First you have to deal with that wrapper. On a baked good. A wrapper. Exactly. Then, if it has a lot of icing, you wind up getting some icing on your face. Especially if you happen to attack a baked good like that tiger on Roy. Or like, uh, two people we know.
To be honest with you, if we are going to waste hundreds of calories in a single sitting, we’re going to do it while exerting as little energy as possible. Cupcakes are energy. We have a much better solution. One we like to call, the thinking person’s portable munchie.
What would that be? Donuts, fool. Donuts are more no-nonsense and better reflect the desire to overeat. Because a cupcake is a dessert, it's an event. While a donut could be considered a snack, especially if you are delusional. cough cough
Donuts seem more utilitarian. And there are far more creative flavors. There is not a cupcake alive that could cope with the majesty of a coconut cream donut from The Donut Plant, which is sort of like Heaven, only with iced mango and chunky-peanut-butter-and-jelly donuts. It's way downtown in NYC but we'd pull a rickshaw filled with The Biggest Losers for their Italian plum jelly donuts.
Another benefit of donuts is that they are clearly meant for no-fuss consumption. First of all, they are cleverly designed with a hole in their midst, to cut down on wind resistance, meaning they get to our gnashing teeth sooner. That’s science. And if you don’t think that extra fraction of a second will help us during a meal, you haven’t been spending time with TFW’s, especially after we’ve been drinking heavily.
Then again, when those are the conditions, we’re not really sure a live duck with a truffle tied around its neck would be safe.
Wait, is that bad?
They are also a very silly pursuit. And a lot of needless work. First you have to deal with that wrapper. On a baked good. A wrapper. Exactly. Then, if it has a lot of icing, you wind up getting some icing on your face. Especially if you happen to attack a baked good like that tiger on Roy. Or like, uh, two people we know.
To be honest with you, if we are going to waste hundreds of calories in a single sitting, we’re going to do it while exerting as little energy as possible. Cupcakes are energy. We have a much better solution. One we like to call, the thinking person’s portable munchie.
What would that be? Donuts, fool. Donuts are more no-nonsense and better reflect the desire to overeat. Because a cupcake is a dessert, it's an event. While a donut could be considered a snack, especially if you are delusional. cough cough
Donuts seem more utilitarian. And there are far more creative flavors. There is not a cupcake alive that could cope with the majesty of a coconut cream donut from The Donut Plant, which is sort of like Heaven, only with iced mango and chunky-peanut-butter-and-jelly donuts. It's way downtown in NYC but we'd pull a rickshaw filled with The Biggest Losers for their Italian plum jelly donuts.
Another benefit of donuts is that they are clearly meant for no-fuss consumption. First of all, they are cleverly designed with a hole in their midst, to cut down on wind resistance, meaning they get to our gnashing teeth sooner. That’s science. And if you don’t think that extra fraction of a second will help us during a meal, you haven’t been spending time with TFW’s, especially after we’ve been drinking heavily.
Then again, when those are the conditions, we’re not really sure a live duck with a truffle tied around its neck would be safe.
Wait, is that bad?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Thanks, "A Lot"...
How much is 'a lot'? It's a question that has troubled people ever since we traded in our togas for fixed-waisted pantaloons. (Hungry and smart, we are.)
To some people, 'a lot' is actually a little — like servings of cheesecake that are so small we could mistake them for sticks of gum. To others (read: us) 'a lot' means something entirely different.
We didn't come to our conclusion quickly, as we take decisions involving food very seriously. Many meals were consumed to answer the same manner of question: Is this a lot of pasta? Is that a lot of cheese in our quesadilla? Are you going to eat the rest of your pork loin? Okay, so the last one is a question of a different sort, but you would surprised at how often that comes up.
After watching the "John Adams" mini-series on cable TV, we decided to model our decision-making technique after the Continental Congress. (It helps that they were all fat.) We both made presentations—one of us had a slide show, the other brought props, including a dog that seemed to sleep through his portion of the skit, where he was supposed to represent a strip steak. (Actually, I have just been informed that he was in character. My apologies, my hairy method-acting friend. I wasn't aware that beef snored.)
The TFW braintrust kicked it around, digested our findings, literally and figuratively, and have come to the conclusion that "a lot" constitutes four servings of something. Anything less than that is considered merely a "heaping" or even "healthy" portion.
The most obvious beneficiary of this? Movie theater owners who sell those boxes of candy. Because, after checking many of them out, they come in at a "healthy" 3 1/2 servings, which isn't considered 'a lot' in our world, despite how it so torments our gullets.
To some people, 'a lot' is actually a little — like servings of cheesecake that are so small we could mistake them for sticks of gum. To others (read: us) 'a lot' means something entirely different.
We didn't come to our conclusion quickly, as we take decisions involving food very seriously. Many meals were consumed to answer the same manner of question: Is this a lot of pasta? Is that a lot of cheese in our quesadilla? Are you going to eat the rest of your pork loin? Okay, so the last one is a question of a different sort, but you would surprised at how often that comes up.
After watching the "John Adams" mini-series on cable TV, we decided to model our decision-making technique after the Continental Congress. (It helps that they were all fat.) We both made presentations—one of us had a slide show, the other brought props, including a dog that seemed to sleep through his portion of the skit, where he was supposed to represent a strip steak. (Actually, I have just been informed that he was in character. My apologies, my hairy method-acting friend. I wasn't aware that beef snored.)
The TFW braintrust kicked it around, digested our findings, literally and figuratively, and have come to the conclusion that "a lot" constitutes four servings of something. Anything less than that is considered merely a "heaping" or even "healthy" portion.
The most obvious beneficiary of this? Movie theater owners who sell those boxes of candy. Because, after checking many of them out, they come in at a "healthy" 3 1/2 servings, which isn't considered 'a lot' in our world, despite how it so torments our gullets.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A Burger By Any Other Name...
Up until yesterday, we thought we had found the perfect job for us in this post-Apocalyptic economy. For we are multi-lingual, multi-talented, occasionally multi-vitamined individuals who are easily adaptable to any work environment that permits a fridge and rotisserie grille (okay, that’s a stretch, but not by much.)
So when the light bulb went off the other day, we could scarcely believe our luck at having such a great idea. Finally, we were ready to transition from people who eat at work to people who eat for work.
Our new idea was simple: we would be starting a consulting firm that advised chain restaurants what to name their new menu selections. Check this out: Not content with merely eating it, we would be offering our services, traveling around the country in Bourdain's private jet that we boosted in Madagascar (sorry, TB) and demonstrating to the fast food titans how to draw attention to their menus in this time of need.
We would first do this by sampling everything their restaurant serves. To get to know them better, understand. Because, when you go in cold, mistakes happen. For example, we would never have come up with Hardees Monster Thickburger. Terrible name. Our key criteria would be the name had to evoke deliciousness and illicitness in equal parts.
So anyway, we were far along enough to begin thinking of what we were going to call ourselves. It was a pitched battle. Neither of us wanted to give quarter, or to talk with our mouths full, so we never managed to come to a consensus. That should have told us something about our naming abilities. And yet it did not.
No matter. Because, as we were preparing the menu for our launch party (you can't even imagine) we came across something that made The Food Whisperers realize that we had been beaten to to the punch.
It came in the form of a hulking, scary-yet-enticing, 2040-calorie, 150-gram of fat item on the menu of Chili's. Introducing: "Chili's Smokehouse Bacon Triple-The-Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing".
We know: perfection.
Damn you, Chili’s Smokehouse Bacon Triple-The-Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing! Damn you straight to hell!
So when the light bulb went off the other day, we could scarcely believe our luck at having such a great idea. Finally, we were ready to transition from people who eat at work to people who eat for work.
Our new idea was simple: we would be starting a consulting firm that advised chain restaurants what to name their new menu selections. Check this out: Not content with merely eating it, we would be offering our services, traveling around the country in Bourdain's private jet that we boosted in Madagascar (sorry, TB) and demonstrating to the fast food titans how to draw attention to their menus in this time of need.
We would first do this by sampling everything their restaurant serves. To get to know them better, understand. Because, when you go in cold, mistakes happen. For example, we would never have come up with Hardees Monster Thickburger. Terrible name. Our key criteria would be the name had to evoke deliciousness and illicitness in equal parts.
So anyway, we were far along enough to begin thinking of what we were going to call ourselves. It was a pitched battle. Neither of us wanted to give quarter, or to talk with our mouths full, so we never managed to come to a consensus. That should have told us something about our naming abilities. And yet it did not.
No matter. Because, as we were preparing the menu for our launch party (you can't even imagine) we came across something that made The Food Whisperers realize that we had been beaten to to the punch.
It came in the form of a hulking, scary-yet-enticing, 2040-calorie, 150-gram of fat item on the menu of Chili's. Introducing: "Chili's Smokehouse Bacon Triple-The-Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing".
We know: perfection.
Damn you, Chili’s Smokehouse Bacon Triple-The-Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing! Damn you straight to hell!
Monday, January 12, 2009
Great Expectations
Sometime within the next two weeks we will be making our way to Momofuku Milk Bar. Neither of us have been there just yet, but can’t wait (The holidays delayed this visit a bit). Cereal milk and a compost cookie made of potato chips, pretzels, coffee grounds, chocolate chips, graham crumbs, butterscotch chips, and a little bit of flour are promised. And we promise to say “two please.” If all goes as planned the pastry chef, Christine Tosi, may just turn out to be one of our heroes. We’ll keep you posted.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Natural Order of Things
This is a promise. You pick the cuisine. You pick the restaurant. We will order you under the goddamn table. We will order so much, the waiter will try and stop us. So much that our dinner companions will flee. And the owner will call our families to help stage an intervention.
Though there are only two of us, we are like the eater version of those Spartans in 300: outmanned and outgunned, but never outchewed. Never that.
Here's how it will work: We will order appetizers, and then we will order some side dishes as appetizers, and then we may order some appetizers to arrive before the actual appetizer course. In other words, we will invent a course. You might call them pre-appetizers. The cheese course doesn't really count because it will last about twelve seconds.
Then, if you make the mistake of choosing Italian, we will order a pasta course. And, why yes, we would like the tri-color salad with Gorgonzola, thank you for asking. After the main courses, and copious side dishes, we will take it easy on dessert. And order a cookie plate and cappuccinos, while we take it easy. Then we will order dessert and take that down like a cobra on a mongoose.
Sounds like bragging? Go ahead and try us.
We're begging you.
Though there are only two of us, we are like the eater version of those Spartans in 300: outmanned and outgunned, but never outchewed. Never that.
Here's how it will work: We will order appetizers, and then we will order some side dishes as appetizers, and then we may order some appetizers to arrive before the actual appetizer course. In other words, we will invent a course. You might call them pre-appetizers. The cheese course doesn't really count because it will last about twelve seconds.
Then, if you make the mistake of choosing Italian, we will order a pasta course. And, why yes, we would like the tri-color salad with Gorgonzola, thank you for asking. After the main courses, and copious side dishes, we will take it easy on dessert. And order a cookie plate and cappuccinos, while we take it easy. Then we will order dessert and take that down like a cobra on a mongoose.
Sounds like bragging? Go ahead and try us.
We're begging you.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Short Rib Gamble
Whenever you look at a menu with continental fare, there are always three sure things: salmon, a chicken dish and a steak. A chef would have to be a real idiot to mess those up. But it happens. And what is worse than a bad piece of salmon? A thumb in your eye.
The ultimate wildcard is when you see short ribs on the menu. If prepared well, short ribs may taste like the greatest thing you have ever eaten. If they are crappy and fatty, Marley the dog wouldn't touch them. You need to have faith in the restaurant, that they will have the discipline necessary to buy quality meat and slow cook it the way that it needs to be.
We have had them on several occasions, and have seen both extremes. Which is why we are hesitant to order them, and we will only do so if both of us are having them. Because if one of us is going down with a crappy meal, then both of us are going down with a crappy meal.
That's called team spirit. In our world, at least.
The ultimate wildcard is when you see short ribs on the menu. If prepared well, short ribs may taste like the greatest thing you have ever eaten. If they are crappy and fatty, Marley the dog wouldn't touch them. You need to have faith in the restaurant, that they will have the discipline necessary to buy quality meat and slow cook it the way that it needs to be.
We have had them on several occasions, and have seen both extremes. Which is why we are hesitant to order them, and we will only do so if both of us are having them. Because if one of us is going down with a crappy meal, then both of us are going down with a crappy meal.
That's called team spirit. In our world, at least.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
TFW's Tips for Living Like Us, Part I
You have a sore throat? Instead of cough drops, substitute candy. Cough drops are B.S. anyway, and this way, you get the sugar to hop you up, along with the taste. Because ever since those Pine Bros. dandies disappeared, cough drops taste like highway gravel coated in menthol. We would rather be waterboarded than pop a Halls.
Hard candy is best—Lemon Drops, Atomic Fireballs, Runts (especially good for children) and even Gobstoppers—but we find any sugar candy will do. Just no candy bars, but that goes without saying, does it not?
Hard candy is best—Lemon Drops, Atomic Fireballs, Runts (especially good for children) and even Gobstoppers—but we find any sugar candy will do. Just no candy bars, but that goes without saying, does it not?
Friday, January 2, 2009
No Bourdain, No Gain
Most people, if granted one wish would ask for world peace or to meet Jesus. Important stuff like that. We wish we could be friends with Anthony Bourdain. Close personal friends. Like a trio of best friends.
He is totally our kind of guy. His show "No Reservations" starts broadcasting new episodes on January 5th and they look tremendous. Not sure if you have seen it, but you should.
On the show, AB basically eats his way across the globe. Sometimes he eats gross stuff, but usually he gets in a few phenomenal meals per location. (One thing we already have in common.) The episode filmed in Colombia, is nearly poetic.
We’d become fast friends with Anthony Bourdain. Since he is already a celebrity, we would have to work extra hard to keep it that way. We would begin what would best be described as a charm offensive, something that we have proven surprisingly adept at. (Those people at Lennys would take a bullet for either of us.)
Laughing at his jokes, disarming him with stories of our own eating exploits, basically kissing his butt all for the single goal of two seats on his traveling dining room in the sky.
Why are we so confident that this would happen? Easy. We are very likable people. Or so we hear. Life of the party, delightful dinner companions, basically, two valuable additions to any kind of event where eating happens.
Personality, looks, smarts. Humility. We’re like an instant entourage that any famous chef would be proud to call his or her own. (We’re first-come, first-served, Giada, in case you were wondering.)
Our lives would be instantly transformed and we are not referring to the combined 75 pounds we would pack on in the first six months.
He would be the tour guide, as we traveled the world. He’d sample the monkey brains, we’d eat the lamb tikka. He would take down some lemur lasagna, we’d have the lamb chops until the seams in our jumpsuits made us stop. We would laugh and joke the three of us, and it wouldn’t be at all weird because we would be too busy tasting to have any awkward conversations. Oh man, it would be too good for words, beyond this one: yum.
By the way, we hope you have a wonderful 2009. You are so very important to us.
See? Our charm offensive is a thing of beauty, isn’t it?
He is totally our kind of guy. His show "No Reservations" starts broadcasting new episodes on January 5th and they look tremendous. Not sure if you have seen it, but you should.
On the show, AB basically eats his way across the globe. Sometimes he eats gross stuff, but usually he gets in a few phenomenal meals per location. (One thing we already have in common.) The episode filmed in Colombia, is nearly poetic.
We’d become fast friends with Anthony Bourdain. Since he is already a celebrity, we would have to work extra hard to keep it that way. We would begin what would best be described as a charm offensive, something that we have proven surprisingly adept at. (Those people at Lennys would take a bullet for either of us.)
Laughing at his jokes, disarming him with stories of our own eating exploits, basically kissing his butt all for the single goal of two seats on his traveling dining room in the sky.
Why are we so confident that this would happen? Easy. We are very likable people. Or so we hear. Life of the party, delightful dinner companions, basically, two valuable additions to any kind of event where eating happens.
Personality, looks, smarts. Humility. We’re like an instant entourage that any famous chef would be proud to call his or her own. (We’re first-come, first-served, Giada, in case you were wondering.)
Our lives would be instantly transformed and we are not referring to the combined 75 pounds we would pack on in the first six months.
He would be the tour guide, as we traveled the world. He’d sample the monkey brains, we’d eat the lamb tikka. He would take down some lemur lasagna, we’d have the lamb chops until the seams in our jumpsuits made us stop. We would laugh and joke the three of us, and it wouldn’t be at all weird because we would be too busy tasting to have any awkward conversations. Oh man, it would be too good for words, beyond this one: yum.
By the way, we hope you have a wonderful 2009. You are so very important to us.
See? Our charm offensive is a thing of beauty, isn’t it?
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
T'is the Season
Fact: We’re good eaters.
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.
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
If The Jumpsuit Fits...
Holiday eating is not without its consequences, especially in a world where all pants are not of the sweatpant variety. You know, with an elastic waist.
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.
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
Eating Our Words
There are adjectives that elicit reactions deep within us when we read them on menus. The bad ones are obvious: A la carte. Lite. Boiled. Petite.
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)
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
CSI: Candy
If we ever decided to commit crimes, we would get so busted. Because when you eat a lot of candy, as we do, you tend to leave bits of wrapper all over the place. It's inevitable.
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.
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
Dough re Me
Ok, so heaven kind of appeared on my desk today. A few friends went to City Bakery, known for their richer than rich hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows, and returned with a chocolate chip cookie sent from the heavens above. Normally chocolate is not so much our steez, but the milk chocolatey chunks perfectly under-baked inside of the butter dough turned out to be everything we always wanted in a cookie. Crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside, yum. I’ll make sure to keep some milk in the fridge for next time.
Noteworthy Mention
So, I know we just spoke about apples a few days ago, but these mini lady apples that have entered my life cannot go unmentioned. They made be old news to some of you, but we have only recently become acquainted. They fit just about perfectly in a soup spoon, which I’m not exactly sure why, you would put an apple into in a soup spoon, but thought the little guy in there might make for a good visual. It was crisp, delicious and done in about five tiny bites, which was the sad part…
Another thing about us is that we sometimes, um, talk to our food.
Another thing about us is that we sometimes, um, talk to our food.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
100 Calorie Packs? Half a Good Idea.
Product extensions are often like hair extensions: clearly artificial attempts to project an evolved appearance. Is that too lofty? How about this: they are crap, a whole lot of the time.
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.
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
The Greatest Love of All
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
The Big Apple. Literally.
Yesterday I bought four Honeycrisp apples, which are the world's greatest apples (followed by Pink Lady, Macoun, Fuji, Macintosh, Empire, in that order). But they are so large and heavy that four of them cost me...$10.83. For four apples. Welcome to life in the Big Apple. But the apples themselves are revelatory: incredible juicy, tart and delicious and are, frankly, worth every penny.
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?
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?
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