When ‘hungry’ refers to thousands of needs besides fantastic food (though hardly ever, really, not), and when ‘gnomes’ refer to any previously underestimated lawn creatures besides the ones on paraphernalia for the ‘quirky’, there must come a check for honesty. I think it’s time to ask the question that lives beneath the trendy subtext of this Blog New World: what the fuck? Can you ever see the storm when you’re in it? Can’t you ever talk about real shit without occupying the super-neglected toilet stall of society? Continue reading
You’re probably thinking, “SAY WUT?! A vegetable in a cake?!”
Autumn. What a beautiful word, even, let alone the season. I think New York City is similarly synchronized in word and meaning: tall, short, tall, long, spaced, dotted, lined, new, old.
The thing is, I made this treacle tart, and it looked just delicious. I daresay I was proud as I sidled this crispy, Harry Potter- and fall-inspired dessert out of the oven. But, unlike ‘autumn’ and ‘New York City’, its presentation bears little resemblance to tart reality.
Nonetheless, it’s a union of peach, almond, ginger and treacle (minus one chink in the lattice). And I beseech the internet for a recreation that, like autumn and New York (subjectively, bien sur), isn’t all appearances.
HUZZAH!! ICE CREAM!!
That’s what typically goes through my head whenever ice cream is within a mile radius.
I concocted this coconut ice cream with candied ginger pieces with the intent to make ice cream floats using ginger beer. Have you guys had ginger beer? It’s amazing. I had it for the first time on my flight to Australia last year and it’s my new favorite carbonated drink. Ginger ale used to be my favorite, but now my taste buds find it too tame and lackluster in comparison. (Once you go ginger beer, you never go back, right?)
This summer I drive an ice cream truck. To say the least, I have an imaginatively long list of food-inspiration that begins and ends with, well, ice cream. But along the way there is a–forgive any loss of meaning that this overused term has struggled with–classic.
Can’t resist: presto, pesto!