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
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.
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!
What is it about those open-minded desserts, the ones that integrate vegetables with sweet muff and fluff? With savory, tart squelchy toppings?
Maybe ‘squelchy’ doesn’t set the right mood. Borders on ‘queef’.
Carrot cake brings it right back.
Non-dairy beverages are coming in all sorts of fascinating forms. My mom is a hemp milk drinker (after a series of explanation on its not having THC properties); my sister gets down with coconut; plenty of people get their liquid oat on; and I really love almond milk.
A friend with nut allergies walked into our kitchen the other day, expertly scouted the area, and murmured:
“I hear you’re milkin’…”.