"I'm a person too, god damn it."
"I just don't fucking care."
"Testicular Prosthetic."
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I can't get a fucking signal and I'm about to put my head through the wall. It was all I could do to get this page to load to post these three fucking words about why I can't get the Smackdown up tonight, let alone upload pictures and write more than two sentences. I was too wiped from work to smack down tonight, and then I got myself to do it ANYWAY, and now I can't even write the fucking ENTRY. FUCKITY FUCK.
Also I am cranky.
I hate Comcast.
In the meantime, why not read about some things that probably happened ...
There's a dark side to genius and an invincibility complex engendered by fame that drives one to create something like this and label it "food." Note well, grasshoppers: "Edible" and "food" are not interchangeable terms, especially not at 250€ a head.
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When you think about it, there's nothing really inventive or groundbreaking about basing a cheap meal around pasta. I mean, that's kinda the point of it, right? Somehow, though, making the pasta yourself tarts it up enough so that you don't feel like a total toolbox saying, "Hey, internet, did it ever occur to you that PASTA is an easy and economical meal? I know! Go figure!"
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Can you deny that tagline? We should all be ashamed that we didn't think of this* first ourselves. Okay, maybe Bittman thought of it, but is he mass-marketing it? And is he launching it with a wrestling match between an enormous slice of bacon and a similarly-sized jar of mayo? I THINK NOT.
Please, someone in or near Seattle, go to this. Go, and take photographs. Many photographs, in glorious, bacon-y color. We must live vicariously through you.
*Most wonderful irony EVER: It's kosher.
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That, and the 3500mg of cholesterol. For those playing at home, that's a scant 1170% of your RDA!
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I don't want to just come out and pat myself on the back but I? Fucking RULE.
Thomas Keller. The French Laundry Goddamn Cookbook, none of that scaled-down pansy Bouchon bistro shit.* Black sea bass with spinach, parsnip puree and saffron vanilla sauce. One of the best fucking things I've ever put in my mouth.
*I kid because I love. And because I can.
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Thanks to those of you who've clicked through the Amazon.com links and ordered things (yes, I know that one of you bought an orange silicone Speedo swim cap), I'm the happy recipient of an Amazon gift card. Which, obviously, will be used to buy a cookbook. And since you're the reason for this season, I thought it only fair that you have a say. Learn more about each of these fine tomes then make your selection; if your favorite is missing, leave a comment. I guarantee with 89% certainty that I will purchase the book chosen by this ...
I have been wanting to bake muffins for WEEKS. Ever since we went apple picking and tried to pry ourselves out from under the Great Apple Deluge of Aught-Eight, I have been dreaming of apple muffins. With nuts, without nuts. With cinnamon, with nutmeg, with ginger, with cardamom, with five spice. With maple glaze. With craisins. With cheese. With caramel. So many apples, so many kinds of muffins, so little time and stomach space.
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So on top of everything else, I've come down with the cold that ate New York. Or rather, the cold that deafened New Yorkers' already selective hearing with its hacking cough and trumpetlike snoring, and drowned the city in unctuous, sticky mounds of mucous from the never-ending supplies in our sinus cavities. Yesterday I slept more than the dog, and the dog sleeps 23.5 hours a day.
Hyperbolic? Never! THIS IS THE WORST COLD I HAVE OR WILL EVER HAVE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. See, even caps weren't enough; I had to use BOLD. BOLD. Think about that. And then, if ...