Pokémon canon appears to ignore the very real issue of carnivory. Is there Pokémon husbandry? Which Pokémon are raised, or hunted, or caught and trapped as food? Can vegetarians eat Bulbasaur? Nintendo has dodged this issue too long. These are the Pokémon I think would be tastiest.
Here’s an axiom that’s maybe only a little bit true: everything “tastes like chicken.” Actually, almost nothing tastes like chicken... including a lot of the chicken you’ve eaten in your life. The taste of chicken is something exceptional when done right.
We have entered the part of the year where it is finally appropriate for everyone to put away winter food—roasts, stews, squash, casseroles—and roll out the grill. It can be frustrating, though, because it’s early enough in the season that a lot of the stuff I like to eat fresh, or cook fast, isn’t really in season…
I often wonder whether the infamous French grouchiness isn’t born of resentment over the fact that the most fertile, bountiful turf in all of the Western world has given them only the third-best cuisine, behind both Spain and Italy. That’s gotta blow. Everything grows in France, and beautifully, and then those damn…
We had sandwiches for lunch at the office today, and they were all really delicious, except for the vegetarian options, which were frankly kind of weak and unsatisfying. Which got us to thinking—briefly—how to best construct a sandwich without meat.
It seems like real-deal ramen has become a thing, which is cool. Ramen is great. Here’s an especially cool thing about ramen, though: we all get to say we were down with ramen before it was cool, because we were all slurping down bowls of ramen when it was just about the least cool thing imaginable. Behold!
We do this thing in my house where we arbitrarily shoehorn green things into the family diet, generally in quantities insufficient for any real nutritional purpose. Most often, this takes the form of a small bowl of sad lettuce splashed with cheap balsamic and presented as some sort of pre-dinner hazing ritual: We…
Authenticity is an interesting thing, where food is concerned. We’ve reached a point, now, where it is possible to strive for authenticity in the construction of a thing while completely missing what is authentic about its origin, its nature.
A few weeks ago, I made some fuckin’ pasta. The pasta I made is right there in the image above. Isn’t it gorgeous?
According to sources, this weekend is the Super Bowl, a time-honored tradition where men bang each other’s heads together, causing years of damage that eventually leads to death (and probable financial ruin before that), as the American public watches in glee while consuming mass quantities of unhealthy foods and…
Here, as best I can approximate it in text, is the sound I made when I saw the above photo for the first time: Whuuhhuuhuhhhhhhuulckk. It was the sound of the sudden fear that I might puke. If the internet contains a more distressing photograph than that one, I will just have to take your word for it.
I don’t remember how, but we stumbled upon this recipe earlier in the week: a “Pepperoni Pizza Football Cheese Ball,” made by our new buddy Trish at Mom on Timeout. There were those on staff who were grossed out by what appears to be a neutron star of meaty cheesy gluttony. I disagree. Actually, the food ball looks…
Editor’s Note: As several keen-eyed readers have pointed out, the Siberian Times source article for this post is from 2013. D’oh. Still a pretty funny image.
Here’s the thing about South Carolina: if you drive far enough inland from the ocean, you will run out of fingers on which to count highway billboards threatening you with ultimatums like “Accept Jesus Or Burn In Hell.” Not a whole lot to recommend the place once you get out of earshot of the surf.
Just once in your life, cook a brisket, over smoky charcoal heat, on the grill. Do it for the solemn pride of having done so, and for the rime of authority it will lend to your future haughty pronouncements on the quality of others’ briskets. Do it because brisket—a massive cut of tough working muscle from the chest…
Once upon a time, sure as you are born, some dingus was all, “Onions?!?! In your guacamole?!?! You motherfuckers!”
On Saturday morning, an emergency call about squirrel abuse sent police to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park. When the officers arrived, they found not the brutal torture of a park squirrel, but what you see above: a happy Ecuadorean man, toasting a guinea pig on a wooden pole beneath sun and sky, free and brave and square…
Pâté is a fun word to say through your nose. Paaaaah-TAY. You should practice this often, as it will accompany the finished product well as a signal to the swells that you are one of them. ARE you enJOYing your paaaah-TAY.
With barbecue season upon us, it’s time to get proficient with your grill. But just as important as knowing what to do is knowing what not to do. Don’t let your skewers overcook, your burger become bland, or your steaks dry out. Here are some basic tenets to follow to avoid the most common grilling mistakes.
Cold fusion. Mars colonization. A cure for cancer. Peace on earth. Cute li’l goals, I guess, if you’re looking for a self-esteem boost.
