Miscellany & Poetry - On food, wine, film, lit & then some.

Hey, cool kids, it’s time to play…Cheese or Font!! & other proof that civilization is built on silliness

Cheese or Font?

SOS American Cheese?? or  Fdtdfont09??  —

(the latter being just another brilliant alphabet from Font Diner, itself a joy to browse)

is the most ridiculous, addictive—I dare say addiculous!—game ever.

Time wasting, I submit to you, is the acme of postpostmodern human achievement.

Never are we so gloriously creative, so downright ingenious, as when we’re futzing.

If CoF? isn’t enough to convince you, then Steve, Don’t Eat It! might be. Or Cake Wrecks, or Awkward Family Photos, or any of those other post-sliced-bread cyberinventions, food-related & not, that no longer need a linked introduction.

Or this, which might in fact need an intro. I read it 5 or 6 years ago & I’m still laughing. Learn all about it here & earn some time-wasting bonus points in the process!

Damccaabd

***

UPDATE:  Less than an hour after posting this, I get word that Cheese or Font? has inspired a copycat: Steakhouse or Gay Bar? Think Tenderloin Room, Velvet Hammer, Pink Pony, etc. Better yet, don’t think. It’s more fun that way.

Come Get! Mush Biscuits

Last Xmas at the Director’s grandma’s abode in Des Moines, I finally got me some of them mush biscuits about which he’d raved time & again.

Below is the dough.

Mushbix2

And Mrs. Willard Brittin cutting circles in the dough using the same tin can she’s used for years.

Mushbix1

And the wonderful, light-as-light-gets biscuits that arise from said circles.

Mushbix

Upon receiving a comment on a recent post featuring the Military Meals at Home COOK BOOK from Todd of Broomfield Restaurant Reviews, who pondered the wonder of fried mush, it occurred to me to post the recipe the Director copied from his grandmother’s dictation—only semi-meticulously, granted. Having clarified a few details, this edited version sounds plausible to me, & I do know a thing or two about recipe writing. Then again, I haven’t made any serious effort to bake in years, so proceed at something of your own risk—& don’t hesitate to fill me in on the results.

Mush Biscuits

Serves ??

1 c. cornmeal

1 c. cold water

3 c. boiling water

2 t. salt, divided

1 scant c. lard (yes, lard)

1/2 c. + 1 t. sugar

1/4 c. warm water

1 pkg. dry yeast

8 c. flour

Mix cornmeal & cold water in heavy saucepan. Add boiling water & 1t. salt, stirring constantly. At the boiling point, cover & cook over low heat for 10 min.

Combine the cornmeal mixture with lard, 1/2 c. sugar & remaining t. salt. Let cool to lukewarm.

Meanwile, in a large bowl, add warm water & remaining t. sugar to dry yeast. Combine & let stand 20 min.

Add to bowl 8 c. flour, 2 at a time, & combine. Let rise until dough has doubled in size. Pound down, roll out & cut to form 3-in. circles of dough. Let rise again while preheating oven to 400°.

Bake 20 min. or until they look as pretty as the biscuits in the photo above.

***

As for fried mush, my best guess would be that once the cornmeal mixture has been combined with the lard, sugar & salt, you form patties therefrom, return ’em to the pan & cook ’em up at med-high heat until well browned? Then you probably serve ’em with gravy, syrup, a side of sausage & a round of red eyes. That’s what I’d do, anyway, & I bet Country-Fried Jesus would too.

Google Search Laffy Time Roundtable: Oh, the Humanity!

Realizing full well that whomever arrived at my blog by Googling “seafood muscles poop” probably meant “mussels,” I still couldn’t help but

A) snicker;
B) try to envision that trio of referents in my mind’s eye & snicker;
C) do my own Google search for “mussel poop” & snicker at this (as well as get a kick out of this blogpost re a fashion shoot-turned-trek through le merde des moules);
D) poll pals about the oddest routes to their own blogs & full-on guffaw.

Take Rebecca Ballenger of Mom-a-Tron (whom you may have met here or here). Her blog is about being

1) a family girl,
2) a serious gardener & sustainability expert/advocate,
3) a fine photographer,
4) a close observer of language.

It’s not about her being 5) preternaturally hot (see for yourself) & 6) a hoot, but it comes to that too. I had a crush on her even before she gave me the lowdown on the wackiest search terms she’s seen in her viewer stats, which she prefaced by admitting, “I’m not surprised by a lot of them. Lots of trons, & pooping on head, & holy water, penny pinching, cleaning, cookies & so forth.”

They include:

I’m superior (undoubtedly a fellow greenie, sans her self-deprecating sense of humor)
Suck my bird (well, she keeps chickens…Maybe old Ozzy was doing a bit of research for the next tour?)
& my personal favorite, which needs no analysis: Pooping into oblivion

(Anyway, Rebecca herself has expounded upon it in typically wry fashion here.)

Or take MC Slim JB, an acclaimed Boston-based food & drink writer who has graced these webpages a number of times. Slim (a dear friend on whom I also have a little crush) being known for his powers of cool, close observation, his sharp focus on the subject matter at hand, I find it especially awesome that so much googly-eyed riffraff arrives at his blog in search of boobies. Either that or evidence that he regularly dines out disguised as a porn princess.

Slim back, big rack
Big boob JB
Lacy boobs (what the hell are those? Are they anything like this?)
Candid boobs (& those? I wish I had me some. I could use some straight talk from my flab)

Beth Partin of Living the Mile-High Life may take the cake when it comes to mammary glands, however, insofar as, for a time at least, “I was ranking in the 1st page of Google for ‘tit cakes’ and ‘titty cakes.’” The pertinent post takes a glimpse inside Le Bakery Sensual (where I myself picked up a birthday cake for The Director & a friend last year based on a photo of them pretending to be in a knife fight. Their likeness in frosting is not at all striking, but it was tasty nonetheless).

P1010808

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LATE-BREAKING ROUNDTABLE BONUS! Colonel Hector Bravado of your favorite virtual den of iniquity & mine, Denver Six Shooter, sent a whole Xmas list of XXX search terms that I’ll mostly spare you—this is a family blog, however dysfunctional & torn apart by a pack of wild dogs! But I’d give anything to know who was looking for “cocks bigger than people.” That’d be one jolly green giant.

As for who was looking for “easy coke Boulder“—every other resident, I imagine.

Pineapple is next! Mitch Hedberg’s 20 best food jokes

Mitch-hedberg0Maybe because we’re all in such memorializing moods these days, I’ve been thinking a lot about 1 of my all-time favorite comedians, the late Mitch Hedberg. I’ve paid homage to him before; he was a great one for food jokes. Whether or not his gloriously apparent preoccupation with snacking was a reflection of his tragic drug habit, he had a gift for the grub gag.

Of course, he had a gift for the guffaw regardless of the topic; you can read a fairly comprehensive sampling here. Or, better yet, you can buy his CDs—including the 1 titled Strategic Grill Locations or the 1 that pictures him drinking a Coke—here.

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I was gonna get a candy bar; the button I was supposed to push was “HH,” so I went to the side, I found the “H” button, I pushed it twice. Fuckin’ potato chips came out, man! Turns out they had a “HH” button. You need to let me know. I’m not familiar with the concept of “HH.” I did not learn my AA-BB-CCs, god god dammit dammit.

I like vending machines ’cause snacks are better when they fall. If I buy a candy bar at a store, oftentimes I will drop it, so that it achieves its maximum flavor potential.

This is what my friend said to me; he said, “Guess what I like, mashed potatoes.” It’s like,”Dude. you gotta give me time to guess. If you’re gonna quiz me, you must insert a pause in there.”

A burrito is a sleeping bag for ground beef.

When you buy a box of Ritz crackers, on the back of the box, they have all these suggestions as to what to put on top of the Ritz. “Try it with turkey and cheese. Try it with peanut butter.” But I like crackers, man, that’s why I bought some, ’cause I like crackers! I don’t see a suggestion to put a Ritz on top of a Ritz. I didn’t buy ’em because they’re little edible plates! You’ve got no faith in the product itself.

I think they could take sesame seeds off the [McDonald’s] menu and I wouldn’t even care. I can’t imagine five years from now saying, “Damn, remember sesame seeds? What happened? All the buns are blank!”…How’s a sesame seed stick to a bun? That’s fuckin’ magical! There’s got to be some sesame seed glue out there! Either that or they’re adhesive on one side. “Take the sesame seed out, remove the backing, place it on the bun. Now your bun will look spec-tac-u-lar.” What does a sesame seed grow into? I don’t know; we never gave it a chance…What the fuck is a sesame? It’s a street… It’s a way to open shit…

I like baked potatoes. But I don’t have a microwave oven, and it takes forever to bake a potato in a conventional oven. Sometimes I’ll just throw one in there, even if I don’t want one. ‘Cause by the time it’s done, who knows?

I went to a pizzeria, I ordered a slice of pizza, the fucker gave me the smallest slice possible. If the pizza was a pie chart for what people would do if they found a million dollars, the fucker gave me the “Donate it to charity” slice. I would like to exchange this for the “Keep it!”

I like rice. Rice is great when you’re hungry and you want 2,000 of something.

If I was on death row and given one last meal I would ask for a fortune cookie. “Come on, ‘long prosperous life!'”

(Talking about his drink onstage) Look at all the limes in this goddamn thing! This fuckin’ thing is tropical! Look at the limes, how they float. That’s good news. Next time I’m on a boat and it capsizes, I will reach for a lime. Like I’ll be water-skiing without a life preserver, people will say “Shit!” and I will pull out a lime. I’m saved by the buoyancy of citrus.

My manager saw me drinking backstage and he said “Mitch, don’t use liquor as a crutch.” I can’t use liquor as a crutch, because a crutch helps me walk. Liquor severely fucks up the way I walk. It ain’t like a crutch, it’s like a step I didn’t see.

What am I drinking? NyQuil on the rocks, for when you’re feeling sick but sociable.

I’m an ice sculptor. Last night I made a cube.

I saw this wino, he was eating grapes. I was like, “Dude, you have to wait.”

I saw this dude—he was wearing a leather jacket, and at the same time he was eating a hamburger and drinking a glass of milk. I said to him, “Dude, you’re a cow. The metamorphosis is complete. Don’t fall asleep or I will tip you over.”

I had a piece of Carefree Sugarless gum and I was still worried. It never kicked in. I took it back to the store and said “Bullshit!”

I like how a duck’s opinion of me severely depends on whether I may or may not have bread.

I can’t wait to get off the stage, because I’ve got some LifeSavers in my pocket and pineapple is next!

The best for last:

When you go to a restaurant on the weekends and it’s busy they start a waiting list. They start calling out names, they say, “Dufresne, party of two. Dufresne, party of two.” And if no one answers they’ll say their name again. “Dufresne, party of two, Dufresne, party of two.” But then if no one answers they’ll just go right on to the next name. “Bush, party of three.” Yeah, what happened to the Dufresnes? No one seems to give a shit. Who can eat at a time like this? People are missing! You fuckers are selfish. The Dufresnes are in someone’s trunk right now, with duct tape over their mouths. And they’re hungry. That’s a double whammy. Bush, search party of three! You can eat when you find the Dufresnes.

Bonus food joke no. 21 here.

Includes AYCE manna buffet

Churchsign

Google Search Laffy Time: “pita chips & canker sores”

While it makes eventual sense—salt on a wound & all that—something about

10056 Canker-sores
the juxtaposition
just startles at first. Like “butterscotch & razor burn.” Or “gumdrops & ritual sacrifice.”
Anyway, sorry for your discomfort, Googler, but my blog won’t offer you much in the way of health tips. Unless you’re looking for a hangover cure, in which case I recommend exercise & pickle juice.

Google Search Laffy Time: “stuck on my couch delivery”

Seeing that someone arrived at Dispatches from My Couch via a search for the above phrase, I had a sudden horrifying premonition-slash-flashback to the sloth scene in Se7en.

Se7en_l

Seeing, too, as how that guy, forcibly bedridden for a year, chews his own tongue out before the cops find him, I sure hope whatever delivery guy answers the call of the incapacitated soul that visited Denveater discovers him in one upright piece. Let us know you’re okay, soul, yeah? (And also how your food was.)

A little taste of home: The Bob Evans Biscuit in a Bowl & Sausage Gravy Dispenser

Photo

If by “home” we mean “hell.” Which, of course, we often do. You want some powdered ham with that? Maybe a coffee slush?

Google Search Laffy Time: “old tart granny get light”

You know those posters on the ceiling at the dentist’s office, where the kitten’s hanging from a tree branch & the caption reads “Ever Have One of Those Days?” Add a rope, & you’ve pretty much got my week.

Hungcat

But in the dark, greasy thick of all those sleepless, showerless pre-deadline nights, I got a tiny little kick out of the fact that someone arrived at my post about Locanda del Borgo, which I’d contrasted with some swingin’ seniors’ pit stop—favorably, natch—by Googling “old tart granny get light.” I Googled it back; no exact matches.

What in the name of all that’s Pandoran is that? Is a homemaker in Warsaw trying to cut the fat out of the family babka recipe & practice her English in one fell swoop? Is an elderly rapper looking to lay down some mad lyrics Flo-Rida style? “Granny got lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite…”

If you’ve got any wise ideas, do tell. Meanwhile, I need an eve to recoup & then it’s back to the chow, pronto.

Google Search Laffy Time: “I spit up black stuff from weed only”

Oh, wow. Stat analytics are the new found poetry. Or Mad Libs, or Rorschach test, or something. Someone came to Denveater via an image search for the title phrase, which in the searcher’s twisted, lonely mind apparently had something, though I can’t & won’t try too hard to fathom what, with

HSchickenfeet

Heaven Star’s chicken feet (of which more here).

Have I ever mentioned virtual travelers from round the world land here in search I believe of a little Full Metal Jacket–type action?

In short I think I’d better make this here Google Search Laffy Time a semiregular feature. It’s just too big a window onto the soul not to open it wide, yes?