Archive | What IS that? RSS feed for this section

This ice cream looks like clown shit.

4 Apr

When the dark chocolate frozen yogurt came oozing out of the machine, I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit.

The color. The texture. The shine. It looked like a fresh coil of poo.

I added some sprinkles thinking the addition would make the ice cream more appealing to the eyes (and let’s be honest, the mouth too). Because the four year old inside of me loves sprinkles; she doesn’t care if they taste like nothing.

But after I added the color, I died laughing. Because my dessert didn’t look like a dessert. It looked like clown shit.

And, yes, it did make my stomach feel funny.

Bozo left you a present.

A Banana in a Peel in a Wrapper

30 Mar

If case you’ve been hiding under a peel and haven’t heard of Del Monte’s latest idea, allow me to fill you in.

Pre-packaged, single-serve bananas.

I’ll type that again.

Pre-packaged, single-serve bananas.

I already thought bananas were presented in single-serve containers, as in their thick peels. But I’m not a food chemist and I don’t work for a big company. So I must be wrong.

Because the folks at Del Monte seem to think that a banana needs to come in a bag. As in a banana already inside of a peel needs to be packaged in a wrapper. One banana. By itself.

Today is March 30. I pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that this is an April Fool’s joke. Because if any fool buys one of these hermetically sealed bananas within my sight, I will punch him/her in the face. And them strategically place a a banana peel on the ground for him/her to slip on.

Please tell me this is a joke. Please!

Del Monte's Banana Hammocks

If you don’t like the “C” word (and I don’t mean “carbs”), stop reading now.

17 Jan

This bread machine is a cunt.

The cunty bread maker.

It’s a twatty cunty cunt of cuntiness. It’s cuntiness is offensive.

This piece of cunty shit only births satanic loaves of bread.

Satanic bread with horns. It came from that cunt of a bread maker.

Loaves of bread so vile and foul, no human can eat them without instantly being transported to hell.

That cunty bread maker can’t make a decent loaf of bread to spare its cunty life.

That bread maker is a cunt. And I’m about to run a goddamn train on it.

Fuck that bread maker. It’s a cunt.

 

I am defeated. My bread is deflated.

14 Jan

UPDATE: Many people find this post by searching for “deflated bread.” Well, it isn’t you. It’s the machine. After several failed attempts at fluffy bread using a machine, I tried making it the old fashion way: sans machine. It was easy and my bread rose like a flower towards the sun. Nix the machine and all will be fine.

***

How fucking hard is it to cook fucking bread?

Yes, bread.

I used a boxed recipe my first time. All I had to do was add water. And the bread collapsed.

So I got flour. And followed the recipe to the T.

And ended up going to the the emergency room on Christmas Eve (the clinics had closed) because the rock-hard crust deflected my knife into my finger.

After a week of regrowing. I later had to cut the flap off. Ew.

Loaves three, four, and five all collapsed onto themselves. Even after I added flour (suggested by the manufactured), then changed flour (also recommended by the machine’s booklet), and then added more yeast (booklet again).

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Attempt six had me subtracting water.

That was the worst collapse yet. And now the bread is gummy and wet, which makes NO SENSE on fucking earth because you’d think less water would equal drier bread.

 

I keep making what I've learned to call "cat bread."

Am I taking crazy pills?

After googling and searching and pleaing with the bread gods, I found one thread where some guy named Tom has been through the same insane trip I’ve been through.

And he tried less yeast. And he says it worked.

So as soon as the burn marks heal, and the pride rebuilds, and I make some kick ass bread pudding out of my failures, I’ll try again.

Because I’ll be goddamned if a fucking bread machine is going to get the best of me … a seventh time.

It’s not drugs. It’s gum.

10 Jan

Everyone must think I have a pill popping habit.

Because I’ve been chewing this Peelu lately. And the container looks quite medicinal.

I admit, it was in the dental section of my hippy dippy grocery store. And it’s sugar-free, fake-sugar-free, and it boasts some crazy super-ingredient.

But I really liked the package. I mean, it looks like a bottle of ibuprofen! And the weird part of me, which for some inexplainable reason wants to pop pills, is sated.

So when you see me reach into my handbag for the tenth time and pop a tenth little white pill, don’t fret. I’m not in pain. I’m in chewy, gummy heaven.

It's not aspirin. It's Peelu.

Call me lazy if you must.

7 Jan

I love sandwiches. And I spend a lot of my time typing.

But trying to love a sandwich while typing has proven difficult. I mean the whole sticky-hand-on-the-keyboard thing can all too easily yank me out of the creative zone. And let’s face it, a non-sticky sandwich isn’t worth eating.

So while some may scoff at the laziness of one not holding one’s own sandwich, I applaud the idea.

I know the holidays are over, but the Queen has a birthday coming up. And this sandwich holder would make for a great gift. Just saying.

The cool kind of head gear.

Hoggin’ the Häagen Dazs.

7 Dec

Note: You want to freak out spell check? Correctly type Häagen Dazs.

I’ve mentioned before that I don’t like fake foods. Or fake sugars. Or weird substitutes that get added when fat is removed.

I like real foods. With simple names. And simple ingredients.

Real food.

Despite everything I read about needing to eat less fat this, or needing to eliminate white flour that, or preventing diabetes by eating less sugar what have you, I still eat real butter, real sugar, real milk, real cheese, white bread …

So far, so good. And I plan on raising my kids the same way.

Anyway, when I discovered Häagen Dazs five, I wasn’t sure what to think. Really, only five ingredients? Really?

No sacharine? No corn syrup? No hydrogenated poly-something whatsit-ulose-ips?

Nope. Just the stuff that went into the ice cream my mama used to make. Cream, milk, sugar, flavor, eggs.

It’s the prettiest label you’ll ever see based on the ingredient list alone.

And let me tell you that Häagen Dazs five is de-ee-lic-ci-ous. Yep, five syllables of tasty going on in that little carton.

So far, I’ve had lemon, chocolate, and coffee. And I plan to try them all.

If you’re nice to me, I might share.

You may be five, Häagen Dazs five, but I give you a 10.

Nothing has EVER made me want to join PETA before. Until now.

23 Nov

The TurBaconEpic. Quite possibly the most disgusting combination of anything. Ever.

Bacon. Meat glue. Cornish game hen. Chicken. Bacon. Turkey. Quail. Bacon. Duck. Meat glue. Bacon stuffing.

All crammed inside of a roasted pig.

My husband is salivating at the thought. He’ll also be sleeping on the couch tonight. (Just kidding, honey.)

The only way it could get more foul is if they added peas.

The Turducken or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tofu

23 Nov

tur-duc-ken

(n.)

A de-boned chicken stuffed into the cavity of a de-boned ducke stuffed into the cavity of a de-boned turkey. Then cooked and devoured by glutenous people.

—

The thought is actually quite funny. Let’s shove this animal up this animal’s ass. Then shove those animals into another animal’s ass. Then shove those animals into our mouths and later out of our asses.

I want to laugh, but I also want to cry. If anything prevents me from ever eating meat again, it’s this monstrosity (or those turtle burgers I wrote about some time ago).

Thank you, Thanksgiving, for giving turkeys another reason to fear November. As if being the main centerpieces of countless U.S. tables wasn’t embarrassing enough, now they’re getting packed like a … I really want to say cheerleader on prom night, but I’m not sure if that works here.

Or maybe it does.

Turd. Uck! Ehhn?

Wimpiest “Heart Attack” Ever

18 Nov

Standing in the buffet line, I read the sign with a mixture of fear and curiousity.

“The Heart Attack.”

What could it be? What was hiding within that  small, tempura fried shell?

Usually, food boasting about killing you is full of fats, butter, and other delicious, artery-hating things. Other times, it brags of being too hot to handle.

Curious about this heart attack, I read the tiny little sign.

“Jalapeño. Crab meat. Avocado.”

Didn’t sound very dangerous to me, but who was I to pass up a challenge that so easily agreed with my limited diet? Plus the idea of a Japanese jalapeño popper is awesome.

So I grabbed a “Heart Attack” and set forth to attack it myself.

It was damn delicious, but not threatening in the slightest, much like a regular jalapeño popper.

It was really cheap sushi, though. Perhaps I’ll find out later what the real meaning of “heart attack” is.

Regardless, I found a new favorite place for lunch. Sushi Yaa in the downtown Dallas tunnels. Give it a try. The price is right and the food is good.

All of this plus soup for less than six bucks.

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.