If I review one pumpkin product in any given year, it will be the best damned one I can find, and at the moment, I have a sample size population of one, because I refuse to bow to the wills of the god of pumpkin spice, Femcanis Basicious. This is Pumpkin Noosa, and it is not for breakfast. Have you ever wanted to lick pumpkin pie batter out of the mixing bowl? Of course you haven’t, you sick freak. God made cakes for that and cakes alone. Well, thanks to Noosa, you can fulfill that perversity in the quiet of your own home and the silent organization of Target’s buying lists. This yogurt is so uncannily resemblant of pie filling in a dessert that it ought to be legally labeled as such, instead of a breakfast food. Field trip to the FDA? Field trip to the FDA? No takers? Man, you guys suck. Continue reading
This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. Let it be known that this will buy an undisclosed amount of imaginary cupcakes, because my personal trainer would prefer those over the real ones. Where has Foodette been? Is she an international mess of mystery? Has law school eaten her up and spat her out, briefs and all? Questions that nobody has asked thus far! Never fear, I’m relatively back- I’m cooking up recipes, crying into the 1934 Securities Act, and traveling out and about. A brief weekend in Austin yielded apartment flooding, a dead car battery, and a very angry Siamese cat upon return. Oh, and five Thanksgiving invitations to plan for. What’s an anonymous writer spitting words on the internet to do? Maybe cry. But better yet, maybe make a pizza. And whether you’re one of those adorable, charming hosts or hostesses with perfect Christmas parties on a Samsung commercial or an absolute wreck like me, this is a party appetizer that will certainly please you and your guests.
Weirdly enough, this contains references to two of the things I hated most in college that compelled the masses- Humans vs. Zombies and nitrous oxide. The bag is deep and dark, with claw marks, topical references to the holiday, a zombie warning sign fresh out of the clearance bin at Spencer Gifts, and lots and lots o’ Photoshop veneer. Have the beloved Takis been taken over by zombies, perhaps former communications and graphic design majors with a lust for blood, brains, and jobs with fair pay? There’s a spooky Halloween for you. I’m not sure if these particular zombies revere the complex heat of habanero or the cooling, vitamin C rich benefits of cucumbers, but either way, it’s a unique flavor concept that kicks the pants off the Lay’s wasabi chips. Continue reading
When I am feeling depressed, which is, as my therapist tells me, an entirely normal thing despite it happening more often than I’d prefer, I remind myself that I ate a $1,000 sundae. I ate it while smiling at screaming children, a verb, adjective, and noun pairing that comes only once in a blue moon, when I’m sending thoughts their way to the tune of, “This costs more than a week at your boarding school, this costs more than your vacation, I am putting it in my mouth. I will shit gold.” It’s a bit of a clunky mantra but man, it works. Continue reading
Maybe it was the excessive profanity, or distancing from my family, or perhaps the entire butchering and consumption of a whole pig that piqued you, but I’m not necessarily the most observant Jewish person in the world. Specifically, I take an existentialist approach to the whole shebang, short of turning my tallis into an ascot- it’s what you make of it and it’s what it means to you. More specifically, I’m not great at yom kippur, but I always enjoy it, except for the one year that a young men’s rights activist threw out my birthday cake in the 4th grade because my birthday landed on the day of atonement and food fasting. Damn it, Max, I wasn’t even a real woman yet.
But as a holiday, I find it comforting to sit in bed and sip loose lapsang while The Bedfellow and I watxu the 2010 Vienna production of Carmen blast, or bond over a compilation of traffic accident-related public service announcements and contemplate my mortality and the many blunders over the past year that allowed me to avoid it, and overall, determine that it was indeed, a sweet year, and cap the day off with oysters and a rousing listen to kol nidre, brought to you by Neil Diamond in ‘The Jazz Singer’. And this year, we broke the fast with hipster yogurt and unlimited ahi tuna procured from TGI Friday’s offshore river banks. Chag same’ach indeed.
Disclaimer: This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. I was paid by the internet, for the internet, and shall not perish from this earth before eating my weight in avocados.
Christ, do I love bodegas. Hartford has ‘em, New York has better. Rows upon rows of food the likes of which I’ve rarely cooked with, and if you’re nice, amazing sandwiches and deli treats to boot. Not to mention being the ideal hangover helper. So while I was in New York last weekend, I picked up some ingredients at my favorite stop (shout out to Tehuitzingo for also making me want tacos after Betony) and came home to cook something amazing. Connecticut is Goya country, so when I was asked to cook something using La Morena’s hot ingredients, like jalapeno and chipotle peppers, I was curious to see what I could come up with. Continue reading
I’m taking back my own damned blog.
I’ve spent the last month anxiously yapping about it at ten-minute table talk sessions, I’ve fervently advocated for it and laughed too loudly at dinners with endless cocktails and enough steak to fell a Texan. But it hasn’t really felt like mine. Do not blame me, readers, for falling prey to the allure of capitalism, networking: the potential to work alongside esteemed writers with eponymes like eggboy and Dex, grinding out ouevres like ‘Ten Ways to Garbage Up Chinese Takeout,’ and, ‘Why My Ovaries Hate Gluten: A Primer’ on fly-by-night Millenial publications. Do not fault me for double-fisting gimlets at that one reception. Do not hate me for not hating.
A few weeks ago, we drove down to Norwalk for a stupendous dinner at Washington Prime, a new restaurant in the south part of the city near the old Chocopologie location. This was yet another bacchanal coordinated by Linda and her amazing PR team, and after a dry summer, we were looking forward to getting back to eating and drinking our way through the state. Washington Prime has been open for about two months now and features a new American menu with steak, locally-sourced vegetables, cheese, and bread, and clever cocktails on the menu.We sat outside while waiting for the group to arrive and sampled some of the cocktails, starting with the Pink Lady, with gin, pink peppercorns, lemon, and rose liqueur. The peppercorns were underwhelming but the drink was refreshing, with a nice foam on top. The Pippy Longstocking was equally delicious- strawberry lemonade with gin, vanilla beans, and seltzer, and the vanilla was the clear standout. While we didn’t try the dirty martini, we admired that it was served smoking with dry ice billowing off the sides of the glass! Continue reading
A few weeks ago, The Bedfellow and I went to the Capital Grille in Times Square for an evening of wine, steak, and complaining after an insane job conference. This was my third time sampling the Generous Pour, and we had an excellent evening. The Times Square location, one of three in the city, is sprawling and cavernous, with numerous alcove-like dining areas throughout the restaurant and staircases leading to private dining rooms. The acoustics were terrible and it was difficult to have a conversation without shouting across the two-top, and halfway through dinner the lights went slowly dim and then bright again like a geriatric light show for about a half hour, making for a weirdly disconcerting dining experience. Continue reading
I participated in an Influencer Activation Program on behalf of Millenial Central Consulting for the Beef Checkoff. I received products to facilitate this review and a promotional item to thank me for participating.Basic bitches everywhere are freaking out because pumpkin spice lattes are back, as they are every year, like some sort of seasonal emotionally abusive crutch. I’m here to take that to the next level, thanks to the National Beef Board (all of these meat boards courting me makes me misty-eyed, but seriously, NBB, where’s my full cow?) with these brisket sandwiches, made with pumpkin spice mayo (WHAAAAAT), paprika and butcher spice-rubbed brisket, salami, and Melinda Mae cheese from the Mystic Cheese Company. Continue reading