Browsed by
Category: cooking

À Bout De Soufflé

À Bout De Soufflé

I don’t know what could have possibly happened to make this guy so sad, but I’m sorry his loss.

If the video was in black and white and in French I would have assumed it was simply some garbage from La Nouvelle Vague and dismissed it immediately, but it’s obviously of the current times, so it demands my attention. Is he ashamed of his work? Is his wife sleeping with the milkman, and the mailman, and the garbage man, and the plumber, and the neighbor, and the other neighbor? Is his dog dead? There are so many things we may never know in our lifetime, but this weighs on me the heaviest.

Maybe they make him eat the food he cooks and that’s why he’s so depressed.

A Solution In Search Of A Problem: How Can I Turbocharge My Barbeque?

A Solution In Search Of A Problem: How Can I Turbocharge My Barbeque?


Who among us has not wondered aloud how we might turbocharge our barbeque? Let he who has not overfired the grill cast the first briquet. We’ve all tried swapping out a propane tank for a hardpiped natural gas line to get a few more BTUs out of Old Betsy. Then we got a larger diameter copper pipe and drilled out the nozzles. But something was always missing, besides our eyebrows.

Turbocharging. Brilliant.

It’s Only February 15th, But Valentine’s Day Is SO Over

It’s Only February 15th, But Valentine’s Day Is SO Over

(Note: There’s a little foul language)

Little known fact: Henry, of Henry’s Kitchen fame,  has won the coveted Michelin Star for his cooking. Well, it wasn’t a Michelin Star, exactly; I got to thinking about it, and thought it might have been  a Goodyear Star or something, but then I looked it up, and it turns out he just had a coupon for ten percent off on two Hankook tires for a Kia. But my point stands. I think. Whatever.

What’s Sadder Than Eating Alone In Public?

What’s Sadder Than Eating Alone In Public?


This. This is. This is downright morose. Cooking for one is somber. Cooking lessons for cooking for one is ponderous. Microwave cooking lessons for one is woebegone. Cooking alone in public to eat alone in public. Teaching others to cook alone to eat alone in private, in public, is the worst thing ever. It’s more melancholy than four Good Fridays. It’s more dismal than a young pessimist, or an elderly optimist. More sorrowful than Joe Montana in a Chiefs uniform. It’s sadder than a bad country song, and more mournful than a good one.

Sad? This is sadder than a gas station hot dog.

[Thanks to the jolly Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along]