Tag Archives: food

Cooking with Sass

19 Apr

(A young man walks into a Williams-Sonoma cooking supply store. He is greeted by a female sales assistant.)

EMPLOYEE: Hi! How can I help you today?
CUSTOMER: Hello, I’m looking to buy a birthday gift for my girlfriend. She likes cooking and I’m thinking of getting her something food-related. Like a whisk or something.
EMPLOYEE (giggly): Well, I don’t know if she’d really appreciate getting a whisk on her big day.
CUSTOMER (sheepishly): What do you recommend then?
EMPLOYEE: Have you considered any of our high-end specialty appliances? They’re a bit more expensive but they make a great gift.
CUSTOMER (confused): What are those? Appliances like a refrigerator?
EMPLOYEE: Oh, no. They’re a lot less useful than that. Here, come take a look. (walks toward wall lined with machines) This is a pie maker.
EMPLOYEE: It’s an automatic pie maker. You just put the crust on the bottom, pour in your filling, close the lid, and it bakes the perfect pie.
CUSTOMER: Can’t you just do that in an oven?
EMPLOYEE: You could just do it in an oven, but this is not the ’40’s. You could just walk places, but the modern man drives.
CUSTOMER: I don’t think I follow that analogy…
EMPLOYEE: Alright, well what about this bread maker?
CUSTOMER (skeptical): That just seems like another oven.
EMPLOYEE: That’s fair. If you feel like cooking the Assyrian way. We also have the electric wok, if you’re interested.
CUSTOMER: Why not just put a normal wok on the stove? Isn’t that a lot cheaper?
EMPLOYEE: But with this you have the privilege of not using a stove.
CUSTOMER: Do you have anything else?
EMPLOYEE (becoming exasperated): Well, there’s the electric yogurt maker.
CUSTOMER: Excuse me? How much is that one?
EMPLOYEE: The yogurt maker is actually our second most affordable option after the panini press, at $129. But you do have to factor in another twenty bucks for the yogurt machine cleaner.
CUSTOMER: Why? What’s wrong with normal detergent?
EMPLOYEE: Well, normal soaps and dishwashers aren’t designed to handle appliances that purposefully incubate bacteria inside of then.
CUSTOMER: Yeah, that doesn’t sound safe to have in the house. Do you have anything less, you know, disease-breeding?
EMPLOYEE: The spice grinder is fairly sterile.
CUSTOMER: But what does it do?
EMPLOYEE: It lets you grind raw spices into the powders like you’d find in the supermarket in the comfort of your own home.
CUSTOMER: But where do you even get raw, unground spices? I don’t really have a contact with the Dutch East India Company.
EMPLOYEE: Actually, we do sell the spices here for use with it. They’re included with the grinder for an additional thirty dollars.
CUSTOMER: Of course they are. You know what, I think I’ll just go with the whisk.
EMPLOYEE: Are you looking for more of a dough whisk or a sauce whisk, because we have both. We also have an electric whisk if you want that kind of thing, too.
CUSTOMER: I think we’ll just order in dinner tonight.

Yelp Review: Sun ‘n’ Sand Tiki Bar

20 Feb

1/5 Stars

When Sun ‘n’ Sand opened last year, I was excited about having a bar right on the beach in West Palm. I went on my day off on Saturday and this was my experience:

I showed up around 6, and found a seat at the bar. The place had a stale odor, like a combo of low tide and spray tanner. I waited patiently for a waitress, but none came to take my order. I decided to pass the time by making small talk with the other customers; this proved one of the gravest decisions I’ve ever made. I tried to start a conversation with the woman to my left. She proceeded to explain to me how she had purchased a swimsuit that was three sizes too small, but kept it anyway because it showcased her “lovely lady lumps”. I immediately turned away, but she rambled on, explaining how one lump was suspicious and required medical attention. I moved to a different seat when she asked if I had any odd lumps or bumps that she could see.

I stood up to find the manager so I could ask for a beverage, but he was nowhere to be found. I saw what appeared to be the owner singing a Celine Dion medley into a beer can, intermittently shouting that he was the “Karaoke King”. His inebriation became obvious when he attempted to moonwalk and tumbled backwards, smashing his head into a stormdrain. He did not get up immediately, but I did not go to his rescue because I figured his loss might be better for the human race as a whole in the long run. The owner’s drinking buddy, an elderly man in an ill-fitting leprechaun costume (I went to the bar in early February) laughed so hard at his friend’s fall that he spilled his piña colada in his beard. Instead of cleaning himself up, the man climbed on the bar and urged all other patrons to lick the beverage from his facial hair. The only person to take him up on the offer was the owner, who at this point inexplicably rose from his drunken stupor to drink a watery piña colada from his friend’s whiskers. Between the noisy slurps, the owner announced his official change in title from “Karaoke King” to “The Human Beard Vacuum”. At that point, the owner slipped again, marking his second spectacular tumble in under an hour, and resumed his position slumped against the wall.

As I made my way towards the exit, a man who I presumed to be the manager grabbed me by the arm and urged me to have a bite to eat on the house. I imagine the manager was hoping to avoid receiving negative feedback on the internet. Thinking that the bar couldn’t possibly make a worse impression, I reluctantly agreed to try some grub. After a cursory glance at the menu, I settled on the Zesty Tropical Chili. The food arrived thirty-five minutes later, although the time passed quickly to the tune of a surprisingly accurate version of Cats, with lump lady and the leprechaun guy assuming the lead roles. The chili came tepid, and its odorous nature literally made my eyes water. I stirred the contents, where upon I discovered a large mass floating in my soup. I scooped it out, and found it out to be a black du-rag, with the word “spicy” bedazzled on. With so much time already invested in the Sun ‘n’ Sand Tiki Bar, I almost felt it would have all been for nothing had I not even tried the food. Needless to say, I couldn’t actually bring myself to taste an iota of the stuff.

Lacking the heart to tell the manager about the du-rag or any other facet of my experience, so I simply left, never looking back. I immediately set a course for the local clinic, where I had a smattering of medical tests performed to isolate any diseases I may have picked up during my stay, and I encourage all prior customers of the Sun ‘n’ Sand to do the same. In summation, the worst bar I’ve ever seen. It is an embarrassment to the management, the West Palm Beach health department, and the entire state of Florida.

Things You, Unfortunately, Might Hear this Thanksgiving

18 Nov

“We’ve got to get to Wal-Mart by eight, tonight! It’s 65% off tramplings!”

“Had enough of football? There’s still plenty to do this Thanksgiving. Head to the nature center for an in-depth lecture on turkey vocalizations. Or, check out the library’s program on the history of stuffing.”

“Black Friday shopping, huh? Oh sure, go buy a new TV. It’s not like I’ve been elbow-deep in the business end of a turkey, preparing your feast for the last two hours!”

“Your Christmas decorations look lovely.”

“Guys, the tofurkey’s ready!”

Cacciatore in the Rye

11 Nov

(In a dimly lit New York Italian restaurant/bar, the two crotchetiest characters of the Western canon have met for drinks and dinner. Holden Caulfield and Larry David find their seats at a table near the back. They are flanked on the left by a table of elegantly-dressed female flibbertigibbets, whose loud conversation echoes across the dining room.)

LARRY: Oy gevalt. Who comes to a classy place like this and shouts across the dining room? The rest of us can hear you, you know!

HOLDEN: Easy, Larry. Let the people act young. The world turns around them, and they’re locked in a state of perpetual aging. They try to break free and be young, but they can’t. They’re getting old. They’re not locked in glass.

LARRY: Speaking of old, this guy at the movie theater added a senior discount to my ticket price.

HOLDEN: So? You qualify and you’re old enough. It saves you money.

LARRY: Yeah, but he didn’t even have to ask how old he was. He could probably tell by looking, but it seemed a little rude to just assume. The kid should have a little decency and ask how old I am. Not even enough manners to ask my age.

(Holden rolls his eyes and the two immerse themselves in the menu.)

HOLDEN: I want the veal cacciatore. What are you having?

LARRY: Uh, such a big menu. I can’t decide. We’ll just share the veal.

HOLDEN: Fine, I’ll let you share with me.

LARRY: Are you getting wine? I’m not, but if you do, do us a favor and remember the price. You have to split the check, and nobody ever agrees, it’s just bad. So, veal cacciatore it is.

(A waiter has just overheard the conversation, and arrives to confirm the order.)

WAITER: Sharing the veal cacciatore, are we? It’s great, it really is.

LARRY: Yes, we’ll have that. And two waters.

HOLDEN: These restaurants are all so phony. The smoke, the jazz, the clinking of glasses. None of it means anything. That’s all it is, ambience.

LARRY: Speaking of phony, looks at that lady over there. She can barely move her forehead!

HOLDEN: Oh Larry,the things we’ll do to feel young.

(Fast-forwarding a little, the veal has arrived, split between two plates. Holden rests his head on a hand planted on the table and wistfully pushes the meat around his plate. Larry eats a morsel, but promptly spits it out.)

LARRY: Dear God, that’s appalling!

HOLDEN: What, Larry, is it bad?

LARRY: It’s past bad, it’s raw! It’s plain and simple raw! We could’ve caught food poisoning! One more bite and I’d have been in the hospital!

HOLDEN: No one ever cooks the veal right these days. There’s no care in the food. No love. Just some guy putting meat on a fire, collecting a paycheck, and leaving. It’s just veal. It’s not molded, and it’s not prepared. It just comes out pure. Unadulterated. Raw.

LARRY: Sure, real poetic. Meanwhile, I might be coming down with something! Feel my head, that’s a fever!

HOLDEN: I wish I could do something about it. All these people, they come for Italian food, but they have no idea. It’s just cacciatore in the rye. They’re all waiting to get sick with the bad veal, but I stop it every time. I send the food back to the kitchen. None of the customers ever get sick. I could do that all day, then I’d be happy.

(Lights fade. The soft, metallic bang of utensils, the contrived chit-chat, and the soft tunes of the band all crescendo as Holden drifts back into his daydreaming, and Larry grabs his abdomen and runs for the bathroom. Curtains close.)


The Watertown Feminists E-Newsletter

30 Oct

Hello ladies,

Unfortunately, due to Hurricane Sandy, the Watertown County Feminists will not be meeting this week. However, next week’s meeting at Judy’s house is as scheduled. Due to the scheduling conflict, we will have the pot-luck at Judy’s (dibs on potato salad!) and the bring-a-friend-night will happen in November.

However, just because we aren’t meeting doesn’t mean we are relieved of our duty to fight male chauvinism this hurricane season. Every autumn, we are assaulted by a barrage of anti-women propaganda, as storms are dubbed with an offensive womanly nomenclature. This sly insinuation of the women’s stormy, disruptive characteristics can not be continued, and as proud females for females, we have the power to stop it. The continued naming of tropical storms after women is a crude effort by our own government to paint women as dangerous inconveniences to society, and we must wage our guerilla efforts with increased fervor this hurricane season.

– Lisa

P.S. I still have dibs on the potato salad.

Golddigger’s Sonnet

9 Oct

I am consumed by fiscal passion

when I gaze upon your wrinkles.

I lust for your high-waisted fashions,

and your enlarged prostate tinkles.


The familiar bulge in your slacks:

a wallet of Visa and Amex Gold.

That compensates for what your body lacks,

and my friends saying you are old.


The age difference means nothing to me,

as I have caught the curse of King Midas.

You have as many years as my father,

and you see the same doctor for arthritis.


I am a golddigger, I am with no shame.

I’m in it for the will, now it’s just a waiting game.

Three Pounds of “A” Cut

21 Sep

(An elderly woman marches into her supermarket holding a brisket. She makes a beeline for the meat counter and plunks her tray down.)

WOMAN: Does this look like A-grade brisket? Does it?

BUTCHER: Brisket? How much?

WOMAN: This brisket. I ordered A-grade brisket and this is tough. It’s way too tough to be A-grade.

BUTCHER: No English. See manager. No English. Just cut brisket for gringos.

(The woman finds the meat manager at the front of the store.)

WOMAN: Last week, I bought three pounds of “A” brisket. I cooked it and it came out gray and tough. That sounds more like “B” to me.

MANAGER: I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you. You cooked the brisket and it didn’t turn out great. It’s unfortunate.

WOMAN: Do you mean to insinuate that I botched this brisket? I think that illegal behind the counter did when he gave me the B-grade cut.

MANAGER: Oh no, it’s not a problem with your cooking, it’s just that I can’t accept a gray brisket for a return.

WOMAN: So you see it, too. It’s a gray, tough brisket. Not the A-cut. Do you think, that with my recipe, a nice cut of beef would turn out like this? Frankly, it’s an insult to my honor.

MANAGER (irritated): Well, how’d you cook it? Because my mom always used to simmer it with gravy, trim the fat, and then use the fat to make the gravy.

WOMAN (appalled): Amateur. You leave the fat in the sauce, it’s what softens up the meat. Everyone knows that.

MANAGER (sarcastically): If it does such a good job softening the meat then, why does your brisket look like this?

WOMAN (angered): Don’t get fresh with me. I’ve been coming to this butcher for years now, and I know for a fact the old management would never have made such a debacle with their brisket. What you’re doing is unprofessional.

MANAGER (defeated): Fine, I can give you half off your next purchase, but that’s all-

WOMAN (with attitude): It’s un-pro-fessional. Wait until the girls in my bridge group hear about this.

MANAGER (manipulated): Fine. You can have three pounds of brisket on the house. Will that shut you up?

WOMAN: That’ll do. And I want the gravy, too. And have him wash his hands. He looked dingy.

MANAGER (exhausted): I’ll make sure he’s sanitary. I’ll bring you your order in fifteen minutes.

(Manager leaves.)

WOMAN (calling after him): Make sure it’s the “A” cut!

Dos Equis Man for a Rough Economy

8 Sep

He is the cheapest man in the world.

He goes to Costco, tries the samples, and leaves.

He rubs himself with cologne advertisements from magazines before he goes out.

He takes purses from women at the supermarket, just to get their coupons.

He feigns nausea on airplanes for free bottled water.

He is the cheapest man in the world.

“I don’t always drink, but when I do, it’s always something I stole from the honor bar.”

Leave It to the Professionals

23 Aug

In an effort to revitalize their flavor line, Lay’s has created an online contest in which ordinary people (and me) can pitch their own ideas for the next great potato chip taste by combining three ingredients. These are a couple of my creations:

Subway Bathroom – Nacho Cheese, Vodka, and Loneliness

Frat Life – Instant Ramen, Mac ‘n’ Cheese, and Punch

Passover with Grandma Sadie – Matzoh Balls, Gefilte Fish, and Horseradish

The New Brooklyn – Cupcakes, Bison Jerky, and Beard Gel

90’s Osaka – Octopus, Sushi Rice, Hello Kitty Minifigure

The Ocean Room on the Royal Ferdinand

30 Apr

(On a high-end cruise in the Mediterranean, three aged women, Agnes, Dorothea, and Minnie, are enjoying lunch.)

MINNIE: (to waiter): I’ll have the tuna club.


MINNIE: But can we lose the onions and mayonnaise, and get tomato and lettuce? Also, I’m going to need turkey instead of tuna on the sandwich.

THEODORA: Don’t forget the bread!

MINNIE: Ah yes. I want that on rosemary focaccia instead of rye.

WAITER: So, a turkey club on focaccia?

MINNIE: Are you acting fresh? Can I please speak to a manager?

WAITER: I’m sorry. And you two ladies?

AGNES: We’ll share a side salad.

WAITER: Any dressing? We have ranch, bleu, vinaigrette, Caesar, creamy asiago, butternut squash, spicy jalapeño…

AGNES: What was the first one?

WAITER: Ranch.

AGNES: We’ll share that on the side.

WAITER: You can’t share dressing.

MINNIE: May I please speak to the maitre d’?


(The threesome spies their waiter tending to another party in the restaurant.)


AGNES: Do you have any idea when our food will come out?

WAITER: Any second now. I just saw it in the kitchen.

THEODORA: Well, that group over there arrived seven minutes later than we did. And they’re being served now.

WAITER: Your food will be here shortly. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.

MINNIE: I’m frankly appalled with the treatment we’ve received today. We paid good money for a luxury cruise experience!

WAITER: I’m very sorry. Is there anything I can do until the food comes?

MINNIE: I’d like to see the owner, please.

WAITER: Well, the captain is steering the ship. He can’t come to the dining rooms.

MINNIE: I said, get me the captain!


(A manager arrives at the table, with the waiter nipping at his heels, head held shamefully low.)


MANAGER: I hear there have been some miscommunications. Would you care to air your grievances?

MINNIE: We have been waiting literally hours to receive our food. That table came after us, and they’ve already eaten.

MANAGER: Well, that group only ordered soup, and they are the owners of the cruise line.

AGNES: Why should they get special treatment? We’re paying good money for this meal.

MANAGER: I understand. Dessert is on me.


MANAGER: Please don’t raise your voice. Look, here comes the food. Is there anything else I can do?

THEODORA: Forget the food. We’ve lost our appetite.

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