For anyone who missed Sear’s Halloween special last week, watch to learn the fascinating story behind the use of pumpkins!
Bene scribete.
Tag Archives: food
The Dastardly Pumpkin
Hope everyone’s having a great Halloween! Here’s a story.
There was once a pumpkin – an evil pumpkin. It was so evil that, when passing it by, people would say, “Hey, look at that pumpkin, Jim; I bet it’s evil. Rotten to the core.”
(Everyone who passed by it did so with a man – or, in one case, a woman – named Jim.)
One day, a spider approached the pumpkin. Apparently, it was an unreasonably enormous spider.
“Pardon me, Mr. Pumpkin,” the spider began, all politeness, “but I wonder if you might tell me why it is that you are such a dastardly fellow. Do you resent that holes were carved into your face? Or perhaps that your innards were torn away to make a pie?”
The pumpkin did not respond, for it was a pumpkin, and pumpkins cannot speak in the slightest.
(“Then why can the spider talk?” I hear you asking, but I shan’t be answering…
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Too Many Clothes
During a summer I spent in Florence, I would frequent a little cafe that sat beside an upscale clothing shop at the top of a hill, in part because of their marvelous biscotti (mind you, every little confection and cracker there is a biscotto, but in this case I am specifically referring to cantuccini). I’m normally not a huge fan of them, but the ones here took on a perfect texture when dipped in the liquid of your choice.
On a Friday morning of the last week I was there, I was busy stuffing my face with almondy goodness when a tall, bearded man wearing far too many clothes lumbered through the doorway. And I do mean far too many – as I mentioned, it was summer, yet he wore so many coats and sweaters that he was scarcely more than a misshapen ball with little nubs of arms and legs tacked on at awkward angles. Seeing him enter, the owner stood, face reddening, pointed an elongated finger, and shouted “Esci subito di qui!” (“Leave here at once!”).
The overclothed man screamed back something in Russian, then began to advance with all the speed and hostility he could muster, but was ultimately overcome by the limitations of his vestments and went toppling to the floor. He struck a table on the way down and sent several patrons’ coffee flying, and all of the extra padding actually caused him to bounce when he hit the ground, which somehow flipped him onto his back. He grabbed the leg of a nearby chair and started to flail it around, but someone wrested it away before he could do any real damage.
It took the owner, myself, and three others (including a seven-year-old girl) to heft him up and heave him back out through the threshold and into the street. As we were at the top of a hill, the slope in the road caused him to tumble down at least thirty meters, where he finally came to a rest, once again on his back. Unable to right himself, he simply wailed upon the pavement with his padded arms like a child throwing a tantrum, screaming in deep, incoherent lament.
I went back to my biscotti, and never did find out what that whole ordeal was all about, but I think I prefer it that way, as I’m certain it’s that much more provocative without context.
The moral of the story, I think, is that absolutely none of that was true, and that you shouldn’t wear that many clothes. It’s ridiculous.
Bene scribete.
The Flavor of White Babies
Ever get a hankering for baby? A white baby in particular? Maybe in smooth, rich ice cream?
Well, the bakery at Albertsons has got you covered, my friends, and they’ll do you one better. They’ll satisfy your white baby ice cream craving in cake form.
You can pick up your very own baby-cake for $5.99 US dollars. And it’s iced.
Bene edite.
The Flavor of Justin
Looking for a–
…
Have you ever–
…
Need some–
–you know what, I’ve got nothing. I can’t even begin to pretend to know what’s going on with this particular alcoholic beverage.
Just…what?
Bene edite.
The Flavor of Shutting Up
Need to quiet down, but feeling a little too classy for a steaming mug of STFU?
Why not just shut your La Trappe instead?
Ah, nothing quite like the flavor of everyone closing their damn mouths.
So how about it? Are you an Isid or a Trappist? Your call.
Bene edite.
The Flavor of Football
Good Taste Restaurant.
Come on in and eat some food.
You’ll like how it tastes.
Who needs to spend all of that effort coming up with a catchy, memorable name? Who has the time and mental capacity to remember some hip, catchy moniker that probably doesn’t even remotely suggest what’s being sold?
No, these folks know that when it comes to food, what you care about is taste. And when it comes to taste, you want good taste.
No funny business. No guessing games. Just taste. At a restaurant. That’s good.
And you know that such keen insight into the needs of their customers wouldn’t mean much if they didn’t know what was popular here in the States, so go ahead and stop on by to enjoy the Super Bowl.
Bene edite.
The Flavor of Oreos
Nabisco has been going crazy with their (often terrible) new Oreo flavors over the last few years, but the package that I picked up the other day seems to indicate that they’ve finally gone off the deep end: “Cookies & Creme” flavored Oreos.
Let that sink in for a minute.
When something is “cookies and creme” flavored, you know what that really means is Oreo-flavored-please-don’t-sue-us. So what does that make these?
Oreo-flavored Oreos.
Nabisco is straight-facedly selling Oreos whose special flavor is Oreos. They’re not even trying to hide it – for God’s sake, there’s a full-on Oreo in the background picture of what the flavor is supposed to represent.
Do you want to guess what these things taste like?
Did you guess Oreos? Because it’s Oreos. Oreo-flavored Oreos taste like Oreos.
Bang-up job, planet Earth.
Bene edite.
Burn the Filth Away
Yeah, filth burner, that’s what I’m talking about. Cleanse it with fire. Scorch those germs away. Got a pile of dirty dishes making an eyesore out of your kitchen? Screw cleaning – just stack them all up on this baby and turn that adjustable temperature control up to immolation and poof – no more dishes. It’s tested. It’s proven. And it wipes clean.
Durable Filth Burner*. You know you want it.
[ * May or may not have simply been a misreading upon first glance and in actuality been something far less ridiculous ]
Bene vīvite.
The Learning Corner – Doughnuts
Sear is back at it – this time with some fascinating new information on everyone’s favorite guilt-ridden pastry.
I don’t know about you, but I kind of want a doughnut.
Bene scribete.
Writin' Fish 