Little Gordon Ramsay

June 8, 2009 uses a child version of Gordon Ramsay to curse out adults and advertise. I haven’t checked out the site yet (admittedly, I’m also not in the market for catering) but Part 3 of these commercials is by far my favorite. This kids impression is spot on, when is he trying out for the next Britain’s Got Talent?



May 20, 2009


BA-K-47First, let me just say – I do not live by the words of Daniel Maurer (even if Grub street did link me  yesterday) – but his plea for us to part with bacon is now coming in loud and clear; and if I was at all skeptical before, I’m a strong believer now. Um, first case & point – BaconCamp. Now, if this was held anywhere near NYC, I might have attended. How can you not get down on a bunch of pork freaks creating eggs replocated out of raw bacon? I admire the dedication to any craft no matter how odd or off center (even if it is adding fuel to the bacon fire) …but then I came across the BACON AK47 and I just wouldn’t (couldn’t) justify the 8 hours this man took to create the thing. Weirdly enough he actually takes photos of him standing in the woods with the gun LIKE IT SHOOTS.

So, I have a couple of questions: is that bacon down to the core? Or is it just a gun they wrapped in bacon and blowtorched (is that even safe?) And if it is constructed out of !00% bacon – was an oven used?  Where is the oven it fit in (I’d imagine it was much larger when he constructed it – bacon shrinks people) and how many LBS. of bacon did it actually take to construct the thing?  I suppose if it took 8 hours, that means its bacon to the core – and if not, well, then I have no idea.

Listen, heres the thing, I’m an advocate for food related art and oddities but sometimes it just seems wasteful – with the BA-K-47 being a prime example. It cannot be eaten afterwards (and what a shame) –  so what do you do with it then? Dip it in silver and put it on the mantel?

May 16, 2009

Earlier this week Grub Street pointed out (along with meat business cards) a website where you can mix and order your own granola. Being a trail mix kinda snacker, and granola being close to trail mix – I decided to give it a try. Now, normally I buy trail mix from places like Trader Joe’s and find myself sorting through the bag and picking out the dried fruit that sucks OR I end up making my own “trail mix” and spending a million dollars doing it (nuts are expensive!) Now, A. I know that granola is not trail mix and B. that granola is not trail mix – but I think the granola is a nice addition (even if I’m yet to encounter any large pieces.) Anyways, A whole bag full of dried fruit, nuts and chocolate plus granola- where I liked EVERYTHING was pretty much irresistible. I ordered (basic organic granola starts at $4.99/lb – add on’s vary in price), I waited a couple days and poof here it is. Best of all, I got to name it – it comes with a list of ingredients and even a nutrition label. I’m not sure what you can make out from the photo’s above – but here’s the list of ingredients of what’s inside:  Banana chips, dried pineapple,apricots and cranberries, chocolate chips, peanut covered M&M’s, rice crispies, hazelnuts and almonds. As for the taste? Fresh, generous pieces (with the exception of the apricot) and obvious quality ingredients. As for ordering again? Not sure, I just found this.

Cheeseburger Dress

May 12, 2009




Yes, I would totally wear this. With this. Probably to something like this.

Anthony Bourdain

Thank you artist Sam Morrison from Michigan for making these kick ass Dharma lunch sacks, more & more  lunch sacks and the dreamy sketch above. Pretty cool way to brown bag it if you ask me.


              A photo from the lobby

A photo from the lobby

Or at least thats how the Garden State Jubilee referred to themselves as I was introduced to them, before noon on Wednesday; in the humble suburban town of Teaneck, NJ. Protected by a large  Orthodox  Jewish community the town is seemingly  untouched – many of its storefronts so old they’re practically retro, and the Cedar Lane Cinema is no exception. Playing mostly art house, indie and jewish indie flicks, the price of admissions is a mere $4.75. The snacks? my twizzlers set me back $2.25 – combined, thats less than admission for a matinee at the Megaplex. But I wasn’t there for a movie (not today, I’ll get to that), I was there to see something I never thought I would – a live radio broadcast. So for the better half of the early afternoon, from the upstairs theatre that houses fifty; myself and seven or so other audience members clapped, laughed and participated exactly just in that fashion. 

Until today, my only recollection of live, theatrical radio came from  such movies as “Annie” and “A League of There Own” where middle aged women in dark colored itchy looking dresses read the radio when prompted by an “on- air” and “off- air” blinking red sign. Usually some fast paced newsy sounding jingle hummed in the background as these aging women in their modest heels and proper white gloves read grim war front news into heavy metal microphones. Or at least thats what I imagine. But not what I saw. More like ten or so actors and technicians recording a show in t-shirts and jeans; old time noise effects replaced with a Mac, and a couple cameras on tripods. Not a single cellphone sighting, no huffy or fussy performers – just actors (characters!) collaborating for a dying art in an old movie theatre.

And what a show.  I can’t say I’ve been to many recordings of anything, in fact, the last live taping I went to was back in August when I saw Doug Benson’s Marijuanalogues. I also don’t listen to much live, theatrical radio these days -in fact, more like 1010 wins for New York City traffic updates. So, I’m no authority- but between the Jersey Devil skits and Uncle Floyd’s banter, the games of “Trivial Prosciutto”   with audience member participation and the occasion catchy tune performed mere feet from me – it was fun. Engaging, worth return for, what people refer to as “a real treat.” 

 The whole experience, the entire theatre is in fact a treat, from the pimply teenager in his bow tie and matching vest who sells you your ticket – to the original posters and  original seats in the theatre downstairs. No reclining chairs or $7 sodas, neon signs or 30 minutes of commercials and trailers before the movie. No circles of teenagers huddled in the lobby you have to worm yourself  around or long lines for bathrooms or tickets or candy. Its simple, small, quaint and the exact opposite of my every other movie going experience as of late.

A poster from outside

A poster from outside

But before we made it to the theatre upstairs for the show, we waited patiently in the lobby when in between going gaga over old movie posters and smoking cigarettes I discovered the news. From March 11th to April 29th on Wednesday at 8 pm you can catch an old time classic, played on original 35mm film for $6. If you get there at 7:30 you have the pleasure of hearing Jeff Barker play the organ,  and then if your lucky they’ll play this. If you want to make a true evening of it, I suggest taking your date down the street to Bischoff’s  for an ice cream beforehand. Did I mention they still wear paper hats, churn their  own ice cream from scratch, and have booths in the back worthy of making out in between sipping from the same milkshake like you’re Sandy & Danny and this is Grease.  Now where did I put my saddle shoes?

Movies & Dates: 

March 11 – Casablanca

March 18 – A Night at the Opera

March 25 – Goldfinger

April 1 – Beyond the Rocks

April 8 – Dr. Strangelove 

April 15 – Jezebel

April 22 – On the Waterfront 

April 29 – It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World 

Cedar Lane Theatres 503 Cedar Lane, Teaneck, NJ 201-836-3334

Garden State Jubilee: – Airs at 9:03 on Saturday nights, but if you’d like to attend a live recording, you can attend Wednesdays at 11 am now through mid-April. For more information, call the theatre.

Edible Endeavors

March 3, 2009

“Don’t be such a snob Michelle, these bagels are perfectly fine.” But they weren’t.  They never were. They were imposters- steam injected, sparsely topped, and “baked” to an ungodly pale color. You had to toast them to make them even remotely edible and worse, the bottom was caked in cornmeal.  I wouldn’t stand for it, I never did. Ever since I can remember I’ve always looked at food and thought: this could be better. I’ve had better, and even though I go to college nowhere near good bagels, I’m not eating those. In fact, theirs a great artisan bakery down the road, they have the best sourdough rye, let’s have that instead.

So unlike jobs or men or mismatched socks,  I don’t settle with food. I improve on it. I seek it out.  I’m always looking for the best – no matter where the best is found. My bagels? I prefer the Jersey variety, 3 Stars Bagels in Fort Lee, NJ to get specific. I get them still warm. The chewy, crispy, crunchy, slightly shiny exterior is perfect. The toppings are generous, the bottom bubbled slightly from the heat and above all, light – not obnoxiously heavy like those imposters. Personally, I prefer the burnt ones and have been known to hang over the counter, pointing at the baskets to specify which bagel looks the most “well done.”  This practice makes me feel more like a cranky old lady at the meat counter than a serious bagel connoisseur, but those old ladies always get what they want, don’t they?

And I’m ok with getting what I want. In fact, I’d go as far to say I thrive on the idea of finding my favorite, or “best,” or for that matter, “worst” – where I shouldn’t shop or eat again. For this reason, I cannot walk past a bakery and not step foot inside. Any kind, anywhere, they are all fair game. And I’ve always been this way, always wanting it in that Veruca Salt kind of way – no self-control, a slave to both the hunt and the sugar.

Now I wish I could pinpoint a specific moment in time when I realized food mattered. That it was more than something to torture my Mother with by declaring I was a “vegetarian“ as a tween – or simply as nourishment due to a strict diet after fat camp.  I can’t. I can tell you how I remember making scrambled eggs for the first time; how my first fine dining experience was at Le Cote Basque, or when I realized that everyone did not eat matzah ball soup. The time I ate a whole pineapple and broke out in hives – or my first day working in a restaurant kitchen. The day I decided that my botched Campbell’s soup can tattoo was just a good idea as sleeping with the guy I met at the farmers market, the way a former co-worker insisted on lending me Ruhlman’s Charcuterie.

In a way I’m thankful I don’t have just one shining moment though – but rather a huge library to reflect on. Every culinary class, every job – every meal, every man, is another story, another memory – another step to finding my best or worst or in-between. Continuing to season myself with every cookie, every piece of bread, even every bagel.