Get Your Licks: Absinthe and Bacon Lollypops

For those of you still longing for something as good as your Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop, look no further. Lollyphile, a San Francisco-based company, has concocted sophisticated takes on your favorite childhood treat.

It all started last Halloween when owner Jason Lewis, bereft of candy but with a surplus of the recently un-banned liqueur absinthe, whipped up a batch of absinthe lollies, which his friends scarfed down. Emboldened, he fidged and fudged until he came up with a USDA-approved treat that falls within the legal limits of the use of thujone, the supposed psychedelic that caused absinthe’s unfair banishment. The neon-green candy has a distinct anise flavor that any licorice lover will adore. Snack on it or use it as a curious end to a terribly decadent meal. Read more »

Boycott McDonald’s, I Say

Today about 3 p.m., I was sulking in a cab on Broadway and 82nd St. I’d just come back from a painful physical therapy session, and, because my progress apparently isn’t going to be a perfect model of recovery, with each day improving upon the previous, I was so depressed, I limped on crutches into the nearest McDonald’s. (I know I promised Melissa over at glutenfreeforgood that I was giving up my junk food vice, but those Angus burgers are a hard habit to break.) I paid for my lunch and sat down between a shrieking brat of two, who sounded not unlike a howler monkey, and a drunken man of indeterminate age.

When I opened my bag to fish out my meal, I saw something that has been ticking me off for some time, and I couldn’t deny it any longer: McDonald’s has been stinting on their french fries for months. The medium value meals have become less valuable as they contain about one-third fewer fries than when they were introduced, while at the same time their prices have only skyrocketed. Read more »

What Ever Happened to This Blog?

This blog was originally supposed to launch months ago, as a place for me to write about my experiences living in Portugal while researching my cookbook—and for our contributors and guest bloggers to write about their own culinary hijinks—but its debut was hijacked by an utterly humiliating act of clumsiness. On my way to visit my family before leaving for Portugal, I was getting off the elevator at the Providence, RI, train station with enough luggage for a family of six, tripped over a loose strap, and fell. Then the cargo-load of luggage fell on top of me, one of the suitcases landing squarely on top of my right ankle. As I lay splattered upon the floor—computer, camera, and bags strewn all over—the room instantly fell silent and all eyes were upon me. Was that muffled sniggering I heard from that group of college kids near the newsstand? Is my underwear clean? Am I even wearing underwear? My father helped me up, and I started to gather my things, but a weird thing happened: I couldn’t move my right leg. My brain sent electrical impulses to it, but the neurons seemed to turn a deaf ear. When I was finally able to gain motion, I looked like Steve Martin in a classic SNL skit—arms flailing, legs wobbling, a smirk on my face. In short, an idiot. Read more »

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