Restauronicle, 1st Entry

August 28th, 2011

Someday, I’d like to have my own restaurant. A cozy place where I can cook for my friends, be creative everyday and have a bunch of immigrants wash my dishes. But I’d want my restaurant to be unique, something special, not just another one of those cleverly named dimly lit bistro-style hipster joints. So From here on out, my blog will be an assortment of ideas, themes, conceptual decors and potential menus for my future restaurant. You will all eat there someday, so enjoy the restaurant’s humble beginnings here, today, now, and forever. And as always your feedback is appreciated, looked over very briefly and never responded to.

Idea #1: Optics and Word Fun

How about instead of menus, customers receive mirrors, and the menu will be written out on the walls behind them, only backwards. And like Indiana Jones, Alex Mack, or Shirley Holmes, they’ll have to decipher the daily specials through these mirrors. Or, the entire floor would be a mirror and the menu would be written backwards on the ceiling. The restaurant will be called, “Objects in Mirror Are More Delicious Than They Appear”.

Dyslexics will have an especially hard time. If you thought hiding your learning disability from your friends was difficult before, just wait until you come to my restaurant. If alienating dyslexics is my number one priority (I haven’t yet decided if it is or isn’t), consider a restaurant with anagrammed menus, word puzzles, confusing fonts and unbridled spelling errors. This restaurant would be called “IsDelXya” or “Jay Leno Doesn’t Eat Here”

Note: look into other optics-related menu ideas: menus via periscopes, microscopes, kaleidoscopes.


Metaphorical Mouthful

July 21st, 2011

People ask me all the time what an “amuse bouche” is. “Hey”, they say, “what is an amuse bouche?”

An amuse bouche is a starter that does not appear on the menu, very often a delicate dish prepared by the chef, whetting your appetite for the main attractions. As its name would suggest, an Amuse-Bouche should be fun, playful. If the feast is to be orgasmic experience that the chef intends, than consider the amuse bouche is the precum. 

In fact, this simile is very appropriate. Precum and amuse bouches both perform similar functions, neutralizing the acid in the urethra (or the throat), caused from lingering urine (alcohol, stomach acid, etc.). And like amuse bouches, precum is produced in the Cowper’s Gland (the kitchen), and it acts a lubricant for the recipient. In the end, the tastes are often surprising and thought-provoking, but generally give you an idea of the flavours that await you (in the precum’s case, the throbbing streams of hot gizz).   

I hope this answers all of your precum/amuse bouche questions. Enjoy!


Delightfully Disturbing Desserts!

July 14th, 2011

One of the greatest cooking challenges is to fool the eye. Most often, if something looks good, it will likely taste good as well. But my challenge for today is to make the most revolting looking food that still tastes great!

Shark bites are disgusting, but more disgusting than that is the skin grafting needed to restore the limb or torso. If you’re anything like me, when searching “skin grafts” on Google images, silver dollar wildberry pancakes probably come to mind. When making the pancake mix, feel free to pulverize the berries, creating small burts of color that once cooked, give the impression of light scabbing and layers of regenerated epithelium. Yum!!!

MAXIPAD WAFFLE COOKIES with a cherry rhubarb compote:
This combination requires a little bit of imagination, but what will definitely sell the recipe is the fruit compote. The difficulty comes from cooking the fruit down to the right thickness and color. Over time, the crushed cherries darken in color and surprisingly, the smashed rhubarb simulates the discharged lining of the uterus. They’re delicious, Period.

RECTAL PROLAPSE PASTRY PUFFS with a whipped milk chocolate filling:
The swedish call them Fryllda Strutar, but to me they just look like prolapsed anuses… or ani. Have fun with the filling, playing around with the color and density of the pretend poop. These treats are perfect for bachelor parties, baby showers or IBS support group meetings. For this one, I will spare you the displeasure of a picture. You can all imagine what a swollen rectum looks like inside out.



Aboriginal Hospitality

July 7th, 2011

Hello Fellow Foodies!

I’m back from my vacation! Australia was absolutely breathtaking. From the Airport in Syndney, we crawled into another plane the size of a special needs bus and then four hours later we touched down in Kimberley, on the north Western tip of the continent. There, we were greeted by our guide, Dwayne, who drove us out to the edges of the rainforest and introduced to the Warlpiri tribe.

Nestled in the bosom of the tropical forest, the nights were dank, and the days usually climbed to a sweltering 45 degrees. I immediately regretted wearing my suit. But the tribespeople all agreed that I looked pretty sharp.

It is said that, in the world, australian aboriginal cuisine is second only to that of the French. And my gastronomical experience Down Under did not disappoint. I can already see that their cooking will have an influence on my own. You can expect to see some more fruit bat recipes in the near future. I’ll be using more insects, reptiles, and kelp. This will mean foraging for my next meal beyond the grocery store and into caves, under rocks and in pet stores. Anything to capture that Australian Aboriginal je ne sais quoi!


Eggsiled and eggscommunicated

June 12th, 2011

The world is teeming with disgusting hideous food, dishes that look like the result of a curb stomping. And for the most part, North Americans have managed to avoid these foods, politely regarding them as delicacies, that is, except for one off-putting item, which has somehow snuck its way our homes and into our hearts. Intricate and yet so simple, perplexing and somehow wise, the incredible, almost inedible, the egg.

When a woman has small saggy tits, tits that look like loose change in a breast pocket, we compare them to eggs over-easy nailed to a wall. And yet, we wilfully stuff ourselves with these wrinkled, mottled tits every morning of every day. Lightly scramble them and you’ve got what looks like a runny yeast infection. Our fascination with its shape, its science, its architecture have blinded us to the fact that we are eating a chicken’s period.

Ordering eggs in a restaurant is an exercise in masochism. You are constantly being let down by eggs, and yet that makes you want it even more. They are too easily forgiven. Behold the dense impenetrable Berlin Wall omelettes served at any Cabane a Sucre and you hope to God you never see another egg again. Until the next day, and somehow you’ve forgotten all about it.


Dishin’ Dirty Dishwashing Tips

June 9th, 2011

Many people have often come up to me and asked “Matthew, do you have any dishwashing secrets?” I tell them that I do, and that they should check my blog post on June 9th 2011.

Well, before I begin washing the dishes, I roll up my sleeves and carefully slide my tie between the buttons of my dress shirt. Always between the second and third button. If you are not wearing a tie, I suggest you put one on and then tuck into your shit. Afterwards, to protect my sensitive skin, I pull on a pair of latex gloves. They come in various colors. My favorite is blue.

I like knowing what the dish had been used for before I wash it. Some people like to wash dishes in an even, unvarying manner: each dish, bowl or untensil receiving equal scrubbing. This is not how I like to work. I like knowing everything about the meal which crossed the dinnerplate’s path. The vigor and zeal of a wash is proportionately related to its meal. How long had the food been sitting out? Was the meal oily and viscous or was it eggy, embryonic? These are all very important dishwashing questions.

Washing and wiping techniques vary. Not unlike fingerprints, a person’s dishwashing methodology is unique to every individual. And not unlike fingerprints, there are several recurring and prominent patterns: The swirl, the whorl, the arch and the loop. I’m a loop man myself, submerging my dish rag down into the sink and looping it accross the plate and maintaining this pattern as I rotate the plate clockwise. Try it out for yourself and see which pattern you like best!

For some dish-washing safety advice, Look for Grace Fitzpatrick online! I would trust Grace Fitzpatrick with my life, let alone my dishes.


Muncho Muncho Man

June 2nd, 2011

At the Potato Chip family reunion, the Muncho would arrive late, and he’d probably already be drunk. The other chips would hardly recognize their distant cousin; traceable through the potato crisp side of the family, Munchos are like the unholy offspring of a Frito and the popcorn shrimp batter at Red Lobster. He’d party with the roudier, raunchier Doritos, make passes at the Lays, but in the end, the Muncho a loner. There are no barbecue Munchos to pal around with. Muncho makes being regular, natural— naturelle— somehow more dangerous, more appealing.

It has been said that every chip has its dip. The Ruffle’s got onion, the Tostito’s got salsa. But what was the Muncho meant for? The upturned edges advocate its dipability. Crisp and crunchy yet deceptively airy, the Muncho would collapse under the weight of a bristly spinach dip or a gluey guac. But goad your Munchos into a delightful dessert and suddenly the possibilities are endless. Top them off with a little whipped cream or pass them through a pool of chocolate fondue.

The Muncho goes with everything, and nothing. You are the Muncho. The Muncho is the everychip. It is the last chip you want and yet the only chip you need. It is the breakfast lunch and dinner chip. It’s the chip that will save this sorry planet, if only we’d give it a chance.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t taste all that good.


Label Libido

May 29th, 2011

Sex sells. Even at your local grocery store. Why do you think Managers positions the hottest cashiers and the brawniest bagboys closest to the door? And yet it is only recently that food producers have started to echo this age-old axiom.

Consider Orville Redenbacher’s recent makeover. Formerly, an uglier crustier Jimmy Carter, today Orville is positively dashing. Nearly twenty years younger, and sporting updated proto-hipsterean accessories (bow-tie, suspenders, thick-rimmed glasses), the new and improved Orville evokes a Mayberry-era Don Knotts. Barney Fife at his sexiest. Très Geek Chic!

Americans are finally jealous of our snack food aisle. The French-Canadian company Vachon has officially thrown down the gauntlet, unveiling its newest spokesperson: a tart little Bette Page style pin-up. Move over Sun-Maid raisins lady, there’s a new queen of the corner store.

Little Debbie Snack Cakes could learn a few things. Based on child-actor Debbie Reynolds, sure the pre-teen can turn a few heads, but give her a few more years, and she could play in the big leagues.

The same can be said for a few more of our foodstuff friends. Instead of a Morgan Freemanesque Uncle Ben, why not swap him out for a topless Blair Underwood. Halle Berry or Beyonce for a played out Aunt Jemima. Van Houtte, the stuffy coffee magnate, could look like Viggo Mortensen, instead he looks like a botanist or Defense Counsel at the Nuremberg Trials. Switch it up Nazi Sympathizer!


Cannibal Lecture

May 26th, 2011

Imagine you’re sitting down at a second-rate restaurant, scrolling the menu for something halfway decent to eat. Illustrations of what looks like dog food adorn the menus edges. The young curvy waitress comes by to fill up your cup of water, “Have you decided?” She waddles away as you shake your head, and that’s when it hits you: she’s the tastiest thing in this joint.

We can no longer deny it. We can’t keep convincing ourselves that these are psychopathic or primitive urges. Some people are downright delectable. In fact, in recent past, an organic cannibalism movement has started gaining ground; the argument being that grain-fed vegans and vegetarians would ironically make the best meats. But I am not convinced. I’m imagining myself nibbling on Meg Ryan’s stringy stems or Alanis Morisette’s jagged little pancreas.

But when is it feasible to eat a corpse? What kind of death invites a carcass collation. Besides murder and the no-nonsense snowy-mountain scenario, where could you find a body worth munching? The person should be young, preferably tender. A potentially delicious co-worker of mine died of cancer, rendering it all but inedible. In my view, the ideal scenario is SIDS, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, or crib death. A terrible tragedy, but sorrow and heartache should not get in the way of a wonderful meal.




May 19th, 2011

Nature is full of wonderful surprises. A parnsip that looks like a pecker, or aliens entwined in amorous passion. Here are some lovely images or our favorite root vegetables and tubers!

I’m pretty sure the last one’s a vegetable…

« Older Entries