"humor" news and stories

Opening the fridge, you're most proud of your collection of:
(a) mustards
(b) butters
(c) gins
(d) home-rendered fats

Your travel plans:
(a) are followed by a dig through for restaurant recommendations in the area
(b) are usually based on the quality of the food in the region
(c) revolve solely around food and restaurants
(d) come only once you've confirmed your reservations and made sure the hairy crab are biting.

Answer these and a dozen or so other question's from Australian Gourmet Traveller to find out whether you are a "food tragic" - someone whose life revolves around food to such a degree that they simply cannot get on an airplane without a baggie of organic Marcona almonds and a mini bottle of St Estèphe, and misses out on dinner party invitations because their Anton Ego-eque level of discernment frightens their friends. Cute.

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Yesterday, I posted about curing the recession blues by daydreaming of sumptuous feasts à la Alice B. Toklas. As I wrote, I was reminded of an old southern joke my father told me years ago that is now among my favorites. So, if fantasy isn't your bag, how about a little humor to lighten the mood? The joke goes something like this:

Old Man Clackett was getting pretty long in the tooth. Sensing that his dying day was near, he figured it was time to confess his wrongdoings to those he'd sinned against.

"Maw Clackett, you come on in here," he called to his beloved wife of 61 years. "I got to talk to you."

Maw Clackett wheeled into the room. "What are you carrying on about, Paw?" she asked.

"It's time I told you about my old pebble jar, Maw. You see, every time I was unfaithful to you I put a pebble in this here jar." He showed her the jar, which held three pebbles.

"Well, old man, I reckon that ain't too bad. To tell the truth, I got a jar of my own. Every time I stepped out on you, I dropped a bean down in it." She wheeled over to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled a jar out from under the clothes.

Old Man Clackett winced. He hadn't expected this. "Well then, let's see it, woman."

Punchline after the jump...

I am not much of a drinker. There was a time, about four years ago, when I could hold my own at a bar, but these days, a single beer or glass of wine makes me tipsy and if I go for a second, I am instantly ready for bed. However, for someone who hardly drinks, I have a fairly extensive collection of wine, beer and hard alcohol in my apartment. The bulk of the booze is leftover from my grandparents, who always kept a well-stocked bar so that they'd be able to serve guests their choice of pre- and post-dinner cocktails. The beer is from Scott's birthday party back in February (we need to have another party, in order to use up this stash) and the wine is almost entirely from potlucks and dinner parties I've hosted over the years.

The bottles of wine (which I now keep stacked three high under a built-in cabinet in my living room) have become my go-to source for hostess and party gifts. Occasionally I feel a little embarrassed about this re-gifting habit (and then I start to wonder through how many hands that particular bottle has passed) but I've discovered a new product that will allow me to inject a little humor into the wine bottle hand off. It is the letterpress tags you see above that were created by two women who were challenged by the task of finding good cards to go with bottles of wine. I'm a particular fan of the one that says, "Regifted With Love."

[via Veer]

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This is the world's unhealthiest cookbook, at least, it is if you believe the subtitle. Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man is a book of humorous essays and has about two dozen recipes for dishes like lard-fried, yeast-raised doughnuts, coconut flan and five-hundred-calorie brownies. Each recipe is comfort food with lots of fat and lots of flavor - possibly dishes like ones that your grandmother made, especially if you grew up in the South or used a lot of bacon grease in your cooking. In terms of the writing, the book is more about humor than recipes. Graham doesn't take much seriously and, as long as you aren't easily offended, you'll get more than a few laughs out of the writing. You can check out his blog to get an idea. 

In reality, the world's unhealthiest cookbook will probably be titled "1001 Ways to Enjoy Whipping Cream and Sugar" when it is written. This book will probably just go down as a funny read and, health-wise, is nothing that a couple of good, long jogs can't take care of. Or some more bacon grease and another doughnut.

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In America, bigger is always seen as better. This is perfectly exemplified by the food industry, where simply getting a taco at an establishment might mean loosening your belt buckle a few notches. It always seems like fast food enterprises are trying to outdo each other--either through quantity or eye candy. I found a very hilarious short video that truly exemplifies the banal side of restaurant portions. I really couldn't stop laughing at this one.

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