Thursday, November 17, 2011

From White Lady to Hoodrat Realness in No Time Flat

The best part is the look on this bitch's face. Such disdain. This is my new catchprase.

Textual Intercourse: Ina Garten

I watch at least one episode of Barefoot Contessa every day, and I'm always finding more gems.  In her Ask Ina section, her response to a question about gravy is priceless (ps she used the same recipe and same footage 3 years running: make a new one!).  It's simultaneously bitchy gayness and mean girl.

 me:  OMG rarely her NY accent comes out and it's mazong.

me:  Toss it all togethah

Mia:  She covers that shit up like a teen pregnancy

Monday, November 14, 2011

The Queen Commandments

Look, bitch, I couldn't find any Moses drag queen pictures, so this will do.

I.  Thou shalt turn it until it is sufficiently turnt.

II.  Thou shalt not take pictures under overhead lighting.

III.  Thou shalt not be shady, just fierce.

IV.  However, if thou must, throw shade fiercely.

V.  Thou shalt not snatch wigs.

VI.  Thou shalt not be shitty or crummy.

VII.  Thou shalt serve for a serve's sake.

VIII.  If thine nemesis comes for thee, thou must slap a brick.

IX.  Thou shalt gag the children.

X.  Thou shalt WERK.

Friday, November 11, 2011

From Ina's Kitchen

Well, not quite.  But from Ina's kitchen in Mia's head.  She wrote this phenomenal ficticious Ina Garten recipe.  Please enjoy!

Boeuf Bourguignon

Step 1: Put on Shent.
Step 2: Curl Bangs.

BAM.  We are ready to go!

3 1/3 lbs grass-fed, antibiotic-free, massaged filet mignon
30 pearl onions. The ones with real pearls in the middle, please, it's worth it!
1 lb baby bella mushrooms. This means they MUST be picked from the earth, by a baby, named Bella.
2 carrots from your garden (OBVS)
Butter and Olive Oil (pressed by hand please)
1 cup of GOOD red wine, I always say, don't cook with it unless you would drink it by the glass! Or bucket!
4 excitable faggots
1 rich husband

Take one of the excitable faggots, and put him to work! He needs to cut the boeuf into 1-inch cubes. And I'm not fucking around here! Anything smaller or larger than 1 inch will be discarded immediately because of the severe impact it has on the flavor. You might want to buy a little extra filet if this is your first time making a real recipe. It's pretty reasonably priced.

Saute the pearl onions until they are soft and the pearl in the middle has come out to say hi! Leave these in the dish, they will impress your guests! Add the mushrooms, and give baby Bella an onion (KEEP the pearl) for her hard work. Add the carrots. Saute until the aroma of money fills your house! Then add the boeuf.

Jeffrey always manages to sneak his way to the kitchen by this point, so use another faggot to distract him so that you can eat chocolate in your walk-in pantry alone!

Drink the red wine in there too.

Once the 3rd and 4th fags find you, it's time to eat! Enjoy! And make sure you eat all of the food except for one scoopful for Jeffrey. The faggots will get upset if you try to feed them.

One Ina to Rule Them All

I've always loved the Food Network.  But I watch it in a whole new light now.  This is all thanks to Mia, who is responsible for my current love affair with Food Network Television hosts.  After browsing through all (as of this date) 310 pages of FNHposts, my eyes have been opened to the quirks of celebrity chefs.  While I can't stand some of those people, I do have two favorites.  Anne Burrell and Ina Garten.

Yeah, I made this.  Jealous?

Anne Burrell, or AB (since we're tight like that), just seems like a fun person to be around.  She's energetic, exciting, and knowledegable.  Her hair is ridiculous, and I love it.  On her own show she's super sweet and fun, but whenever she's in a judge role on something else, she isn't afraid to be stern.  She loves "brown food" and orange skin.  I always assumed she was a lesbian, but I have no idea what her orientation is.  I watched her cook an amazing looking Grilled Chicken with Dijon and Meyer Lemon on Secrets of a Restaurant Chef last night, and I noticed something that made me love her even more:  she's pretty damn faggoty.  Actually, my exact text to Mia was:

And this is a good thing!  When she seasons things, she puts on a "sprinky dink" of kosher salt, etc.  When she drizzles balsamic vinegar on figs, she says you only need a "drippy drop."  That's some gay shit.  Then there's the way she constantly talks to her food, which is adorable by the way.  She'll be brushing a chicken with mustard glaze while cooing in a gaywad voice "HELLO DAAAHLINGS."  It's kind of fantastic.  In that episode alone, she said HELLO DAAAHLING to her food no less than six times.  Keep doing what you do, Anne Burrell, because you make my damn day.

And now.  The queen of Food Network.  Ina Garten.  Words cannot accurately and fully express my feelings about Ina, but I'll try.  First of all, her ensembles.  She pumps a very particular look.  It's kind of like rich white lady casual gangsta realness.  She pretty much only wears what has been dubbed a shent.  I like to imagine that she exclusively wears shents and has one for every occasion.  Shent pajamas.  Terry cloth shent bathrobe.  Silk shent with a starched and popped lace collar for intimate times with her husband Jeffrey. 

Her presence on the show is so calming and soothing.  She's so motherly and comforting.  I just want to hug my face into her denim-shented bosom.  She ran a specialty food store in the Hamptons for years, then sold it so she could focus on other (moneymaking) opportunities.  She's well known for frequently cooking for her many gay male friends.  She's a registered democrat and supports Planned Parenthood, so you KNOW she cool.  Ina is famous for phrases that she peppers throughout her program.  She asks an approximate average of 15.8 rhetorical questions per episode such as "how easy is that?" and "how bad can that be?" 

Also mine.  BAM.

Her husband is never home, but she prepares chicken for him on Friday nights.  Ina prefers to use "good" ingredients, and she never fails to let you know.  In a recent episode I saw, she said she likes to use "good red wine vinegar.  Just smell it, you'll know if it's good."  I'm sorry, Ms. Garten, but I don't think I would know.  That's what I love about her.  Silly poor person, don't you know the olfactory difference between good and bad red wine vinegar?  However, sometimes she will let you know that "store-bought is fine," which is such a subtle throw of shade, I love it so much.  Without explicitly saying it, she means: if you're not a millionnaire like me, you lowly commoner, you'll just have to make do with your "bad" ingredients from your chain supermarket. 

I'm quite proud of this one actually.  Arrested Contessa.

This morning I Googled "Ina Garten shirt" because who wouldn't want one?  It led me to her website and perhaps one of the most hilarious unintentionally funny Q&A pages ever.  She only uses "good" a few times, but I love that in her responses, she uses "unfortunately" 12 times.  It's always referencing something exclusive and unattainable to the likes of you derelicts.  For instance, I enjoyed this question about her shent:

How can I find the shirts that Ina wears on the show?

Unfortunately, I have my shirts made for me by a dressmaker in NY City. I wanted a certain style and couldn't find it in enough colors, so I had them custom made. The original shirt came from Eileen Fisher, so that's a good place to look.
Then in response to someone's difficulty in preparing a lemon cake, she writes:
I'm sorry that you had a problem.  Cooking the lemon filling is a little bit delicate.

As if to say, well that's certainly never happened to me.  What kind of ham-fisted, bad technique are you using?

The products and items she suggests buying are mostly rather expensive.  My favorite however has to do with her silver bowls (which I'd like to point out that Mia happens to also have (I'm going to steal them!)):
Where can I find Ina's silver bowls?

The bowls are old hotel silver that have been re-silver-plated. They're from a wonderful company called Hotel Silver. They're antiques, so you can't be sure of any particular dish but Hotel Silver is sold at Bergdorf Goodman in NY City on the 6th floor and online at I like them because they're the kind of silver you can use every day.


My plan is pretty much to move with Mia to wherever Ina is and insinuate ourselves in her circle.  Then she'll adopt us.  Can you imagine how amazing it would be to have Ina Garten mother you???  Well, hopefully it wouldn't get all Jewish grandmothery in the way that she'd guilt trip me about everything and passive aggressively insult me at every turn--you know what?  Fine, I'd put up with it.  Just cook for me, giggle nervously, ask me a million rhetorical questions, and narrate everything you do in soothing tones.

When I think about it more, Ina has some faggotry up in her as well.  As we learned in Paris Is Burning, a faggot will pull a stunt on you, and you won't even realize it until days later.  She could say something about an ingredient or pan, and next week you'll say to yourself, wait a minute, was she reading me?  Wigs off to Queen Ina.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Blow Me, Hipsters

Taking the train to see Blanche D’Almonds is always a trip.  I saw a grown midget, schlubby foreign students, and a sexy hipster Jew in the station alone.  Also at the station was a group of what I assumed was college boys.  They had books out and were studying something.  One was super cute and another was fuckable.  I sat near them for a hot minute, and then a random old pervert made his move.  He started chatting them up and asked if they could help him activate his phone.  Old dude had a five dolla phone from the two dolla store.  The boys (and I say BOYS now because in the course of eavesdropping, I learned that they were HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS at a nearby Catholic boys’ school) claimed they didn’t have a phone themselves which would be needed to make the call to activate the phone.  The old perv kept talking to them, but I moved to start the line.  I made sure to be first in line because I’m ocd like that.  I saw some adorable little black girls whom I’m pretty sure were named Tia and Tamera.  Then there are the butt-ers.  I FUCKING HATE YOU.  I openly glared and judged them.  They are generally white entitled bitches from the suburbs.  They just saunter up to the front as if that’s the thing to do.  At least they didn’t try to get in front of me, because I will rape you to death with my words if you even TRY that shit with me.  I am not the one.  I’m also not the one to sit next on the train unless you are a sexy guy, then please, take a seat).  But I wanted to be left alone on my trip to Chicago today, so I placed a bag on the seat next to me, put on sunglasses, and closed my eyes.  This usually works, and it seemed to do the trick today.  Then this group of Apple-product-toting zombies boarded the train.  UGH.  OH and one of them is Australian.  What’s worse than an American hipster?  A foreign hipster.  Anyway, this group of maybe six kids randomly had a tall, muscular, sexy motherfucker in a hoodie and faux glasses, true to hipster style.  I’d hate fuck him.  They all started filling in the extra seats in my area, but thankfully left me alone.  Then before I even had the chance to put my headphones on and ignore the world, the hipster girl one seat up and one seat over turned around and indicating the unoccupied seat next to me, asked “can I sit here to be closer to my friends?”  I would normally be a pansy ass faggot and say SURE, GO AHEAD, DO YOU NEED MY SEAT TOO, I CAN MOVE!  But not today.  Oh no.  I scrunched my face into a combination of contemplation and disgust and shook my head without saying a word.  The hipsters were flabbergasted.  They couldn’t believe that someone would deny them, white privileged wannabe-alternative kids from good families in the suburbs of Chicago, ANYTHING.  The Australian said “did he just say no?”  And then I was over it.  I couldn’t deal with it anymore because I was concentrating so hard on not laughing in their faces.  Come to think of it, I should have.  But I quickly put on my headphones, looked out the window, covered my mouth with my sleeve and silently laughed my ass off.  This is a momentous day.  Not just for me, but against hipsters everywhere.  I deny you.  YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME.  I really hope I’m gassy on this train, because I would love to punish these jackasses.

Friday, November 4, 2011

How Easy Is That?

I've recently written a few posts and not published them because they are super depressing and EMO.  Maybe this will lighten the load.  I recently discovered Food Network Humor, and I've been obsessively reading every post.  My favorite posts are the user-submitted ones with recipes as created by a fake Ina Garten.


French Style Summer Horcrux

Summer Squash Imbued with Unicorn Magic

Ina Garten's Better-Than-Yours Cake

So here is my submission.  Please to enjoy:

Braised Jewish Short Ribs

This is one of my favorite holiday dishes to prepare.  Not only is it a breeze to make, but it’s equally as fun.  I find that it goes over best at the witching hour of the Autumn Solstice.  As my Jeffrey once told me over the phone from his separate wing of our Hamptons manse, this recipe is simply to die for, and for some reason he used the word “fierce.”

1 gilded pail of salt harvested of the waters of the Dead Sea
5.6 tsp of ultraviolet peppercorns
½ cup of maple syrup drawn from a tree of the Garden of Eden
3 cloves of organic geomanced garlic
½ vial of tears of remorse from the current Pope (just tell him you know about his acts of pederasty, that always does the trick for me, teehee!)
2 cups of Romanée-Conti red wine
1 Cher album
1 good adolescent Hebrew (the more Orthodox, the better!)

First when the moon is full, go out to the pen where you keep chained your stock of heathens for ritual sacrifice.  Choose a meaty, young Hebrew.  Whilst bound and gagged, surround the Unclean One with a circle of the salt, reserving 1 ½ tablespoons.  This will ensure that the soul is infused in the meat when you slaughter him, thereby rendering a juicier, more tender final product.  Punch your fist into the Jew’s midsection, and remove its heart in one swift, merciless motion.  You may reserve it for a sauce, but I find that the Jew ribs are satisfying  all on their own.  The rest of the carcass makes for a great Halloween costume once the hide is skinned and tanned.  Using your teeth, break the rib cage down into a rack of six delectably sinful ribs.  Sprinkle the vial of Pope tears on it to counter the taint of God’s “Chosen People.”  Using nothing but the power of your mind, rape the garlic and peppercorns into submission until they break like so many Juden windows on Kristallnacht.  Coat the Israelite’s ribs with the remaining salt and the garlic peppercorn mix.  Heat a large pot on your wood-burning stove, and add the ribs.  After accomplishing a good sear on every side, add the maple syrup, put a lid on the pot, and telekinetically float it to the center of your kitchen.  Pour in one cup of the wine, and retain the rest in your rectum: we’ll come back to that later.  From your family’s (at least) 2000-year-old Grimoire, recite the incantation for the Daedalus Sphere.  Quickly, before all oxygen is consumed from the room, conjure a manifestation of Black Fire inside the sphere.  This reduces the cooking time to a mere 30 minutes.  Just long enough to play the Cher album as loud as you can, which will draw in any stray homosexuals in the near vicinity having liaisons in bushes and behind buildings.  Once they have all gathered, cut one of their throats to extinguish the spells.  You should then expel the remainder of the wine from your bowels onto the ribs to really turn up the volume.  Start the Cher CD over, dig in, and remember to keep rhetorically asking every gay “how easy is that?”