Bon Appetit @the90panman - Tumblr Blog

SLPT I have paralyzing anxiety anyways.

There’s a hidden level of brilliance in this moment:

Chef Boyardee is known today for his cheap out-of-the-can pasta, but in his native Italy he was a renowned expert chef. He was reduced to the face of microwaveable eateries after his death.

Sound like anyone else from this movie?

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Chef Ettore Boiardi, known today as Chef Hector Boyardee, was a key player in keeping poverty struck families fed for a low price, before he ever came out with the canned pasta line. He would jar his sauce in milk bottles and provide bags of dry noodles for families in Cleveland, Ohio’s Little Italy sector. It was during the Depression, and pasta could be made in large portions at a low cost. This was the start of his venture.

After years of success, he eventually opened his canning facility, opened his restaurant “Il Giardino d’Italia” in New York, and helped feed the Allies during the war. Everyone always glazes over this part of his life, especially the Cleveland part. He lived here. He DIED here. He’s BURIED HERE. My mother took care of him at the nursing home she worked for in her early 20′s when he was ailing and spoke of nothing but the kindness he and his family radiated when they were there. Chef Boiardi was an immigrant with a dream and was always there to help those in need, because he knew what it was like to be in that position. Never let that go.

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I had thought he was a fictionalized mascot, like Aunt Jemima or Betty Crocker, but this is really interesting.

“Proud of his Italian heritage, Boiardi sold his products under the brand name Chef Boy-Ar-Dee so that his American customers could pronounce his name properly.“

And if you have a name that isn’t “standard” in America, that is a Mood.

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For Chef Assholes Like Me

Enjoy this absurd chain.

OP: What’s that fancy way to cut whole potatoes called? For French dishes? They kind of look like a jewel? Describing it on google isn’t pulling anything up.

Me: Tournage is the act of turning vegetables into a ridiculous shape of consistent size for even cooking, a pleasing look for the eye and so every chef in the kitchen makes them the same damn way over and over again. Traditionally seven sides and blunt ends. The specific name depends on the size. Bouquetière- 3cm, Cocotte- 5cm, Vapeur- 6cm, Château- 7.5 cm and Fondante- huge. And yes, I can recite this verbatim a decade after it was drilled into my cranium.

Dude #1: I just watched a YT video of someone doing this. Looks like you get a ton of offcuts. Would a kitchen do something with these? At home I feel like I’m trying to get maximum yield out of every piece of veg, so if it’s not inedible I’m trying to cook with it.

Me: For some things yeah you can use off cuts like carrot for puree but honestly, its a crazy old fashioned thing that you almost never see in restaurants now days. Its more a method of teaching knife skills, instilling patience for repetition and general abject torture for culinary students so they get used to being shat upon by their superiors.

Dude #2: Yes! When I read this post I began getting sweaty. Talk about PTSD.

Me: Oh but can you still recall the sweet sweet smell of a pile of rapidly decaying turnips like I do?

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I had to do these at a japanese restaurant. I thought i had escaped them after culinary school. thankfully it was only on the menu for 3 months

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The last kitchen I worked in, the sous at the time was testing me and asked me to tourne a potatoe (or however you spell that devil cut). Thankfully I was able to pull a half decent product since I was drilling it in school at the time

Every time

This is serious

Moonrise over Scoresby iceburgs. Photography by Daniel Korden.

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friend: hey you wanna go to jimmy johns? me, an intellectual: i would love to have a meal at james johnathans

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Matthew H Sharack

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thebootydiaries

It’s a breezy summer day and the rustling from the leaves outside sound like whispers from my small apartment. I’m sitting in front of my laptop, silently studying the 1.6 billion faces speaking simultaneously in front of me. It’s Monday, the day of the weekly conference call between all Muslims. We have been required to attend this Skype meeting from the the tender age of fetus, but I had never spoken in one of them before.

That changes today.

“Hey guys, what if…” I start to say.

Nobody hears me, but I refuse to be silent. How could I show my face again on Tumblr if I couldn’t even save my mayonnaise friends from death? How could I expect to earn their respect? Anon was right; why hadn’t I done this before? Thousands of lives had paid the price for my ignorance, but not anymore.

“What if you guys….. stopped killing people.“

Suddenly, silence.

1,643,398,023 pairs of eyes are on me. My heart is in my throat as the ISIS leader gives me a blank expression.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. "Please.” I say with a broken voice.

He is moved.

“Aight”.

thebootydiaries

My fingers are almost shaking as I carefully type in the ten digit phone number I have had memorized my entire life. The buttons on my home phone seem to glow a bit more dull, and even the ringing of the phone from the other end seems to be agonized, almost as if the world is telling me to hang up. But I refuse to give up; I can’t let my white lily friends down. Not again.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Still no answer. Just as I am about to hang up, there is a click.

All I can hear is heavy breathing.

“Hello….” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “Is….. Is this Muslim?”

There was a long silence before I heard a voice answer “ya lol”.

“I was thinking………..” I begin cautiously. “Maybe murder is…………bad.”

“Habibi, I…..I don’t understand. What are you trying to say….?” The voice seems shaken.

“What if…….world peace is good and killing people is…………not good”

He lets out an audible gasp. “Are you saying ISIS is…….bad?”

“Maybe death is…….not good.” I continue. My heart is racing. I remind myself that I am saving thousands of lives, and inhale.

The silence from the other end of the line is almost deafening. He seemed to be thinking, as if he had never considered this idea before in his life. Truly I had opened his heart and his mind. This…. This could end terrorism.

“Muslim….Please.” I whisper.

I hear a tear roll down his cheek, with my Muslim Communication Hearing™ and hold my breath as he finally breathes out his next words.

“Kk.”