The Time Traveling Cook: Ribs Burgundy

Maybe you heard, maybe you didn’t. For Christmas, I got a very cool cookbook — Bucks Cooks: The Artists’ County (or, since the cover is of dubious layout, Bucks, The Artist’s County, Cooks). It’s a cookbook put together by a bunch of locals in 1950 — at this point, a good 60 years ago. My plan is to — slowly but diligently — work through each recipe in the book. The book is home to some pretty interesting recipes, and the recipes are themselves often quite spare, especially compared to... Read The Rest →

A Saucy Distraction From The Cave Of Query Quivers

I’ve sent off five query letters so far. That’s the goal. Five a day. Until I’ve reached some mysterious maximum and exhausted my sanity. True fact: submitting queries to agents makes me agitated. Butterflies in my stomach, for real. No idea why. I was able to fly to LA and pitch to various High-Level executives, and I felt cool as a breeze, a leaf in the stream, a Zen mantis poised to eat a hummingbird. But putting together a query letter? Sending it out? I feel like it’s the first... Read The Rest →

Mmm, Yeah Baby, Stuff That Squash, Nnngh

Get yourself two acorn squashes. Go on. Do it. What? I don’t mean later. I mean now. Christ, you people. Don’t question the Wendig. Okay, you have your acorn squashes. Well-done. You’ve just saved yourself from the coming pogrom. Warm your oven. Go to 400F. Now cut those bastards in half. A serrated knife can be good, but I just cleave them in twain with a French knife as if I were bisecting the skulls of my foes. Gut ‘em. Eviscerate. Scoop out the seeds and leave them on your... Read The Rest →

Doctor Frankenstein’s Festival of Fried Cow

I rarely follow a recipe. This is possibly because my grandmother never followed a recipe; everything was a handful of this, a shrug of that, and somehow, dinner was born. It’s also possibly because I’m lazy, or that I’ve convinced myself of the value of creativity in the kitchen. It hasn’t killed us so far. What I will do, however, is take elements from three or four different recipes, and cobble them together until they resemble some Frankenstein experiment, some stumbling — yet scrumptious — food golem. He staggers around... Read The Rest →

Pork and Cabbage: The Epic Saga

I follow recipes less and less. Sometimes, I just make shit up. Somewhere in there is a metaphor for life, but I haven’t had enough coffee yet to suss it out. Now, the shit that I make up isn’t revolutionary. The recipe you’re about to read does not comprise instructions to make “cabbage foam” or “pork napoleons smeared in civet shit confit” or anything. It’s simple, and in some ways obvious, but hell with it. It was delicious, so let me tell you about it. Get yourself some pork tenderloin.... Read The Rest →

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