Category Archives: Deliciousfulness

Cooking With Simpson/Hemstead

We’ve been trying out many of the “meal in a box” services and have discovered one commonly overlooked first step to preparing any meal.

Cuban Coffee Part Three: Taka Taka Time

An important part of the Cuban coffee experience is the creation of the espuma.  Now, once you’ve stopped giggling and gotten all the “that’s what she said”s out of your system, we’ll continue….

This is the part of the experiment that is Cuban coffee where you pour a tiny bit of coffee into a pyrex cup with some sugar (the ratio of which is very important, as addressed in part 2) and you stir the concoction until it looks something like caramel.  The sound of the spoon on the glass makes a “taka taka” noise.  You are supposed to say this chant, “taka, taka!  Taka, taka!” as you stir.   I’m not explaining well, watch this video:

There are other Cuban coffee how-to videos but this one is the most fun, and she’s definitely the cutest of them.  *Editors Note:  Most of the other ones are inexplicably middle aged men who look like they just woke up or spent the night stalking the neighborhood children.  This should not diminish the cuteness though.

Since I do not have a pyrex measuring cup (as pictured in the video) I improvised.  I used a heavy gauge cocktail glass shaped like a tiki.

Also goes great filled with rum and tiny umbrellas

Personally I think this Tiki Taka Taka adds a nice Polynesian flair to an otherwise not even remotely Polynesian event.   Besides, I find chanting “Tiki, taka-taka!  Tiki, taka-taka” VERY satisfying, and somehow Cuban-flavored.

Like the rice at Souplantation.














Corporate Lackey Wolverine Is BACK!!!

He was there again!  Look at him!  CLW!  He’s changing his look some, he’s grown his hair out, and the toll of fighting internet startup company problems has put more grey in his hair, but it’s definitely him.  the laptop, the large boxes, and now the full size office printer.  That’s right, CLW now has a full printer set up in the middle of a Starbucks.  He is truly the working class superhero!


For a time I had speculated that he might be homeless, which would suck.  But that also shows such great initiative to succeed that he’s set up shop in a Starbucks.  But he smells so nice, is always freshly showered looking and has no signs of meth teeth.

No, CLW is an enigma; and he’s the kind of enigma we want on Simpson/Hemstead’s team.


Screw Raisins…

…I think ducks are nature’s candy.

Party In The Front, A Lifetime On The Hips

Last night the Simpson/Hemstead propaganda minister and I sampled the local wares at a gathering of food trucks.  For those of you who have been living under a rock for a couple years, a food truck is a fad in which people make food on trucks that is claimed to be gourmet, but only in the vaguest sense.  Besides how gourmet can sliders REALLY be?

Anyhow, while discussing all things propaganda with Mr. Minister, we happened across the Fresh Fries Truck sitting inconspicuously in the corner with a gaggle of indecisive, semi-thuggish early college-aged whippersnappers in front of it.

That thing on the right is a dipping sauce, not an artist's rendering of what your turd will look like after eating here. Yes I asked.

I thought, “hey, I like fries,” and I’d seen some of these trucks that do amazing things with fries, pulled pork fries and so forth.  Full meal fries, not side dishes.

I wait in line behind the whippersnappers while they indecisively scan the menu with indecisive indecisiveness, and this goes on for 5 minutes.  Asking “you gonna order” only got, “yup” back from whom I assume was the leader of these misguided children.  And then they ordered.  A lot.  A whole lot.  Way too much for the number of people in their collective.


Finally my turn.  I scan the menu through my aging eyes for the first time.  There’s no full meal fries here.  No sir.  This place is a den of flavorful fries with dippin’ sauces and cheeses.  Buffalo sauce and feta crumbles.  And the thing that caught my attention, sweet potato fries with a scoop of nutella and peanut butter, dusted in powdered sugar.

I HEARD my taste buds say “Oh shit,” with the flabbergasted enthusiasm that one might have for winning the lottery on a randomly purchased ticket.  I then felt my colon grumble, “Oh shit,” from beneath my shirt.  His exclamation had the tinge of a middle class homeowner on the first day off he’s had in months sitting on his deck on a fine Alderaan summer evening gazing through the cheap telescope his children bought.  They bought it as a father’s day present three weeks before, and tonight was the first night he’d had a chance to use it.  In the sky was a weird metal moon-thing with a cone of green light forming above a freakishly large crater on it’s surface.  Somewhere deep in his meager midichlorian count he could hear the phrase “you may fiyah when ready”.  His drink fell to the ground, the glass exploded like a supernova and he said, “oh shit.”   This is the same “oh shit,” my colon had just uttered.

That's no moon....

As I found myself inexplicably ordering this gooey culinary Death Star I began to realize what this place was;  this was a rolling stoner snack wagon.  This was a diesel dream lorry come to tantalize the THC lobes with unearthly combinations of goodness.

My colon knew it was a lost cause to argue, it would have to deal with the brunt of this flavorific assault, and much like our Alderaanian homeowner, could only wait out it’s impending doom with the knowledge that the end of days was at hand.

My taste buds were electrified, challenged at every bite by the three elfstones of flavor; sugar, salt, and fat.  We decided we would have to have these again, the propaganda minister and me, but we couldn’t help wondering what kind of unimaginable joy those indecisive stoner kids were going through at that very moment as I watched them pool their dwindling cash for a second pass .

So if you’re high off you ass on pot OR weed, or you just want to experience a damned fine flavor explosion, you should check out the Fresh Fries Truck.

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