Shit Food Bloggers Say

I use a P&S camera and I'm on the fence about calling myself a "photographer" in my Twitter and Pinterest profiles. Thoughts?

Thu, 09 May 2013 17:28:18 -0400

Well, we all know P&S stands for Piece of Shit, because we are stupid and like to feel bad about ourselves.

Here’s what I tell people who worry about the difference between being a photographer and someone who takes pictures.

A photographer is…

Someone who is attempting to tell a story or express an idea or convey an emotion.
Aware that what is left out of the frame is often more important than what is inside.
Is accountable for the bias brought to the photo’s perspective because she/he hit the button thingy that makes the shutter go and boom there is a picture.
Is honest with her/himself that the photo does not represent truth, but a constrained version of what could be true.
Knows that a photo is only the essence of the experience of the moment but tries desperately to capture the experience as fully as is possible.
Sees beauty in the flaws of a photo.
Understands that tightly controlling the environment around a photo presents its own possibilities as does standing on the busiest street corner.
Feels a sense of urgency when holding a camera.

Someone who takes pictures is my mom.

And she is horrible.

So you are a photographer, because you are not my mother.

Mom. Leo.

Thu, 09 May 2013 14:51:27 -0400

Mom: Are you going to see Gatsby?
Me: Yes. Obvs.
Mom: I remember when you read that in high school.
Me: I remember when you told me you hated me when I was 15.
Mom: OK, enjoy your movie.

How I hold on to hope in the midst of ceaseless pain.

Thu, 09 May 2013 14:46:21 -0400

How I hold on to hope in the midst of ceaseless pain.

Food I Have Fucked

Thu, 09 May 2013 10:23:00 -0400

Cakes [whole]
Brisket
Corn [sweet]
Green Beans [whole, with pointy ends snapped off]
Lettuces [all of them]
Meringue [soft]
Macarons [strawberry only]
Kohlrabi
Pie [slice]
Lamb [leg, roasted]
Garlic [head]

Edit - I always walk around with a wedge of brie in my ass. Most people know this. It is how I live my every day.

Contemplating death as a food blogger

Thu, 09 May 2013 10:12:20 -0400

At some point you have to look at all your props and realize you’re leaving your children a legacy of dented metal and small plates.
— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger) May 9, 2013

When you die, there’s gonna be some nasty fights over that one spoon you use in all your photos.
— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger) May 9, 2013

Your child at your funeral - “My [mom/dad] was…*sob*…a food blogger. *sob* This was [his/her]…DSLR.” (Collapses on your coffin)
— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger) May 9, 2013

My James Beard Awards Round Up of My James Beard Award Tweets

Tue, 07 May 2013 11:52:13 -0400

So these the real #JBFAs, and Friday night was like the technical awards that no one cares about at the Oscars.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 6, 2013

Prediction - I will be thanked by no less than three chefs at tonight’s #JBFA awards.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 6, 2013

OMG there are a bunch of famous chefs in NYC RIGHT NOW!!!! #JBFA

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 6, 2013

It’s so nice to see all these chefs at the #JBFA since you never see them in the fucking restaurants they own. #busy

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 6, 2013

I love seeing chefs awkwardly bro it up. #JBFA #KillMe

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 6, 2013

Professional chef fuckers were bused in to service the del posto team. #jbfa #me #AllTheHoles

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

#jbfa streaming in one window. Fisting video in the other. One shows respect for boundaries. The other has chefs.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

Must really suck to be a chef who wasn’t invited to the #jbfa since they invited pretty much everyone.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

They shoot you if you lose a #jbfa. Seriously. You die. #Hopeful

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

BREAKING: nobody gives a fuck. #jbfa

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

So the #jbfa is like Yelp with medals?

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

#jbfa + Hunger Games. #NextYear

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

America really cares about your #jbfa. That’s all they’re going to talk about tomorrow.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

A chef whose food you will never eat won a #jbfa today. Your life is pointless.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

The hashbrown guy at your local Waffle House deserves a goddamn #jbfa. #smothered #respect

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

The @lebernardinny service staff gives hand jobs to all the #jbfa winners. They execute flawlessly.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

The #jbfa ends with a beautiful bukkake sesh by the winners on the grave of the Beard. It’s breathtaking.

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

White people winning on the backs of their Hispanic kitchen staff is what the #jbfa is all about. #America

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

WHITE PEOPLE!!!! #jbfa

— ShitFoodBlogger (@shitfoodblogger)

May 7, 2013

empathy.

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 20:23:51 -0400

You know how when you’re really tired and can barely stand and the last thing you want to do is cook?

And then you tweet about it and people are all like “Awww, I’d come over and make you dinner!!! :)”

You know what, no.

That is fucking sick.

Stay the fuck out of my misery. I earned this shit I’m swimming in, barely keeping my nose above my grease+cloudy water filth. And if you think for one second I’d let you in my house to do your so-called “cooking,” you are one dumb motherfucker.

THIS.

SHIT.

IS.

MINE.

Go have children or something so you can force your empathy on someone. Stoopid fuck.

Dinner

Wed, 06 Mar 2013 17:21:28 -0500

Mom called me from work today. She said she wanted me to make something different for dinner tonight.

Mom: It’s just that I think we need to eat something more than quinoa.

Me: So you don’t like my quinoa????

Mom: Of course I do. You know I do.

Me: Because it sounds like you don’t like my quinoa.

Mom: I do. You do some incredible things with it. Really, I love it.

Me: So we’ll have quinoa.

Mom: I thought I could make dinner tonight.

*Silence*

Me: Why are you so filled with hate that everyone around you wants to die?

*Silence*

Me (quietly): You know why Dad left. YOU KNOW WHY. Now you shut your mouth and don’t you dare step foot in my kitchen. Because if you do, I will take it as a violation of the sanctity of my domain, and as punishment, I will make you drive me to Whole Foods and I will hold your hand as I guide you over to the bulk grain section and I will QUIZ THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR STUPID BRAIN AS TO EACH GRAIN’S LIKELIHOOD TO IRRITATE MY BOWEL. SO IF THAT IS WHAT YOU WANT, MOM, THEN GET READY TO HEAR ME DETAIL THE INTENSITY OF MY SHITS.

#redquinoa

Mom and I are sharing a bed now. She’s moved in with me because of the “quinoa...

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 20:24:32 -0500

Mom and I are sharing a bed now. She’s moved in with me because of the “quinoa incident” that rang in 2013. I don’t have a couch, and she refuses to buy an aerobed thing because she has a terrible fear of Bed Bath & Beyond. #geneticfear

I hate my mother. She also hates me.

She moves too much in bed.

She uses three pillows to prop up her apneatic head, which I really think is more a power play than a therapeutic decision.

She smells like death. I think I am breathing in death at night.

I’ve never felt more alone than with my mother beside me, snoring.

#muffins

Photo

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 16:48:52 -0500

Stop it, @food52.

Thu, 07 Feb 2013 15:38:00 -0500

From the horribly conceived “Piglet Tournament of Cookbooks 2013” on the otherwise wonderful food52.com, the opening paragraph:

“Cosentino and Bloomfield are both known for muscular, meaty cooking that elevates all the lesser bits of the animal. In their new books, A Girl and Her Pig (Bloomfield) and Beginnings: My Way to Start a Meal (Cosentino), both pay tribute to Italian culinary traditions, filtered through personal experience and enthusiasms. And that’s basically where the similarities between these books end.”

-Adam Sachs

But your know, let’s create a false direct competition between these two books for some stupid reason that hurts the authors of the “losing” books. Having thoughtful writers dig into these books isn’t a cover for the shittiness of what you’re doing.

What is normally a very supportive site to authors, food52 is gunning for clicks with controversy. It’s depressing and desperate.

Please stop this silliness now. It’s embarrassing and cheap. And I know embarrassing and cheap.

Pivot Tables

Thu, 07 Feb 2013 13:55:54 -0500

I have a beautiful spreadsheet showing all of my tweets, their respective favstar count, and RTs.

I have pivot tables because I know how to do fucking pivot tables. My mom doesn’t even know what that means. She’s constantly disappointing me.

I have the same type of spreadsheets for Ree and Jaden. I didn’t bother with Elise yet, but I’ll get to her. I feel like I’ll never be better than Ree, and Jaden just did her second book. I didn’t get a preview copy but whatever. She also has pretty hair, so I hate her.

But I can totally take Elise.

Girl is on fire. @amandahesser #visa #makeitepic #fluffandscoop

Fri, 25 Jan 2013 11:41:17 -0500

Girl is on fire. @amandahesser #visa #makeitepic #fluffandscoop

Aerate. Silly.

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 20:29:56 -0500

Aerate. Silly.

Hey, girl. Ruhlman really does love you.

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 19:30:31 -0500

Hey, girl. Ruhlman really does love you.

things i like about me in the third person

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 16:05:09 -0500

when you mention thesis for wordpress

when you make fun of seo

when you tweet to a food celebrity that you’re making their recipe

when you talk about the “crazy” search terms that led someone to your blog

when you talk about the clients you’re going to work with tomorrow

when you give a sneak peak of an upcoming post

when you comment on your blog under fake names

when you waste time complaining about how you’re so busy

when you spend time criticizing people who actually create things

when you get so meta that no one can understand what you’re doing anymore

when you get upset when someone criticizes your impossible-to-understand self-analysis

when you use the word “stabby”

when you ask people to go to lunch

when you panic when they don’t respond

when you get mad at everyone around you because you’re late on something

when you make lists of things that you hate about yourself.

Mom called

Fri, 11 Jan 2013 09:35:00 -0500

health inspection something something town officials.

condemned. attic. me. feces. raccoon. quinoa.

mom. moving in with me. taking my bedroom.

couch. me.

mom. here.

can’t.

breathe.

dream sequence

Sponsored by Sous Vide at Home. The Sous Vide at Home System (TM) let’s you sous vide. At home. Not true.

I was given a Sous Vide at Home System to try (not true). I loved it (this would be true if they had given me one). I use it every day. For every meal. I want to give you one (not true). But I can’t (true). So please buy one (true).

waking up.

on couch.

mom snoring. in my bed.

this is how it ends.

Vodka Tonic Recipe | Adapted from Kat Kinsman

Fri, 04 Jan 2013 16:01:10 -0500

This recipe is adapted from Kat Kinsman https://twitter.com/kittenwithawhip/status/287292973748715521

Some vodka
Some tonic
Some ice
A glass
A lemon wedge.

My Top 10 Recipes of 2012

Fri, 04 Jan 2013 09:45:29 -0500

My 2012 top 10 recipes, from my SOMETHING, SOMETHING, QUINOA book

#10 Recipe - Chopped dates, coconut milk, and quinoa.

#9 Recipe - Lardo, lobster tail, and toasted quinoa.

#8 Recipe - Blood orange @chobani Greek yogurt, Corn Pops, and quinoa.

#7 Recipe - saliva, salvia, and quinoa.

#6 Recipe - A call from my mom, an Instagram of my red puffy eyes, and burnt quinoa.

#5 Recipe - cottage cheese, creme fraiche, and quinoa.

#4 Recipe - #Nutella, a lack of self-esteem, and puffed quinoa.

#3 Recipe - ramps, home-cured bacon, and cheesy quinoa. Served in mini Mason jars.

#2 Recipe - Biscoff spread, a 7-qt red mixer from @KitchenAidUSA (come the fuck on and give me one), and quinoa.

#1 Recipe of 2012 - Toasted walnuts, dried cranberries, and quinoa. Because I’m an asshole.

A New Year. Same old me.

Thu, 03 Jan 2013 17:26:00 -0500

I was so excited to find that 2012 was coming to an end. I had locked myself away in my mother’s attic for four months, pretending I was the ghost of my father who abandoned me and is not dead. I’ve got a lot of unresolved open hostility toward my mother, and it was fun to channel that anger through passive-aggressive whispering at night time.

“You’re pie crust tears too easily.”

“People think your child is wonderful.”

“Salted butter makes you fat.”

These are things I always want to say to her. I loved having the freedom to tell her how I felt directly, through the ceiling and air vents while she slept. I took a great deal of satisfaction knowing that I was really messing with her sleep patterns.

But after four months of living in an attic with no bathroom, the stench of my quinoa dreams got the best of me. It turns out, I had so infected my mother’s house that she called an exterminator. As a child, I played Bandit, the ever-curious raccoon, in a first-grade play. Even this experience was not enough to give me the tools to fool the exterminator. He knew I was human.

“What the fuck?” he said, when he saw me huddled in the corner, a black mask of waste smeared across my eyes from ear to ear. I sat up on my haunches, swatting playfully at the air.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Please don’t tell my mom,” I whispered.

The exterminator, who looked like Anthony Bourdain without a tan or teeth, backed down the attic pull-down stairs, never saying another word as he left the house.

I waited for mother to go to sleep, but I heard the TV blaring late into the night. And then the people on the TV started counting down.

10.

The TV turned off. The house was quiet.

I heard Mom sigh that terrible sound that says she’s getting up from a chair.

Shuffling back to her bedroom.

The light switch on the brass lamp next to her bed.

Silence.

“Good night, sweetie,” she said. “Happy New Year.”

And that’s how I rang in 2013!!! I’m ready to press my dream board into my soul and do something wonderful!!! I’m filled with so much love.