The second episode of Fuck, That’s Delicious is a great example of what happens when a Queens-born Albanian rap star gets his cousin out of jail on bail, and then brings him on a rap/eating tour ranging from Florida to Pennsylvania. Join Action Bronson and aforementioned cousin, Big Body Bes, along with a diverse cast of characters as they demolish audiences and sandwiches alike.
There is, as far as I can tell, only one group of people with the ability to be entirely freewheeling with food and still be socially accepted: pregnant women. If a woman with child enters a restaurant and demands garlic shrimp dipped in chocolate sauce, for example, no one is going to say no. You give the lady what she wants. It’s a rite of passage.
It’s mid-morning on a busy day when hunger pangs usually set in and lunch is still but a distant dot on the horizon. But today is different. I’m strangely fortified with a feeling of satiety. I’m brimming with purposeful energy and my conscious brain has a sharp sheen, keeping me focused. What’s more is that I ate no discernible solid for breakfast. Rather, a veritable slick of strong coffee lathered with a heaped tablespoon of butter—the kind of breakfast that Withnail might have cobbled together with leftovers after a big night.
This was premeditated, though. I had drunk a mug full of bulletproof coffee (also known as butter coffee), an old world tradition that has re-emerged as a potent performance enhancer. The term was coined by American health guru Dave Asprey, who has harnessed his experience of drinking yak tea with butter at 18,000 feet in Tibet (it gave him astounding energy levels) into this turbo coffee. Mingma Tseri Sherpa, one of the world’s leading mountaineers and 19-time Everest summiter, tells me, “We often drink tea with yak butter and salt. It’s good for our health and we mostly drink it during winter. It’s very common fuel for sherpas and climbing.”
“You have to lay on it,” She said as she sucked methadone out of the sleeve of her pink hoodie and placed a few sandwiches in between two gym mats. Somehow, I had found myself on the bench of a jail cell learning how to spice up a frozen cheese and mayo sandwich. I had opted for the PB&J, a rookie mistake. I don’t know why I did it—I don’t even like peanut butter—and it wasn’t PB&J; it was peanut butter and honey. It was a gooey brown substance on frozen bread that resembled wheat but didn’t seem like it should be considered wheat. Was this shit gluten free?
I was going on hour twenty in prison, trying to stuff the frozen sandwich down my throat before I could taste it when she walked in. Her hair was seemingly wet with grease, her neck covered in hickies, wearing a five-sizes-too-small pink belly shirt and sneakers without laces. Her butt-crack and stomach were hanging out of her diamond-studded True Religion jeans. She came in like a storm. She was given four sandwiches from the prison guard before she entered the cell. They had a long embrace before she sat down near me. I guess she was a regular. She threw her sandwiches onto the floor and ran into the bathroom: an open toilet with a piece of wood in front of it to allow for the smallest amount of privacy possible. As we sat there, I listened to her poop and complain about accidentally dropping a cigarette in there. I stopped trying to eat my meal.
A sugar baby is a young male or female who is financially pampered and cared for by a sugar daddy or sugar mommy in exchange for companionship. Welcome back to Sugar Babies, a column about sugar babies and the food they eat on dates.
Tammy is 29 and lives in a suburb of Richmond, Virginia. As a day job, she works in the music industry, but she’s been been supplementing her income as a sugar baby for a few years now. We became internet friends about a year ago when she submitted an advice question to my blog, Slutever, asking “When is the appropriate time to tell a guy you’re dating that you moonlight as a sex worker?”
God, being a modern woman is so hard…
You’ve probably been too busy drinking Yop to notice that there’s a quiet milk war raging. Though one Mr. Louis Pasteur has saved countless lives with the invention of germ-killing milk treatment, pasteurization, in 1864, today there are raw dairy fanatics claiming the process is outdated and that milk straight from the cow possesses invaluable nutrients. In the US, the milk war has even sent people to prison in the name of raw dairy.
I hang out with dairy farmer Stephen Hook, a.k.a. Moo Man, and his really chill cows to pick his brain about the apparent wonder juice that is unpasteurized milk, intrigued by claims that it can treat everything from eczema to asthma—and maybe even my lactose intolerance. Then, inspired by my newfound cow milking prowess, I head out in search of the holy dairy grail. (Hint: TITS.)
To fully experience the joy of cooking while really stoned, you must first attain basic proficiency in both of those disciplines separately before ever attempting to combine them. Because if you can’t fry an egg without burning it, getting high will only make matters worse. And if you can’t handle your herb, you’ve got no place in a room full of sharp knives and burning hot surfaces. That said, one needn’t be a top chef or a pot head to have a wonderful time preparing (and consuming) a high-end meal while under the influence. Just start by familiarizing yourself with the following simple guidelines, humbly compiled by The Weed Eater over the course of many years.
Cook With Your Head, Not Over It
A highly ambitious meal plan combined with blazing massive amounts of highly potent cannabis may sound like a recipe for success at the outset, but things will quickly turn sour if and when something goes awry. So if you want to get really high, it’s probably better to elevate a familiar dish rather than trying to boldly cook what you’ve never cooked before.
Colorado is not known for Mexican food. You might as well just come to terms with the fact that you will be eating either Chipotle, Velveeta-derived queso, or shitty Tex-Mex around here if you are really craving Mexican cuisine. But Colorado native Michael Odbert doesn’t seem to mind. Michael is a burrito-eating champion. He ate 100 burritos in one year and documented every single one of them (and is still counting). Much like the dude who survived eating pizza alone for 25 years, Odbert eats so many burritos because, well, he just really fucking loves burritos. You would think that eating 100 burritos in a year would legitimately make your insides look (and feel) like the bottom of a porto potty—but this is not the case.
100 burritos in a year doesn’t really seem like that many?