Food Blog

I have been thinking a lot about changing the focus of my blog from nothing to something. I know that food blogs are popular and I eat food so I thought that would be a good fit. So here is my first “Review” of a local restaurant.

Frou-Frou Bistro

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of eating lunch at Frou-Frou Bistro. It is an exciting, trendy new establishment with a creative menu, a great atmosphere, and a staff that is second-to-none!

The first thing I noticed about Frou-Frou when I walked in was the décor. All the furniture was vintage and delightfully mismatched. The walls were covered with colorful paintings by local artists that really gave it a edgy but also welcoming ambiance. On top of that the hip wait staff had picked out some great music to accompany the meal. It was super cozy and cute!

The second thing I noticed was that my date was not there yet. At first I just thought she was late but then she never even showed up. Oh well, I thought, since I was dining alone I decided to order two of everything, to make it seem like I was out with someone. That also meant I got twice as much delicious food! Yum Yum!

I started off with two scrumptious soups – I forget what kinds they were exactly, I think one was like a tomato thingy and the other had, like, chicken in it or was chicken based at least – I know they were quite hot at first but then later they were more just warmish. I should probably describe them better but I think you get the idea.

Next up were my two main courses!

The first was a sandwich with all the fixings. It was called the House Special or possibly the Frou-Frou Special. Anyways, there was bread but it was like that really thin bread and then there was also stuff between the bread. It was mainly vegetables with some meat too. And tomatoes again. What are tomatoes exactly? A fruit or a vegetable? Well, they were in there whatever they are. I think some mayo too but I scraped that off because I hate mayo. It could have been butter though. Anyways, I can’t really describe the taste – I am bad at descriptions – but if I had to describe I would say it was warm because it had been heated or toasted. I did not actually finish it though because it was too soggy from the mayo (butter?).

Next up was a cheeseburger, which they gave a cute French name on the menu that I forgot to write down (I forgot to write down anything). I am not going to bother describing the cheeseburger because we all know what they taste like. Imagine tasting a cheeseburger – well that’s what it was like. If you have never tasted a cheeseburger, than I am sorry, this review will be lost on you. It was definitely even warmer than the sandwich, I can say that much. I would even say it was almost hot. The fries that it came with were pretty much standard except kind of thick. Or maybe they were even just average sized. I don’t know, I am no expert. They tasted a lot like hot ketchup but maybe I just put a lot of ketchup on them. I don’t really remember. Fuck this is hard.

Finally, after the Cheeseburger, came the dessert. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

First up: Blueberry Pie!

I have to tell you, this was the best blueberry pie I have ever tried. Firstly, it was red coloured and tasted like raspberries, which was different. Secondly, it was all, kind of, like crumbly but not. Fuck, no that’s not a good description. Man, I just wish you could taste it and then you would know what it tasted like. I just really want to convey the flavour of this pie and how made me feel but I can’t. Just go try it and you will know what I mean. God, this is really frustrating. Okay, maybe this will help, I remember saying, “Wow, this is good. I can’t wait to describe it in my blog.” Yeah, that should give you some idea of what I was dealing with.

And for the grand finale: More dessert, I think!

I feel like an idiot. I mean, I am just drawing a blank on the dessert I finished with. Next time I have to really bring a notebook. I know it was cold and I used a fork to eat it. After that your guess is as good as mine. Wait, wait it was cinnamon flavored ice cream? No, no that’s not it, that's not even a real thing, I just made that up. Idiot. Let’s just say chocolate cake even though that was not it. Yeah, Frou-Frou has great “chocolate cake.” (How do food bloggers fucking do this?)

In conclusion, I give Frou-Frou two big thumbs up and I would recommend it to all my friends. My only criticism is that the food is indescribable. I am not sure why that is exactly but my experience would have been better if they made food that had a particular taste and texture that could be related to another person in a detailed, clear written description. Perhaps they could even provide patrons with written descriptions to pass on to their friends or post on their food blogs. That would be a nice touch.

My New Agent

I just received a letter from my new agent, T.J. Chasely. He has really big plans for me.

Hey Rich,
Let me start by saying I love the blog. Love it. Love you. Love everything you are doing. It is really blowing up. Very exciting. I am pumped to be on the ground floor of this thing.

As much as I love you and everything you are doing we need to talk about some small changes. We have got to reach out to a larger demographic. I am talking about moving beyond your traditional “Big Three” visitor groups (your parents, Korean Internet addicts, and your cyber bullies). If we can get the other important Internet user groups (i.e, 9-11 truthers, advert-bots, and secretaries searching for pictures of kittens) to start clicking-in you will really blow up. If you could combine those three target groups in your next blog post then we might start generating real buzz.

This is not just about your blog though. I am already thinking ahead. I am thinking about illiterich the brand.

Stick with me here, this might sound a little crazy, but what about a theme song? Crazy, right? Or is it? In the next couple of years everyone is going to have their own theme songs, especially bloggers. People don’t want to read text anymore when they visit a blog. People want loud music to start playing as soon as the webpage loads. And that’s exactly what we’ll give them. Okay, so, here is what I am thinking for a song. It’s got to be NOW if you know what I mean. It has got to be electro, pre-post-punk, trip-hop, funk-folk, talk-rock, core-rock, bore-core, core-fore, fore-blore, rock-rock, and video game noises. Who could possibly fuse all these genres? It just so happens I represent a little band called fuck illiterich (don’t worry the name is ironic) who are perfect. They come in, lay down some music, you read one of your blog thingies over it and Boom! Nice knowing yah Beethoven!

“Oh look the illiterich theme song just went to number one on the Manitoba adult contemporary non-music charts!” (I am literally promising that).

Okay so then you will have the blog, the chart topping hit, and the fragrance. Wait, what did I just say? A fragrance? You’re damn right a fragrance. In one years time you are going to have your own scent. Working title: illiterich for Pregnant Women. That’s right, we’re going after the pregnant women perfume market. For some reason no one has even tried until right now. And that will lead seamlessly into a whole line of illiterich prenatal and infant products. In two years time illitierich baby onesies and maternity mumus will be everywhere.

“Oh look I am preggers but I still smell like a morning flower and my baby’s decked out in this fly-ass onesie. I am the hottest prego mom around!”

Don’t stop me now! I am on a role!

Okay, sit down and shut up. This next idea will propel your testicles into your body cavity. Two words: Fucking cake! What do I mean by cake? I mean the 3rd most popular dessert in North America is what I fucking mean. People love cake. People (almost) love your blog. Together they will be unstoppable. Personalized illiterich themed cakes. They will have your hottest tweets or blog postings or whatever you do right on them.

“Oh look it’s a fucking cake with illiterich’s latest facebook status right on it! Now I am the hottest prego mom around!”

And. We. Both. Get. Paid.

James Franco. What am I talking about? I am talking about James “Hottest Shit Right Now” Franco. Why? Oh, I dunno, because James Franco is about to play you in the biopic about your life directed by James Cameron and written by whoever the most expensive writer is. Working title: illiterich for Pregnant Women. Wait, you don’t think that makes sense? Of course not, it’s not supposed too. It’s called product placement and it’s right there in the title. People go see your movie and then go out and buy your fragrance. They won’t even know what him them. But we will know what hit us. It’s called money and it’ll hit us right in the fucking face!

Bring-bring – Hey Rich, the phone is for you – Who is it? – Oh, it’s just Nelson “Yeah, That Fucking Nelson Mandela” Mandela – What does he want? – Ummm nothing really, he just wants you to write his autobiography and serve as the next leader of the United Nations of the entire Earth.

And. It’s. No. Big. Deal.

So we got the music, we got the scent, we got the maternity wear, we got the cakes, we got the movie, we got the Nelson Mandela autobiography, and we got the President of the World. Is that enough? Not by a long shot.

I don’t know about you but I actually want to make some money. So I am thinking a body glitter for straight men? I call it glitterich. Or how about a medicated powder for skin irritation? I call it illiterITCH. You want more? I got a million of these.
Here it comes. I can’t hold back anymore. Are you ready? It’s the rapid fire round!

illiterich’s Anti-Tank Guns
illiterich’s Adult Diapers
illiterich’s Spider Milk
illiterich’s Monkey Wigs
illiterich’s Something Else

Ka-Ching!

And. We’re. Both. Billionaires.

Hang on – illiterich’s Industrial Strength Tar and Plaster Remover just went double platinum in Asia? Oh, now it looks like we’re both Asian billionaires as well. Do you know what kind of cars Asian billionaires drive? Of course not. No one does. Because their cars are fucking INVISIBLE. We are going to make “Asian billionaire invisible car” money.

And. I. ‘M. Not. Done.

Slam Dunk!

More money!

That's what I am talking about!

I think I've made my point. Call me when you are ready to get paid,

T.J. Chasely
P.S. One last suggestion: Start a blog. That is the best way to connect with your fans.”

Ypres: Artist, Genius, Blogger.

I just received this letter from my blogging mentor Ypres (pictured on the right). Ypres (real name Eugene Weeber) is an avant-garde blogger famous for pushing the boundaries of blogging and Web 2.0. Some have called him unbearably pretentious while others have simply called him agonizingly pompous. Let’s just say he’s not your father’s blogger.

He first caught the alternative blogging scene’s attention in 2004 when he posted a completely blank blog entry called untitled and he has not looked back ever since. Among other things he was the first person to post a blog entry upside down and most recently turned heads when he posted a blog entry called this is not a blog entry. Very original, very avant-garde. I doubt you guys would even get his stuff.

I wrote Ypres asking him what an average day for him looks like. My goal was to better understand the mind of this blogging genius by understanding his process. When I did not receive a reply I assumed that was his reply. You get it? Probably not. It’s very, very avant-garde.

Anyways last week I finally got his response in the mail. I now share it with you. You probably won’t get it though...

As an artist I can never live the same day twice. Repetition and routine breed complacency which breeds mediocrity which breeds life and all art is death. I can only tell you what I did yesterday:

I awoke at whatever time I awoke and promptly murdered a small flightless bird to draw inspiration for the day (art is death). After that I made dispassionate love to an exotic woman of indeterminate ethnicity for what seemed like years (or perhaps seconds?). Of course, as always, neither of us climaxed. Once this act of listless carnality had finished we smoked opium in my bed. I asked her about her father and she responded in her native tongue (Swahili? Mayan? Pre-Industrial Polish?). Though I did not understand a single word she said I knew she was spewing hateful, unsubstantiated lies.

At breakfast I was joined by a menagerie fellow artists, critics, revolutionaries, escaped circus performers, Yogis, brigands, dandies, roustabouts, mourning widows, outright murderers, and several people in a state of catatonic shock. Amongst my guests were the famed duelist and self-styled botanist Francois Letreuse, the illiterate whore and mother to my bastard child Velvetta Bavard, and Belvedere Krebs, who’s foppish affectations and clever witticisms earned him the title of  “The Most Fascinating Man In Trieste.” We ate soft-boiled eggs.

Inevitably one of my guests, I believe it was Patriarch Ludlow Van Hessek, the maniacal religious zealot who heads a now mostly defunct monastic order, attempted to sodomize my butler. After this incident I brandished an automatic pistol (a gift from Farek Duswan, the clown prince of Bosnian comedy) and ordered everyone to leave in total silence whilst maintaining eye-contact with me. Eliza Pomice, a not–insignificant–Italian-diplomat’s mistress and theromin enthusiast, insisted I shoot her on the spot. I declined because the lighting in my breakfast nook was not suitable for an execution.

Breakfast was followed by nothingness.

At lunchtime my one-time nemesis and would-be assassin (who was once called Deviance Oprichik though I do not know if he still is) joined my table. We dined on whatever scraps of food he had stolen from the asylum he had just broken out of. I could not help but laugh when he finally succumbed to his wounds that he received during his daring escape (I never laugh). As per his final wishes I dumped his lifeless body in the middle of the road with a note that read “Truthe?” attached to it. The misspelling of truth was, of course, intentional.               

The afternoon was filled with my musical pursuits. As most music is a lie my musical pursuits mainly consist of finding the patterns in the silence that surrounds the screams of lepers undergoing radical, unproven treatments for their hideous disease. This is naturally done in complete darkness.

At dusk I was joined by a group of runaways who dared to ingest peyote with me. I wrote a highly controversial manifesto on their naked bodies before slipping into a drug-fueled trance. They proceeded to rob me as I thoughtlessly whispered the paradoxical maxims of an ancient Sanskrit text.

When I emerged from this hallucinatory state (wherein I imagined myself to be the scrotum of mid-level office manager) I found my adobe to be completely empty save for one runaway girl who was tending to me. Her flawless beauty was revolting. I demanded to be taken to my office to begin crafting the dreams that would become the visions that would inspire the thoughts that we be next my next blog entry.

As always I was lowered into my office, naked, in a coffin. My office only contains four things: a desk, a chair, a laptop, and a mildly-retarded, mute, hunchback huddled in the corner. He always stares at me with a toxic mix of fear, incredulity, and profound respect and I have reason to believe that he once owned the Quebec Nordiques.

In the course of half an hour I constructed a blog entry that simultaneously encapsulated and destroyed the combined artistic and scientific efforts of every civilization in human history. I immediately deleted it. After that I held down the a-key and filled up the entire page with this one, eternal letter. I cursed God for my genius and posted my latest masterpiece. For the next 6 hours I wrote hostile, seething responses to the fawning letters of praise that I received from critics and European royalty regarding my latest blog entry.   

My day finished with a cup of sleepy-time tea and the late edition of sportscentre.

Amazing. Did you get it? No? Didn't think so.

I have to say I think he was actually talking about 2 days ago because I hung out with Eugene, I mean Ypres, yesterday and we mainly ate pizza pockets and played Mortal Kombat in his mom's basement. The part about the Sportscentre is true though.  

My Old Friend Hank Greener

I just received a wonderful letter from my old friend Hank Greener. We have had our differences in the past but I think we've really moved on and we're truly good friends now. Due to some recent legal troubles Hank is no longer allowed to follow his greatest passion: blogging about his dreams, vegan recipes, poetry, political correctness and other shit no one cares about. I thought I would share his letter to let you all know how he is doing.

Hello Rich,

Congratulations on the new blog! I just know it is going to be great. I hope you are well. I have had a crazy week myself…

First of all, as you probably know, you’re campaign to get my blog shut down was successful (I am personally upset but I like to support my friends so congratulations). I am still not sure how you convinced the CIA that my vegan recipes were dirty bomb specs (My ex-girlfriend always said my spicy oat soup was “atomic” LOL) but it's all part of my journey so I accept it.

My arrest and ‘enhanced interrogation’ by the CIA was pretty exhausting. I admitted to everything because I felt sorry for the interrogator, Mr. Smith, who was really trying his best. I even spilled the beans on my biggest secret of all… my bean dip recipe! Haha! I am just kidding of course. I was mainly struggling to remain conscious most of the time.

The worst part of my incarceration was when they finally released me. It was only then that I realized that I didn’t even know what the heck the proper etiquette was for sending a thank you card is in that situation. I was kind of freaking out for a while. Then I realized I had totally forgot to ask what the address was for the prison was or even what country I had been requisitioned to in the first place! I wonder if an e-card would be appropriate? I could just send it to info@cia.org and I am sure someone will forward it to Mr. Smith.

Anyways, once I finally got home I was hoping to have some Hank time. You know what I mean. Just kick back with some tofu-flavored chocolate and maybe jam-out on my harp. Unfortunately I found out my roommate had not paid any of the bills while I was gone! This is obviously my fault because Paul is a primitive-anarchist who does not believe in money (or any paper really). Thankfully he is open minded enough to let me pay the bills and purchase consumer goods. Long story short: I had to quickly pawn my Grandmother’s harp (The pawn shop wouldn’t take it so I sold it to a scrap lumber yard) to make sure we did not have our cable or electricity cut off. Thank the Goddess I managed to pay it off before they cut our cable because Paul would DIE without SPIKE TV.

What a week! And that wasn’t even the half of it!

As I was just finishing up paying Paul’s cell phone bill I got a call from the Police. At first I was excited. I thought they had accepted my plan to provide free vegan lunches for repeat violent offenders (I know a good zucchini steak calms me down when I get angry) but that wasn’t the case. It turns out they were calling to tell me the art collective I joined was actually a pyramid scheme that had run off with all my money. It’s too bad because I still think, if run properly, an art collective can post a 300% return on a modest $8,000 investment.

I guess I should stop complaining now! I am sorry it’s just been a busy week. I am looking forward to the future though. I’ve got a new job as a vegan butcher and I am working on my autobiography. I think I will call it Eat, Love, Pray. My publisher tells me he can probably get it selected to the Tyra Banks Book Club. Also, I am planning on going back to school in the Fall. It turns out my first BA in Positive Visualization and Prayer Studies was completely made-up and the institution I attended never legally existed...

Oh, before I forget, I wanted to tell you about a dream I had. It’s really long and nonsensical and practically impossible to explain but I just love to tell people my dreams. Anyways it started out in my high school and a teacher of mine was there but he was also Alan Rickman sort of but not really and it was not even my high school actually and then…[Dream Edited For Space/Shittiness]…and then my fingers, which had turned into hotdogs, started falling off and then I woke up! What do you think it means? I interpreted it as meaning that I should take a pottery class.

I should probably be going now. I have a date. To be honest it’s not exactly what it sounds like. It seems somebody signed me up for a gay singles website and now I keep getting e-mails from interested guys. Although I am not gay I do not want it to seem as though I disapprove of homosexuality or, even worse, reject somebody. So I just pretend!

Okay, I've got to get ready now. I want to look my best!

Don't be a stranger! Write me soon!

Love, Hank

P.S. I hope you enjoy the lentil-based-flavorless-cookie-treats I sent you!