Friday, June 20, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Food blogging as both a hobby and an economy is about equal to stamp collecting in terms of the skewed perception of value it brings to society. I used to collect stamps and I can tell you now I had a pretty fucking good stamp collection. I’d fill that fucking book up with kooky stamps from Soviet Russia to Swaziland and by golly did I think it was a mighty fine piece of work. To my sense of self-worth, the people who sold me those big bags of old stamps, to my fellow stamp collectors and to my mother I sure was something, and boy did I have the evidence to prove it in the top drawer of my bedroom. That’s kind of like food blogging. Being a sort-of but not really food blogger I’ve met plenty of food bloggers and some are fine, hobbyists mostly, some build a nice community around it, some have the clout to take it to paid work, but that’s basically it - it’s stamp collecting (minus the primary school bullying).
The majority of food bloggers, nowadays anyway, are beyond parody. Most exist in that no-mans land between their initial shitty concepts and some completely distant and unattainable food blogging ideal of full time paid writing work, “sponsored posts”, free products, gifts - logic worse than children. The sheer desperation that oozes from their I-swear-this-isn’t-a-sponsored-post sponsored posts, fuck, I know drug addicts with more integrity.
That’s the problem, lack of integrity, lack of spine for honest depth or analysis. Review time; here it comes - stumbling with the culinary cadence of some heels-in-hand 3AM human gutter animal filled with phrases like “it has a nice taste” or “the consistency wasn’t what i expected” or some other completely erroneous piece of non-criticism. Depending on the perceived receipt of food blogger royalty treatment from the restauranter there will be a subtle bitch about the lack of preferential seating or a humble brag about how dinner was on the house. Following this will be a series of impulsive and poorly composed photographs with some of the biggest watermarks you will ever see on someone who is, by designation, an amateur. These fucking cancerous watermarks, ugh, why are you doing this? The bigger the watermark, the bigger the fucking idiot behind the camera. That giant opaquely translucent branding on a snap of your eggs benedict is going to get you, at best, a “keep at it” comment from your more cowardly friends and some worthless click through traffic, at best. At worst you’ll be losing all respect from any major food/wine/dining publication you hope to write for and I challenge any food photographer to post an example of any better outcome. Save that shit for your teen nightclub photography empire.
The culture of receiving free food in exchange for writing a favourable review of a restaurant is one of the most hilarious displays of an endless clothed gangbang of un-erect dicks and dry vaginas I have ever seen in any industry ever. I’ve seen food bloggers write featured posts about receiving a free complimentary mainstream cider, a fucking bottle of cider? How can I even begin to trust someone who writes anything more than “yep, bottled sugary mainstream cider for girls who haven’t learnt to drink wine yet, on the house, cheers guys” on the topic of anything food or drink related? This festering circle jerk of product-for-promo; you’re supposed to be a critic - just think about it - how many publicists have widely read and respected online publications? That’s right, none of them do, they have shithouse 9-5 jobs working for balding marketing pigs that no-one respects. All this for what, the odd free feed? What are you, homeless? Here’s a tip food bloggers - have integrity, show an actual desire to master your craft: photography, writing or defining your palate, because outside your own little worlds your reviews mostly mean as much as my stamp collection.
Anonymous said: please tell me you were joking when you said asthma is a pretend illness....
Nope I honestly am completely serious about asthma not being an illness I mean what could years of medical research have on some anonymous guy’s clearly factual internet blog?
Anonymous said: why dont you post a lot? i mean you only post like 2 things a month..
None of you people understand do you?
Anonymous said: love your blog but please stop slutshaming it's not funny or edgy or cool or even related to what you're blogging, please just stop calling girls sluts for ??? cooking terrible food or ??? being the recipient of terrible food, thanks a lot friend
Anonymous said: Who are you? What is your name? How can I marry you?
Friday, May 2, 2014
Anonymous said: please post more.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Look at this, a lovely plate of regional Italian food, all that completely appropriate Italian macaroni and authentic Italian pizza from Italy, where did you cook this, in a clothes dryer filled with piss? Why is the pizza and the pasta on the same plate! Why do people do this? Just get another plate you fool; it’s the culinary paedo in a playground: no good can come from this, no good!
Stop fetishisizing the cuisine anyway, microwave pizza and frozen prawn pasta is as much to Italian cuisine as Nespresso is to coffee. Fuck Nespresso and fuck everyone who owns one. Nespresso is made by Nestle, who make Blend 43, it’s that simple, how the FUCK could anyone even consider buying something from a company who has done such a thing to the world? I can just imagine some smug self proclaimed swinging bachelor in his shitty Politix smart casual attire, standing by his customised Nespresso pod based coffee system, passionately stroking his dick over how much he thinks he’s killing it in life as some bullshit coffee and milk based beverage pours from its overpriced pod based delivery system. Just about to head off to work to his digital media creative job in an office filled with irrelevant beanbags, thinking about all the Byron Bay Pale Lager (not brewed in Byron Bay) and $17 Cheeseburgers he’s going to consume with all his dickhead friends doing shitty coke at some hidden alleyway bar named after a novel his life bears no resemblance to.
Ugh, Americana; are we done with our tex-mex are we? All you hot shit big potato men with your hot wings and your sliders and your fucking imitation KFC - listen, you can’t tell the difference between a McDonald’s Cheeseburger and a $17 Tarantino burger. You think you can, but ya can’t - deep down ya know ya can’t, dontcha now, you big fuckhead?! The same goes with your rebranded KFC. You think it’s better, you think it holds cultural or culinary significance and you think you can taste the difference - and even if this were true you can’t taste the difference because how else could you sleep at night knowing you’ve just bought fast food at 4 times the price, you self righteous coward? I liked a good burger as much as anyone, yet you all had to do this, repeating, repeating, taking it to the fucking extreme - pulled pork, brioche buns, fried chicken, sliders, sliders, fat men drinking pretend craft beer - fucking EVERYWHERE, thanks for ruining everything you FUCKHEADS!
Friday, November 1, 2013
No, none of these things, individually or as a whole, are “the best” and if you serve your food like most people serve animals then you aren’t allowed to even comment on what’s the best, or worst, or anything at all - what did you cut your tomatoes with, your fucking elbow? You’re becoming a food photographer as much as The Daily Telegraph is a source of news and that filthy plate makes me question whether you should be around animals.
I love this time of year, all the new years’ resolution dicks, uggh, their aspirations make me sick but oh their failures bring a thousand joyful smiles to the piece of shit that stares back at me every morning in the bathroom mirror. "But cooksuck they are just trying to better themselves, positive choices, nike free runs etc leave them alone" well to that I say if the discussion and discourse surrounding losing insignificant amounts of weight is dressed as life changing positive steps then we’re clearly having the wrong conversation. Read any given comments section in that menstrual cycle of an article about ‘borderline’ ‘Plus Sized’ models -filled with all those flies-to-shit opinions: “AS IF !! SHE IS HEALTHY AND BEAUTIFUL! THIS IS WHAT’S WRONG WITH SOCIETY” like being called a plus sized model makes you inherently any less ‘beautiful’ than a regular model, or a tall model, or a short model, or any model or human at all - fuck, why is this the world? What is wrong with everyone?
Anyway, this plate of toddler food was from some fitness ‘bootcamp’ page; lots of bullshit about kale curing diabetes (don’t get me started on this) and various other health food company perpetrated lies about the nutritional and health perks of consuming their overpriced manure. Quinoa, kale, chia seeds, insecure boys and their fucking pre-king-hit protein mush/shakes, all of this shit - eating “Instagram food” makes your body skinny but your mind fat. I stare at someone drinking green juice and immediately think ”your personality is a big overweight piece of cellulite covered shit”. You’re now worse than the previous greedy, mediocre and despicable human you once were, what, with this new sense of entitlement to this magical, wonderful life of pictures of your shitty thighs at the beach, the not-eating-of-bread (which is just fucking ridiculous) and these big old jogs - jog, jog, jog - what are you jogging from cunt? The ghosts of your past? They’ll fucking find you, oh, they will, don’t you worry about that. You can feel them in the breeze; I know you know, ambivalently dormant, waiting for your frivolous life of wanderlust to catch up with you. Suddenly, the lie that is your instagram account will crumble and fall apart - you’ll come jogging in to apologise to me in the pub: “Cook Suck! Cook Suck! You were right, I am a big fuck head, please can I have some of your wine?” and I’ll say “No! This is my fucking discounted wine! Go drink some more juice from a fucking jam jar you cunt!!” and kick you out of my beautiful castle with its fine steaks, delicious burgers and boutique beverages and you’ll have to march back to fucking Deception Bay, Holsworthy, Elizabeth or whatever piece of shit suburb you came from.
It’s not that people don’t respect insufferable overflowing toilets of human beings like the one above, it’s that they can’t. I’m not saying fat people don’t deserve to live, they might, maybe, what I’m saying is they deserve to be made fun of. Being overweight isn’t some unchangeable state, like being tall, baldness or having no parents - it’s a problem, and the only way someone will change is if other people make them feel bad about their problem. Having a supportive network of people around you who love you is complete bullshit and won’t help you in any way. Have you noticed how all couples become fat? Love produces fat, hate produces beauty, it’s as simple as that, which is why sites like Mamamia, DailyLife, all supermarket glossy bullshit magazines have no problem normalising by insulting skinny/healthy people as being unhealthy/on drugs/whatever but have no problem publishing self indulgent bullshit about being proud of your burden-on-the-medical-system body (like anyone gives a shit anyway). Anyway, there’s nothing like being brutally ashamed of yourself to help change your ways (or enter a spiralling pit of depression, whatever). So get a firm hold of that real ‘why should I even get out of bed?’ hatred of everything about your body, stop blaming the fat shamers (see my first sentence), and make a few changes. The way I see it, obesity is kinda like chlamydia, or pregnancy. You get it from carelessness and it’s relatively easy to get rid of. In fact, I made a little diagram.
(Oh baby, when someone you hate hits that middle intersection; crystalised happiness)
Anyway all of this is assuming being fat is a problem because unless you’re chronically obese it really isn’t. Nothing exudes more chill vibes than a fatty boomsticks who doesn’t give a shit that they’re a fatty boomsticks, because then it’s not a problem, it’s a lifestyle, like drinking in the disabled toilets at work.