When In Doubt

The secret behind these strangely addictive strawberry candies? Tamalehawk is convinced it's the two different kinds of wax. Many candymakers would be content to add only one wax; the Spaniards behind this little coiled cobra go for the Carnauba Wax and Beeswax blend, masterfully churned in burning urns over long-flaring flames. Something about its fragrant and convincing bouquet, its tough but yielding texture, and the fact that they are imported and "hand-packed". Somehow the fact that it was touched by hands is reaffirming to him.

Tamalehawk forgot to comment on a recent Twin Anchors visit, his favorite rib shop in the city. Everybody knows that his ultimate ribs are dry-rubbed and air-dropped in from the 'Vous in Memphis, but in the meantime, there's nothing better than piling into the tiny Twin Anchors dining room and shoveling a full rack of zesty ribs into your gullet with cartoon enthusiasm. Encircle the table with some smack-talking tanagers and you've got a night to remember.

The Journey Concludes

It's hard to describe the level of obsession Tamalehawk has forged for these brownies. Simply put, this represents the apex of his lifelong brownie journey, the culmination of three decades of hope and heartache. These brownies sit besides the first and most powerful brownie memory Tamalehawk has, still strikingly vivid all these years later: a small hawk, barely able to fly let alone hunt, waiting patiently in a long line of small hawks in the schoolyard to buy a giant slab of frosted brownie with colored sprinkles for fifty cents. Ten minutes of anticipation and finally he was able to step up to the giant pink bakery box, fluttering in the midday breeze, and claim his long-awaited walnut-studded prize. The rest of recess never mattered; so transfixed, it was rare he ever made it past the curb.

The Cook's Illustrated recipe for Classic Brownies feels fussy and starts off tedious. What are you asking us to do with the foil? Fold it in half and then into a strip? Whatever. Cake flour instead of all-purpose, huh? OK, he'll give you that one. Definitely go with the microwave method to melt the chocolate; the double-boiler is for suckers and zabaglione. Tamalehawk was skeptical, until he got a look at the crusty light brown top in the oven. Miles away from the black soupy fudge of box brownies, this batch reached into Tamalehawk's soul and blazed for him a perfectly primmed path to his youth. He can't even bear to give any of these away.

Chase The Dream

Assembling a stylized Mexican street taco can be, to Tamalehawk, one of the most affirming acts available. Frought with self-discovery, one's taco architecture speaks volumes of who one is, and who one hopes to someday be. Several slabs of avocado to slant the flavor profile into creamy's favor? A tangle of grilled onions so it bites back? A sprinkling or avalanche of queso fresco that you finally got the guts to buy and really regret ever having lived without? One cilantro sprig or several? Maybe you'll just wind up eating the skirt steak off the plate, sans tortilla or toppings. That is for you to decide.

Tamalehawk ate at Tizi Melloul a while back. Situated right across from the nest of a red-legged honeycreeper he knew from back in the movie-slinging days, this spot radiates a Moroccan vibe, he guesses? Judging by the maroon and gold-tassled pillows, the dramatic draperies, and the too-close tables, it's shooting for Moroccan. Though definitely not Tamalehawk's kind of place - the precious, unpronounceable name alone would cause him to keep walking - the food was great. The appetizer inspired him to make an apricot chili glaze at home, and the crispy pork belly delivered on every hope he had riding on it. Plus, he completely dusted the valet by parking in the public lot two blocks away for four bones less. Take that, urban luxury.

A Milestone

Well, we did it. 100 posts. Tamalehawk wishes to thank everyone who follows his culinary pursuits and the lazy arc of snap decisions that comprise it, and himself for eating so many delicious, weird, and intriguing things. Together, everyone soared on wings of discovery, shedding feathers of fear over a city clamoring at the promise of a life-altering quesadilla, or a heartbreaking chili, or a menu revelation. Can you hear the clamoring? It has reached a deafening din!

A lot of exciting things on the horizon. Tamalehawk has been using the waning moments of relative quiet to eat like a small, carefree bird. He hopes to always be drawn to the idea of ordering something called The Mess from a local sandwich purveyor. It has fries and coleslaw directly on it, which positions it squarely in Tamalehawk's downy wheelhouse. That sandwich, in myriad ways, reflects the true nature of life itself; everything crammed together unnaturally, working together to make something that, in time, feels natural, and in some more time, achieves greatness. He hopes that whatever the future holds, he can always appreciate the mess that might come with it. All this introspection is making him hungry.

Midnight Rambler

Sometimes it's late and you are starving and you convince yourself it's OK to eat like a freshman flush with your parent's cash and no desire to live until tomorrow. Although it is a mercifully infrequent occurrence, you rarely have to twist Tamalehawk's scapulars to sell him on a Wendy's run. Decades of tinkering in the food lab have constructed what, to much of modern man, is considered the paradigm of fast food chicken sandwiches. Then, in a fit of unbridled hubris, they put bacon and cheese on it.

We know that dipping your fries in the Frosty is a mandatory taste explosion. A impulsive experiment confirmed that there was no correlatable effect when Frosty is applied to your chicken sandwich. No detrimental change, just no worthwhile enhancement. Also, it's a small thing, but Tamalehawk loves the cornmeal-dusted buns. He doesn't know why, but he wishes everything was dusted with cornmeal. They also have a sandwich called the Baconator, and you have to have an old-school pair of brass clangers to put that on today's market.

Iron Grip

Are you guys eating these? It's that time of year, when scores of scouts bumrush grocery store thresholds, milling and giggling and hawking the nostalgic favorites for a stiff five dollars a pop. You can refuse them, drive past the droves, but eventually you will buy a box from your mom who bought too many, or your co-worker whose daughter's pleading face is staring at you from a ceramic frame on her desk.

They've got a stranglehold on supply, spiking the demand to unnatural proportions even though, really, in general, there are way better cookies out there. Given the choice, Tamalehawk will do the Coconut Blast-offs or the Cinnamon Tingles. Still, eating these Peanut Butter Patties did inspire the courage to eat three more, the confidence to dip the paraffin-encrusted disk into orange juice, and the character to finish off the package when it's so close to be being done anyway. Also, it's a shame about the girl whose face is near-completely obscured by the Girl Scouts graphic. Tamalehawk hopes her mom wasn't too disappointed.

On The Brink

The reasons Tamalehawk rushed this protatotype to market are two-fold: First, the raw materials had been lingering on the fridge without consideration for some time, and second, a few recent remarks by some ptarmigans in the media have implied that he may be slipping, content to buy precious pre-made products from Trader Joe's or phone-in a pasta dish.

He'll admit it is getting tougher to take strides in the kitchen. This time, he wanted to make something that was a cross between a grenade and a potato, or a grenato, by coring a Yukon Gold potato, stuffing it with something good, and putting the pin back in. His experiments yielded promising results - a delicious molten core baked from the inside, exploding like shrapnel when dissected. As he moves to the next phase of development, he would definitely par-boil the potato first to facilitate easier pin removal. Pictured, he went with sofrito as the incendiary material, but in future iterations, he would gladly go with nacho cheese, gravy, or even some kind of soup.