Some things out there are pretty hard to ignore. I’m talking about the good things. Double rainbows, online videos of canine antics, Jackie Chan’s every single move in Drunken Master 2. The smell of frying bacon when you least expect it and Sam Elliott’s hair also tend to do the job. Oh, and denim-clad Mexican cowboys drinking beer and char-grilling steaks while rolling down the middle of a busy boulevard on a random Saturday night. Hard to ignore…
Some things out there are pretty hard to ignore. I’m talking about the good things. Double rainbows, online videos of canine antics, Jackie Chan’s every single move in Drunken Master 2. The smell of frying bacon when you least expect it and Sam Elliott’s hair also tend to do the job. Oh, and denim-clad Mexican
So there we were, standing in the very eye of Hurricane Sergio, knee-deep in new knowledge while the grandmaster of Gratitude rained fresh bolts of caffeinated facts onto our heads from his cosmic bag of roasted thunderbeans. It was an epic afternoon.
(If you have no idea what the macchiato-hell I’m talking about, we recommend
Sergio and Gloria had quite literally run away with the circus. Leaving their home in Mexico, they worked as trapeze artists in Oakland, California, for a spell, eventually moving on to Buenos Aires, Argentina, with the intention of opening up a circus school. Plans changed, and somewhere along the way, coffee happened.
Boy, are we
Hi, my name is Michael, and I’m a fish soup fiend.
More broadly, if it comes from river, lake, ocean or sea, and it bathes in bouillon, I’m all over it like slime on a trout. To wit, I once went on a road trip to Boston with my great friend to see a Tom
Some dishes in life are more like good friends than food. They’re honest, dependable, supportive, encouraging, and when you see them, you light up, knowing full well that you’re in for a good ol’ time. They’re there for you when you’re up, there for you when you’re down, and whenever you might be in need
The taco is a magical little thing that we at The Hungry Herald apparently hardly ever knew, and a few months in Mexico have let us know just how unacquainted we were. From bone marrow to manta ray, the things we’ve found tucked into tortillas so far have had us wowed and re-arranging our brains
There once was a man and his fridge.
More to the point, there once was a man sitting on a kitchen chair in front of his open fridge and staring into it for hours on end.
I never knew exactly what the hell my father was doing when I would find him hunched forward in his housecoat, bathed in the holy glow of that Westinghouse fridge and seemingly ensconced in matters of crucial importance known only to him, the mustard and the ketchup. Every now and then while going about my kid-ness, I’d stop for a curious few seconds and observe. It would seem that the outside world was no more as he peered within and rummaged. I watched him pick things up, check containers,
So there we were, standing in the very eye of Hurricane Sergio, knee-deep in new knowledge while the grandmaster of Gratitude rained fresh bolts of caffeinated facts onto our heads from his cosmic bag of roasted thunderbeans. It was an epic afternoon.
(If you have no idea what the macchiato-hell I’m talking about, we recommend you first enjoy our last post, Beans of Light, to infuse this reading with a little added richness and complexity. Go ahead, we’ll be here when you get back.)
At one point during our interview with the owner and head roaster of Gratitude Coffee Makers, he broke out a portable Delter press, brewed up some of his favourite beans — while of course geekifying on temperature control and fusion points
Sergio and Gloria had quite literally run away with the circus. Leaving their home in Mexico, they worked as trapeze artists in Oakland, California, for a spell, eventually moving on to Buenos Aires, Argentina, with the intention of opening up a circus school. Plans changed, and somewhere along the way, coffee happened.
Boy, are we ever grateful that it did…
Some things out there are pretty hard to ignore. I’m talking about the good things. Double rainbows, online videos of canine antics, Jackie Chan’s every single move in Drunken Master 2. The smell of frying bacon when you least expect it and Sam Elliott’s hair also tend to do the job. Oh, and denim-clad Mexican cowboys drinking beer and char-grilling steaks while rolling down the middle of a busy boulevard on a random Saturday night. Hard to ignore…
Some dishes in life are more like good friends than food. They’re honest, dependable, supportive, encouraging, and when you see them, you light up, knowing full well that you’re in for a good ol’ time. They’re there for you when you’re up, there for you when you’re down, and whenever you might be in need of a good kick in the ass, they readily oblige. Also, if the other food unfortunately happens to kinda suck, they just have that special je ne sais quoi for making it all better. Yup, we’re looking at you, pico de gallo…
Welcome to our very first instalment of The Hungry Hungry Glossary, an ever-growing lexicon of intriguing culinarily relevant terms that we hope will add a little flavour to your day. Let’s take a tiny tortilla of a time out now and talk about a word we’d like you to stick in your pantry tout de suite if it’s not already in there…
Just wow. In Cabo San Lucas, at Land’s End, lies a pair of beaches that together and separately are simply in a league of their own. Playa de Los Amantes (or Playa del Amor) and Playa del Divorcio share the very tip of the Baja peninsula, just shy of the spot where the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean meet in spectacular fashion. Two sides of the same cape, if you will…
Remember Chi-Chi’s? I don’t.
Although the Tex-Mex restaurant chain with the eyebrow-raising name (go ahead, Google its meaning in Spanish) was big when I was a kid, I don’t quite recall ever making it out to one of their locations, despite my fascination with reports that they were somehow deep-frying ice
Sergio and Gloria had quite literally run away with the circus. Leaving their home in Mexico, they worked as trapeze artists in Oakland, California, for a spell, eventually moving on to Buenos Aires, Argentina, with the intention of opening up a circus school. Plans changed, and somewhere along the way,
So there we were, standing in the very eye of Hurricane Sergio, knee-deep in new knowledge while the grandmaster of Gratitude rained fresh bolts of caffeinated facts onto our heads from his cosmic bag of roasted thunderbeans. It was an epic afternoon.
(If you have no idea what the macchiato-hell
The Water Rabbit has left the building.
We hope it was good to you in every which way, but there’s no time to live in the past, people – a new boss is in the office. In the name of celestial succession, The Hungry Herald would now like to bid
Nestled somewhere not-so-deep in the mythic Laurentian mountains just north of Montreal was a roadside fry shack I knew long ago. A short drive from the family cottage when I was a kid, it was a place of sweet summer magic. The kind where you happily eat at sun-scorched, slightly
Dios mío. It’s been a while.
Dearest readers, lectores, amigos and friends,
We hope this finds you in fine form, despite much of the recent past having been sort of one big bad cabbage simmered in hot garbage milk and served up in a crap-lacquered basket of damp middle fingers. Or something
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