Wednesday various

Monday various

Eat up!

Scott Tobias nails exactly the thing I loved most about Top Chef Masters, and certainly about the season finale:

But with all due respect to those who shrugged off Top Chef Masters as a dull facsimile of the real thing, I think tonight’s hour was a great argument in the show’s favor. It was, simply, a pure example of the sensual wonders of food—the rich and evocative flavors, the feelings and memories a wonderful meal can coax out of those who cook it and those who eat it, and the sheer aesthetic artistry that the best of the best are capable of putting on display. For me, watching the finale of Top Chef Masters was like an extended version of the “big night” sequence in Big Night. At one point in the judging, Jay Rayner suggests they just stop using their words and criticize using guttural “mmmmm” sounds instead. It was that good.

If I’m ever back in Chicago, I think I may just have to make a point of eating at Rick Bayless‘ Topolobampo.

I scream, you scream

In the fall of 2003, the Penn State Creamery announced that it would debut a new ice cream the following summer, “as part of a yearlong series of events and celebrations commemorating Penn State’s establishment in 1855.” I left Pennsylvania in July of 2004, the very month the new flavor was to be announced, so I never did find out what it was, nor how the new flavor was received by the hungry masses.

However, I recently learned that some librarians are petitioning for their own ice cream flavor from Ben & Jerry’s. (Or at least, somebody’s started a Facebook group around that idea.) And, in the rush to make up silly names for it like “the Dewey Caramel System,” it occured to me that the Penn State Monty Python Society had once spent way too much time thinking up silly ice cream flavor names of its own. Then this afternoon at work, we had an “ice cream social” — one of those office events they trot out now and then to force people to mingle with coworkers — and so I thought I’d look through the list the Society came up with six years ago and maybe post them here.

In 2003, I printed nearly 100 of the best names in the club’s weekly newsletter — which I edited as a labor of deranged love for several years — but in retrospect most of the names aren’t very funny. Like a lot of the newsletter’s content, in retrospect it’s mostly just filler. Some of the suggested flavors were local inside jokes — like CATA Bus Crunch, Sproul Hall Elevator, Nittany Nutz, and We Don’t Know the Goddamn Flavor — and some were just vaguely college-related — like Freshman 15, Student ID Number, Tüition Increase, and Condom Co-op Mint. Some were even more specific to the club — like Free the Hole, FROH, or Wimpy (“it’s gerbilrific!”) — while others just defy understanding half a decade later — like Skrinchie, OMG!!!!!1!!!1!!one!B-P, or Contains No Potatoes. (That said, I would totally order a scoop of Contains No Potatoes, if just to try it.) Most of the rest are just juvenile and/or sex-related — like Syphilicious! and Delicious Wang. And those are the best of them.

In fact, looking over the list now, there’s only a few I find genuinely amusing, like No Means Nougat!, or Soylent Cream (“Good people, good ice cream!”), or even the bizarre Explode! (“the Russian Roulette of ice cream: every 15 cones has a bomb!”) There were some nice meta ones, like The Creamery is Now Closed, or simply Ice Cream. And there’s a weird over-abundance of umlauts — which actually makes me nostalgic for a time when I got to hang out with people who were way too amused by umlauts every week.

But I think my personal favorite — in a list to which I’m no longer entirely sure how I directly contributed, and which nowadays just strikes me as kind of dumb — is the no-doubt sinfully delicious You Can Take Our Ice Cream, But You’ll Never Take Our Freedom.

Okay, that or Squirrel Nuts. It’s kind of a toss-up.

Tuesday various

  • Is the future of Twitter in code? Orangeman? [via]
  • Though I don’t like it, I’m not diametrically opposed to five-day-only mail delivery. But I’d be screwed if the post office shut down all services on Saturday. That’s the only chance I get to check my post office box, and usually my only chance to mail anything like issues of Kaleidotrope. (Act now if you want a copy then?!) [via]
  • Ah literary ice creams… If only.
  • Homeless Offered Free Airfare To Leave NYC. I’m not really sure what to think about this. On the one hand, it’s an effort to reunite the homeless — many of whom I’m sure are teenage runaways — with family members, who may be better equiped to care for them. On the other hand, it’s shipping the homeless problem out of state to save some money and make them somebody else’s problem.
  • But on a somewhat happier note… It’s not often you read the phrase “aerospace engineer turned composer,” but I enjoyed reading about these failed London musicals [via]:

    A common complaint in the reviews for Too Close to the Sun is that the show doesn’t even fall into the so-bad-it’s-good category – that rarefied realm which made Gone With the Wind and Imagine This instant classics of a sort. Crucial to such flops is a sense of failed grand ambitions, which is why the burning of Atlanta in the first was as hilariously inept as the evocation of life in the Warsaw ghetto in the second. To enter the annals of true awfulness, you need to stake a greater claim on the imagination than was ever going to be proffered by a chamber musical about the waning hours of an American novelist. It would have still been a hard sell on the West End if Elton John had written it. (That, by the way, is not a suggestion.)