Round cakes always reach a Pac-Man stage.

You guys– I am SO BEHIND on blogging so much stuff. Cakes. Puddings. Cheeses. Food trucks. Home-cooked dinners. One of the things that deters me from blogging is the time that it takes to add “www.thedailybinge.com” to all the pictures. So guess what? I’m going to stop doing that. I have mixed feelings about throwing the pictures up naked, but whatever keeps the posts coming.

For all I know, I’ll drop the fancy URL and the “www.thedailybinge.com” stamp won’t even be accurate anymore on all those old pictures. Haha. Life happens.

Okay– for the longest time I would walk down the baking aisle of the grocery store (danger!) and ogle Betty Crocker’s Spice Cake mix. I was really curious how it tasted, because I typically love spice cake– but not all spice cakes are created equal. (I don’t think I’ll ever figure out the recipe for the AMAZING honey/spice cake that USC’s Hillel used to have on the High Holidays… but that’s life, too. Shit gets lost forever.) (Getting deep on a Thursday morning.)

So here are some pictures of the process…

Ingredients... most of them, anyway.

Those cake pans were about $5/each. I could have gotten one-use pans, but real pans seemed like a sound investment… sorta. (This means I will be making more cake… dangerous when you live alone.) (I have literally been making up parties and gatherings as an excuse to do dessert-making experiments.) (Yes, I use people as guinea pigs– er, taste-testers.)

I also don’t own any electrical mixing apparatus. I just do it all by hand and hope for the best…

Ready for the oven...

It was my first time using the oven, and I realized that certain important numbers were rubbed off of my oven dial– so I was guessing at what temperature I had dialed up. I was pretty sure I was right, but the cake LOOKED done about 10 minutes before it was SUPPOSED to be done. I was taking pictures of it through the glass and texting them to Sam, trying to get his opinion on whether it was burning…

To burn, or not to burn...

But I decided to just go with it, because baking is an exact science. If Betty Crocker says wait 10 minutes, I wait 10 minutes. (And there was no burning smell in the air.)

I’m glad I let baking cakes lie, because the layers came out perfectly cooked, not at all dry. (I didn’t have any toothpicks, so I used a fork to check the centers.) (Like a boss.)

Just forked.

I realized that I didn’t really have a method of flattening the tops of the cakes, and wondered if that would affect my ability to stack the layers. But then I had a revelation– Invert the bottom layer, so the two flat sides touch. (Probably not recommended by professionals, but it worked out okay for me.)

Looks happy.

Pro-tip– don’t stack the layers while they’re cooling, or the insides will keep each other hot, and you’ll wait forever to ice them. (My sister likes to ice cakes while they’re still hot– impatient person that she is– and it always results in weird melty-ness.)

After a long wait (I think I went to dinner in between), the cake was ready to be iced! I chose Cream Cheese frosting, and one container was perfectly enough to achieve full coverage, including between-layers.

Delicious inside and out.

I finished it off with chocolate sprinkles, for looks and for just a hint of chocolate-y goodness.

It's alive! Er-- it's a cake!

I covered it carefully in plastic wrap and let the frosting harden in the fridge. Guess what? It was a very delicious spice cake. Good for breakfast or dessert.

Piece of cake.

Luckily Lauren was staying with me that weekend (the Renegade Craft Fair was in LA), so she helped me with the eatin’. But it’s a dangerous thing to have a cake in the fridge. I didn’t eat the cake in irresponsible portions, but I DID finish the whole thing… over the course of about a week. (Middle class problems, am I right? TOO MUCH CAKE IN THE FRIDGE!)

So while I love baking cakes (easy ones from mixes, at least), I think I’ll only bake them for social gatherings and special occasions. Lest I become like Miranda in that episode of “Sex and the City” where she drowns her sorrows by baking sheet cakes and eating them by herself. (Because the bakery she frequented was prohibitively expensive.) (I happened to see that episode a few days before I baked this… perverse inspiration?)

I’m excited for the next cake-gathering opportunity, because there are so many flavors and combinations to try! Yellow cake with chocolate frosting! Strawberry cake with buttercream frosting!! Funfetti everything!!!

Let me know when your birthday nears… (Mine is Saturday!)

xoxo…

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Local is a restaurant, but also appropriate because I am an Eastsider. Zing!

Okay, I’m obviously a little bit behind here. Taste of the Eastside was on May 15th. Back when I was in a nail-polishing phase (they come and go as they please). Sometimes I take a long time to blog things. Sometimes I NEVER GET AROUND to blogging things. It’s part of the delicious suspense of being a reader. (You can always refer to my Flickr to see what I’m not blogging. I faithfully take photos. I’m only HALF lazy.)

Anyway– I feel that I MUST blog Taste of the Eastside in some capacity, because it was a delightful event. For about $25, I got more than I could eat. At first I was stingy with my food-buying tickets (I can’t remember how many we got… maybe 15?), but then I reached a point where I realized– go for broke, kid! Most of us actually ended up with more tickets than we could use, because we got so full.

First of all, the location was amazing. I’ve passed Barnsdall Art Park a billion times (conservative estimate), but I’d never really wondered what was atop that random hill.

Here’s a picture I snapped as I ascended the stairs (this is the view from Barnsdall– not Barnsdall itself):

This image sponsored by The Hangover Part 2.

As you can see, it provides a lovely view of the Griffith Observatory and the Los Feliz/Hollywood Hills area. I’m already so pumped to return, lugging a picnic lunch in my new insulated grocery bag. (Paging Mr. Tea– and anybody else who likes picnics.) (If you don’t, you’re a monster.)

I met up with several friends at the Fest– including Lindsey, Sara H, and Sara D. Here’s a picture of two mini-pies from Brite Spot, modeled by Sara H and Eli.

Pie to the people!

I believe one was banana and the other was chocolate. And they were really “cheap,” ticket-wise.

Out of everything we tried, there were two major stand-outs– two things I still crave. I think this was a general consensus, because these two booths seemed to have the biggest lines.

In the past I haven’t been the hugest fan of mole (mo-lay, a chocolate based sauce), but Huarache Azteca was getting rave reviews, so I stood in the long line. And it was so worth it.

The holy mole.

The chicken was tender, the sauce was savory, the rice was puffy, and the bread was… a big hunk of bread. It was a big portion, for only 3 tickets (as I recall). Everybody who ate this got some sauce on their face. (That’s what she said…) It was sauce-on-face good. (Luckily everybody was willing to tell each other, “Hey… you’ve got a little something…”) It’s the kind of food that makes you want to call your friends and family and force them to try it.

Pazzo Gelato was a bit of a surprise favorite for me, because I went there several years back and it didn’t leave a lasting impression. They were another booth that gave amazing value (I think this was 2 tickets for two generous scoops). I chose red velvet and blood orange.

The blood orange is on the right. Very red motif.

The blood orange was delightfully sweet and tangy, and the red velvet flavor was rich and creamy. The white base gelato had an almost cheesecake-y quality, which is funny because I don’t usually go for cheesecake. But I was all over this!

I was also very intrigued by this artist. I’m not exactly sure what his style was– maybe plein air?– but he was kinda chopping colors on top of each other. When I first saw it he’d already created the background and was chopping in a few people, and every time I walked by he’d chopped more people and details on top of that. (I know, this is all very technical.)

Capturing the festivities.

It makes sense because Barnsdall is an “art park.” (They have all sorts of cool offerings, from a Frank Lloyd Wright house to wine tastings to art classes.)

And of course, I can’t pass up a chance to blog about macarons (from Les Macarons Duverger)!

Yay macarons!

Those were praline, lavender and coffee. The lavender was surprisingly fruity, and better than I expected. (I tried a rose water flavored macaron the other night and threw it away… I know, shocking.) (Hopefully I’ll blog pictures of THAT later.)

Here’s a shot of the lavender filling:

Looks very berry-ish.

Hope you enjoyed that peek of the Taste of the Eastside. I highly recommend that you attend next year, if you live in the area. There were all sorts of treats I didn’t show– oysters, polenta, ratatouille, short-ribs, cupcakes, pho tacos, breakfast-y foods, and more! (And drinks!) (And a confusing recycling vs. landfill trash system!) (And a DJ!)

There were also people doing crazy handstands-on-top-of-each-other yoga on a nearby lawn. Mocking our gluttony with their… flexibility.

At any rate, make sure to check out the Eastside in your LA adventurings. Maybe I’m biased, but I think it’s an awesome place to eat.

(And now you only have 10 months until the next one. See… that’s the beauty of my procrastination. I should have waited even longer.)

xoxo…

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Food words.

Okay, now I actually live in Los Feliz. The big move happened on Thursday. Yesterday I walked to the grocery store. And walked to dinner. Living the dream. (Good thing I’m walking, because I’ve been slacking in the gym-going department.)

Thanks to a no-satellite policy, I switched from DirecTV to AT&T U-Verse. For the first time, my TV is connected to the internet. Which means… On Demand! This morning I watched some crazy Ashwarya Rai/Dylan McDermott/Padma Lakshmi (right?!) movie via HBO On Demand, followed by the episode of “Sex and the City” where Harry finally proposes (it happened to be one of the 5 on there). And then my On Demand said it wasn’t available right now, which was probably for the best. (But also annoying.)

(Yesterday I didn’t have TV or internet for the first half of the day, and I found myself READING. Crazy. Between Jhumpa Lahiri and Ashwarya Rai, it has been a very Indian weekend so far.)

Um, anyway. The picture at the top is of my new refrigerator. I’ve had those cooking themed magnetic poetry words since junior year of college. At each apartment I put up the words and wait for people to rearrange them. Usually what I get is such literary masterpieces as “Smell my saucy bacon,” or, “Pickled wiener delight cream.” (I linked it to the really big size, so if you click the picture you can see all the words… give me some suggestions for sentences!)

Last night Sam and I walked to a very nearby Chinese restaurant, called The Palace. I didn’t take pictures, but it reminded me of those awesome kitschy-yet-earnest Chinese restaurants that I used to eat at when I was a kid. Chinese decorations, maitre d’ in a tuxedo– there was even a woman in traditional dress, playing a zither (or maybe not a zither… I don’t really know a lot about Chinese instruments).

I had sizzling rice soup–I haven’t had it in forever. I always thought that the rice was sizzling hot, but it actually sizzles because it’s fried. The more you know! I think the best part was the steamed chicken dumplings. One order was at least 6 dumplings (maybe 8?), and they were triangle-shaped! Like a three-cornered hat. And something about the spicing made them SO delicious. We also had chow mein and broccoli & beef, but I think the soup and dumplings were my favorite.

And I must mention our waiter, Nick. He told us that he was new and I could tell that he was nervous, but he was so attentive and good-natured– I wished that I was a fancy lady who could surprise him with a really big tip. Like, $100. But then I realized I’d probably have to keep that up or I’d seem like I was holding out. Big tippers must just pass through towns, giving $100 tips and disappearing, never to be seen again.

If I get the dumplings as take-out in the near future, I’ll grab a picture. They’re like dumpling hamentaschen!

xoxo…

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Keeping it simple.

As I think I’ve established, I’m a mite bit obsessed with New York style, thin crust pizza.

So the other night I ventured with a group of friends to Two Boots in Echo Park, which has many locations in NYC and a scant few elsewhere.

Turns out “two boots” is referring to the boot shaped geography of Italy and Louisiana (several of the pizzas involve shrimp/crayfish, and there is a giant crayfish statue outside the restaurant) (previously, I thought it was just street art).

I was intrigued by the Earth Mother (veggie), but it was on a Sicilian crust and I was going for THIN CRUST, dammit. So I went with a flavor called “Mild Margarita,” which is not on the menu I’m looking at online. So… apparently I got a magical unicorn flavor. Sweet.

Two Boots didn’t have all the flavors on the online menu available for slices at the restaurant, so I think it all shakes out. They’re mostly named after celebrities/characters: The Dude, The Newman (from Seinfeld), the Tony Clifton, etc.

One thing that I found interesting/odd… the crust was made of cornmeal. Usually it’s made of flour, yes?

Two Boots was good and I’m sure I’ll be back, but I don’t know if it beats Mulberry Street. in my book. (I’ve heard they ship in their water from New York!) (New location in Sherman Oaks! Now I can get my pizza without having to go deep into the evil heart of Beverly Hills.) (Instead I will go to the Valley… I’m a cool cat, all the way.)

As long as I’m talking about pizza, here are a few I neglected to blog in the past…

NY pizza in K-Town.

I found King of New York Pizzeria on Yelp. Cole lives in that ‘hood, so we walked through Koreatown in search of a taste of New York.

The problem with buying slices is that you are at the mercy of whatever is available when you walk in. I’m not a fan of white sauce on my pizza, and unfortunately KONY had a lot of that on tap on the night I was there. But I was very happy with my slice of chicken parmigiana pizza.

And I got a fancy-dancy bottle of gingerale.

Sweaty.

I’m moving a little farther from KONY (and Cole is moving a LOT farther), so I don’t know when I’ll be back. But I enjoyed it.

And while we’re at it, here are some pizza pictures from my trip to Philadelphia… so it’s real East Coast pizza. Made in a pizza oven and everything. Close enough. (We went to SOHO Pizza… a walk away from Independence Hall/The Liberty Bell.) (We were originally planning on going into NYC, but the blizzards crazied up our plans.)

SoHo, in Philly.

We had regular mushroom…

I'm hungry now.

And fancy mushroom…

I don't know... shitaake?

Ugh, I’m so jealous that it’s noon in NY right now and people are picking up slices at hole-in-the-walls.

So yeah– crust, sauce, toppings… there are so many variations, and so many ways that pizza can be very very delicious. (I’m going to have to hit up Mulberry again… can’t believe I’ve never blogged it.) (The things I do for you!)

Please tell me about any pizza places I ought to try, in LA and otherwise. (And in any style.)

xoxo…

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All aboard.

I love love love that the ketchup container in that picture has a mustard top. I’m referring to it as “gender confused.” Because ketchup and mustard are the genders of condiments? Not a solid theory, but whatever. (Maybe they’re more like religions. Like he was raised Ketchup, but his mom is a Mustard.)

(I think Ketchup might be my religion.) (Anyway…)

A week or two ago, Mr. Tea and I Snack Trekked over to Carney’s, because they bill their hot dogs & hamburgers as “probably the best… in the world.” (Right away, the “probably” raises some suspicion– they’re dubious about their own assessment.) As the daughter of New Yorkers, I take these kinds of claims seriously. (And I do not abide by boiled hot dogs. You must grill.)

Just to set up the ambiance, Carney’s is located in what appears to be an old train car, but on the inside feels like eating in a deserted NYC subway car that happens to have tables and chairs instead of subway seats. Very, uh… pedestrian. No pun intended. (Sorta.) (And why didn’t Subway use this gimmick?!)

I didn’t really do my homework at Carney’s. I didn’t take time to notice whether the hot dogs were boiled or not, or even whether they were kosher beef. (I couldn’t really draw any conclusions based on taste.) I got the New Yorker (sauerkraut & mustard), and added relish (and ketchup… we’re getting there).

Guess what? They were not the best. They were probably better than Pink’s (but honestly… what isn’t?) But probably not better than the Boar’s Head hot dogs that my family broils (that’s BROILS, not BOILS) in the oven. (I think we buy the skinless and/or “lite” ones.)

And something smelled really weird about my Carney’s hot dog. I think it was the sauerkraut. I usually love sauerkraut (and we just buy good ol’ Claussen’s from the grocery store– nothing fancy). So that was kind of disappointing. (I added ketchup partly to counter the funk.)

I took a picture of my be-ketchup’d hot dog because I knew that it would incense my mother.

Take THAT!

For pretty much my entire life (but seemingly more often lately), she has INSISTED that ketchup has no place on a hot dog, and that ketchup on hot dogs is just something the kids are doing because we don’t know how to do anything. (Which may also be true, but hey.)

She has insisted that this must be a generational thing, a regional thing (she’s from NY/NJ, I’m from Southern California), a taste thing, etc. And I’m just like, whatever. I like ketchup. It’s the universal condiment.

I felt a little (maybe a lot) vindicated when I was watching the penultimate episode of “Top Chef All-Stars” last week, and Richard Blais got the hot dog challenge as his Quickfire. He specifically made a special ketchup to go with his hot dog creation, stating, “We all associate ketchup with hot dogs.”

Ya hear that, Mom? BURN! (Because one reality show contestant said it, it must be true. Solid logic.)

But then I was listening to Off-Ramp on KPCC, and they had a segment where Eat-LA talked about the best hot dogs in Los Angeles (click the link and you can listen to the whole thing). When they reminisced about Ball Park Franks, one of the guys said that for an authentic experience, you have to eat the frank with mustard only. They didn’t carry ketchup on the carts, he said, “for whatever reason.”

So I hit the Google to try to figure out what that “whatever reason” might be. And I found that my mom is definitely not alone is this no-ketchup-on-hot-dogs business. The Straight Dope claims that ketchup smothers the flavor– but then again, they argue that mustard can do the same. Like my mom, Amazing Ribs says that it’s okay for kids to add ketchup, but not adults.

For the umpteenth time, I recommend Malcolm Gladwell’s amazing article about ketchup in America (“The Ketchup Conundrum”), and how Heinz is king. (I don’t think Carney’s ketchup is Heinz, btw. It’s a little off.) (And I’m not just saying that because it had a mustard cap.)

There definitely seems to be a Chicago/East Coast element to this argument, and that makes sense given their general food superiority (complex?). (I mean, I get where they’re coming from… California puts pineapple on pizza.) But so far I haven’t 100% cracked the mystery. The answer as to why vendors didn’t carry ketchup is probably something simple, like mustard doesn’t spoil as quickly. Or ketchup wasn’t as popular back then. Who knows.

Obviously, I’m team ketchup. Ketchup runs through my veins, and ketchup is OBVIOUSLY thicker than water. Thicker than blood, even. (Thick as thieves!)

Mr. Tea is also Team Ketchup (good man), and went so far as to threaten my mother to a (totally non-serious) duel for my (ketchup’s?) honor. Full-on dueling language was employed. Fisticuffs are up! Gloves are off!

Give me Ketchup or give me death!

That totally makes me think of this amazing Drunk History retelling of the Hamilton vs. Burr duel. (That’s a must watch. MUST.) (Very funny.)

But Mr. Tea’s also a big Clint Eastwood fan, so I’m a little bit worried about where he’ll stand after he sees this…

I think Dirty Harry just made my mom’s day. (Get it?)

Maybe it’s a generational thing, after all. Or maybe it’s just a cool factor? Like, it’s lame to add ketchup?

Well, if ketchup is wrong I don’t wanna be right!

What’s your take? Do you have any intel? (I’m looking at you, Thomas! Do your Wikipedia magic.) (Or everybody just go read that article, which does not discriminate against ketchup… Midwesterners prefer it!) (Er… great.)

(I’m also looking at you, Malcolm Gladwell! If you’re reading this…) (Probably not.) I think there must be a deeper and more specific historical reason that ketchup is so reviled in some hot dog traditions, but I hit the wall of lazy/should probably just post this already.

Until next time… (And let’s get excited not only about the “Top Chef All-Stars” finale but also about the premiere of “Top Chef Masters”!!!)

xoxo…

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The pretzel that broke $100.

I cannot in good conscience post the pictures of my family’s homemade soft pretzels (from last Sunday) before I post the pictures of the soft pretzels I encountered in Philadelphia (in DECEMBER).

Basically I imagined that I would walk right up to the window of a PRETZEL FACTORY (made of brick and smokestacks) (creepy? Dickensian?) and order a pretzel right off the coals. But all the pretzels I bought were (seemingly) from a third party, and most were a little cold/old. But… that’s the ropes! I didn’t get off my ass and FIND a pretzel factory.

The first place I bought a pretzel was from some little bakery-type place at the Reading Terminal Market. (I can’t remember which one, but it wasn’t particularly remarkable… they didn’t seem to be baking anything on the premises.) The exciting part was that they let me break a $100 bill (I’m a big cheese) on a 50 cent pretzel (because they were cash-only). WORTH IT.

Apparently Miller’s Twist has great, fresh pretzels. However, their pretzels looked kinda greasy/oily, and also large. Normally that wouldn’t matter, but we’d just consumed cheesesteaks (I STILL feel strangely ill/food coma-y when I think back on those cheesesteaks). Therefore, the smaller, colder pretzel at the cash-only place was fine.

But of course I took a creeper picture of Miller’s Twist, because AMISH GIRLS were hand-rolling the pretzels.

Whoops! Stole your soul in a photo.

The second soft pretzel (er, pretzel bites) was consumed at The Continental Mid-Town. Sam’s parents took us there because it’s a Stephen Starr restaurant. And we must seem cool enough to take to a hip restaurant! Score.

Everything at The Continental was tapas-y and bite-sized.

My little dumpling.

For dessert, I got the upscale take on pretzels & beer: Soft pretzels with caramel dipping sauce, and Guinness ice cream.

Book of world records.

Once again cold pretzels, but with caramel sauce and Guinness ice cream on either side of them– hard to really care. I was happy.

The morning before we left, we walked to the closest pretzel shop (A Taste of Philly in Chestnut Hill) to give the hope of warm pretzels one more go.

I really enjoyed walking through the neighborhood, which was still under a blanket of snow. The small-town vibe was so charming. I felt like I was in a movie! (East Coasters, feel free to roll your eyes.)

I liked the pretzel decor in the windows…

Walkin' in a winter soft pretzel wonderland.

Have I mentioned the shape of the pretzels in Philly? It’s definitely distinct from anything I’ve ever seen on the West Coast. In fact, the pretzel decals on the windows in the background of this picture are what I’m used to seeing.

Mine! All mine!

But I think the shape comes from the way they bake the pretzels in bulk (at the PRETZEL FACTORIES!), based on pictures I’ve seen. (Miller’s Twist is the exception, but they were hand-rolling, them, so…)

Ha HA! There IS a factory!

I don’t know if I believe in the PRETZEL FACTORY anymore, but apparently it exists. Apparently. (The closest thing I’ve seen to a pretzel factory is my family cooking them up, but that post will come later.)

In conclusion– If you want a warm pretzel in Philly and can’t find the FACTORY (smokestacks!), carry a little microwave or heating unit. (Or… go with the Amish.)

So I’m still on a trek for the best hot pretzels in Philly (apparently I have to wake up earlier in the morning, too– bakeries are overnight operations), but that’s fine. One of the many reasons to go back again. (It’s a cool place!)

xoxo…

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Snowball made of snow!

You guys! I’m back from Philadelphia. And I’m violating my no-pictures-of-myself rule because I like this one a lot. Thanks to a series of small miracles (seriously– I don’t know how I pulled this off without having to sleep in an airport), I didn’t have to make a snowball of my own tears. Instead, I got a snowball of JOY.

Luck was on my side, but lucky breaks are generally paired with really hard work. My Philadelphia hosts made heroic attempts to get me out there and ultimately found the golden ticket that got me through. And when I finally arrived in the wee hours of the morning, they gave me lots and lots of food– short ribs, lasagna, chocolate… and that was just the first hour. (I’m eating my Trader Joe’s fair trade Swiss dark chocolate right now.)

But it’s nice to know that if I didn’t make it, my family would have given me a Philadelphia experience. Today they MADE these soft pretzels from scratch.  I missed it, but I’ve been promised a repeat performance the next time I’m home.

I want to go to there.

I don’t know how I managed to surround myself with great cooks and lovers-of-food, but it pleases me muchly.

This was a make or break year for the Binge… a few months ago I was not really keeping it up. But somehow things turned around, and the Binge not only lived, but thrived. (And by “thrived” I mean… you’re reading it. Thanks.) It just goes to show… you never know.

I don’t know what the future holds for any person or thing or blog, but this year things seemed to turn out for the best. So I hope next year follows suit, whatever that looks like.

Here’s to another year of great food & TV, writings & ramblings, and hopefully more travel-y snack treks… but less airport snafus.

And here’s to all the people who make it happen and make it fun. Because I would not be trekking without partners-in-crime. And I would not ever SEE or even KNOW some of you if it weren’t for our desire to go out and eat. Special shout-out to Lauren today– thanks to her connections I got a New Year’s dress on the quick and on the (relatively) cheap.

See you next year! (Tomorrow.)

As the Beatles say, “Love love love…”

xoxo…

The same, but different.

I eat a lot of ketchup. Like, a LOT of ketchup. In my high school yearbook staff picture, I am posing with a ketchup bottle. If you are my Facebook friend or found me through FoodBuzz, you’ve probably already seen this “about me” quote:

“The classic struggle of man versus ketchup!” -Reno 911

(It came from TV. Of course.)

As a result, I am somewhat of a ketchup savant. My ketchup of choice is Heinz. I can taste a ketchup and KNOW if it’s not Heinz. Like, at those weird diners where the ketchup is served in generic bottles. And I remember thinking that ketchup in Europe didn’t taste sweet enough.

There is a famous restaurant in LA called Umami Burger. People go NUTS over their burgers. For some reason, it makes me sick. Like, stomach revolt. (My co-worker says it’s the Korean spices?) But the reason I bring up Umami is that they make their own gourmet ketchup. I was so excited to try it, but my main impression was that it tasted kinda fishy, or vinegary.

And I have tried organic ketchup before, and wasn’t a fan. (It’s a different shade of red. A freaky shade.)

My industrial-sized bottle of ketchup finally ran out, so I headed to Von’s for a replacement. I noticed that Heinz had a new offering on the shelf: Simply Ketchup. Intrigued, I compared the ingredients in Simply Ketchup to the ingredients in regular ol’ Heinz. Can you spot the difference?

Simply Heinz:

Took this in my kitchen. So you can see which one I chose. Spoiler alert.

Regular Heinz:

Took this at work. Spoiler alert: Kitchen table.

Here’s a hint: Simply Heinz doesn’t use corn syrup.

Until recently, I wasn’t aware that corn syrup is basically an American problem, introduced in the 1980s-ish because… cheapness. Big Corn. Whatever. It’s making people fat. And it’s why nothing tasted sweet enough, in Europe. (Except gelato in Italy. That was perfect. And chocolates in… everywhere. American chocolate is waxy.)

So I got on my righteous high-horse and bought Simply Ketchup. I took it home and poured some over my Baked Ruffles. (One of my favorite snacks. Don’t judge!) You can probably guess what happened next.

The ketchup didn’t taste right! It tasted like… vinegar, I guess. It kind of stung my tongue. (That’s a fun phrase to say out loud.)

The corn syrup is what makes the ketchup sweet. Without it, it’s… you know, savory or something. Maybe it’s umami, in the tastebud sense.

I am going to try to get on the Simply Heinz bandwagon. Because… I don’t want corn syrup to rule my life, dammit! This is how ketchup is SUPPOSED to taste. This is how Don Draper’s ketchup tasted. This is authentic, old-fashioned, pre-corn syrup ketchup. (I think?)

But it’s good to know that there’s still Normal Ketchup in the office kitchen. And… everywhere else, for that matter.

xoxo…

We're all very confused.

Unless you have been stranded on a mystical, time-hopping island in the middle of the South Pacific, you probably know that “Lost” is on tonight. And if you’re on the East Coast, you’re probably watching it right now.

Truth be told, I have never seen an episode of “Lost” before. But I’m going to my friend’s “Lost” party tonight (free pizza and Dharma beer– he made really pro labels!) and didn’t want to be the stupidest noob around, so I watched a few online recaps (here’s that big-Italian-family one) and dove into the Lost Wiki. Did you know that The Others have a book club? That’s pretty hilarious. Maybe I’ll have to go back and watch this show, after all.

And I’ve been told that I’m not allowed to talk while the episode is airing. Or I’ll get voted off the island. (Wrong show? Wrong show.)

xoxo…

The odd couple.

I started watching “Party Down” because one of my friends who has Starz and shares my love of all things Paul Rudd-related (see the RANDOM COOL FACT) said, “You have to watch this show.” (So far in the Ketchup/Catch Up posts, Paul Rudd is 2-2. Is he a part of everything cool?) (Let’s get Paul Rudd on “30 Rock!”)

Also, I started watching because Ken Marino is in it. I am not a hardcore Ken Marino fan (nor have I seen him in anything hardcore, lest you confuse my meaning… on second thought, see #3), but I did see THE TEN (“It’s just a goof!”) and I watched the second season of “Reaper” just to see the Ken Marino/Michael Ian Black cameos. So… I guess you could say I’m regular-core Ken Marino fan. (I haven’t seen any of “The State” series yet… forgive me. Maybe it will be a future Aftertaste.)

But you’re not here to talk about “The State.” You’re here for the party: “Party Down.” Season one has aired and season two is in the pipeline (as far as I know). There are 10 episodes in season one and it’s a half-hour comedy, so you’ll be caught up in no time! (My ulterior motive in creating this site is that I want people to talk about these shows with me! Or at least quote the hilarious lines with me.)

PREMISE: Several out-of-work actors waiting for fame and fortune work as cater-waiters at various parties, under the supervision of recovering addict (maybe he was an actor, too? I can’t recall) Ron (Ken Marino), whose dream in life is to open a Souper Crackers franchise (think Souplantation). In the pilot, Ron’s old co-worker Henry (Adam Scott) quits acting and returns to the Party Down catering company as a bartender. (He garnered fame as the spokesperson for a popular beer ad, but it ruined his acting career.)

Other employees include snide/nerdy wannabe screenwriter Roman (Martin Starr), aspiring comic actress Casey (Lizzy Caplan), dude-bro actor Kyle (Ryan Hansen), and oddball “seasoned” actress Constance (Jane Lynch). Each episode takes place during one of the parties they cater.

7 REASONS TO WATCH

1) If you have ever been an aspiring writer/director/actor in Hollywood, and/or worked in catering, and/or had a strange or somewhat incompetent boss, you will enjoy this show. (All of the above are yeses for me.)

2) The cast is fantastic. Come on, anything with Jane Lynch is a must-see. Not to mention the cameos: Jennifer Coolidge, Ken Jeong (yeah, the guy who popped out of the trunk in THE HANGOVER), Kristen Bell (tons of people from “Veronica Mars” are on it, since Rob Thomas created both series), Steven Weber, Marilu Henner, Rick Fox, Ed Begley, Jr… the list goes on and on.

3) The hijinx. In the episode where they cater a Conservative College Caucus (ha), an attempt to pass off a script leads to an accidental flag-burning. Ron is tapped to try out for a porno AT at porn industry party, and has probably the most awkward audition in history. I could tell you more, but then I’d spoil everything for you.

4) “Are we having fun yet?” It’s the beer commercial catchphrase that tortures Henry, and people always bring it up at the most soul-crushing moments (with the exception of the mafia party, where it gets him out of a pinch). I try to use it to tap the irony of the show all of the time, but people think I’m just being a gung-ho grandparent about things.

5) Jane Lynch’s “never give up” story. I could preface it with some sparkling words, but it’s really better if you watch it. (That is true of THE WHOLE SHOW.) Come to think of it, everything Constance says is hilarious.

6) The parties (they’re also the episode titles). A sampling: Pepper McMasters Singles Seminar. Sin Say Shun Awards After Party. Taylor Stiltskin Sweet Sixteen (her dad is a bastard producer and her cool friends don’t show, amongst other disasters). Celebrate Ricky Sargulesh (he’s the mafia guy). James Rolf High School Twentieth Reunion (turns out that it’s RON’S reunion, and he desperately wants to prove that his life is on track).

7) Ron’s freak-outs. He tries to hold it together, but sometimes he falls off the wagon (or worse). At one point Henry pulls Ron out of the dumps by giving him this deep spiritual mantra: “Don’t stop believing.” (That’s right. Journey.)

RANDOM COOL FACT: Paul Rudd is one of the writer/producers. (And Fred Savage is a director/producer.)

ALL RIGHT, I don’t know if I did enough to sell this show, but I implore you to check it out. “Are we having fun yet?” No, because you haven’t watched “Party Down” yet.

xoxo…

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