Category Archives: Terrible Things People Eat

Eat Your Way Around the Indy 500 (via Indianapolis Monthly)

69,492 points

.

Indianapolis Monthly — Fun fact: In addition to hosting the Largest One-Day Sporting Event in the World, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway holds the Largest One-Day Volume of Chicken Tenders Put in the Mouths of 300,000 Humans. There are untold regions from which to obtain chicken tenders here: There are tents devoted to them, and concession counters flush with them. I’m pretty sure you can get some from Letterman’s luxury box. Today, on Fast Friday, I am simply sitting in Pagoda Plaza in the midst of a chicken-tender Fantasyland that would paralyze my children with joy.

But I am here in search of OTHER FOODS, the non-vaguely identified poultry parts that make up the culinary options at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. To do so, I wandered the Pagoda Plaza and drifted down Georgetown Road like a creeper, circumventing the entire outside of the oval and doing my due journalistic diligence while pre-emptively working off turkey legs (HA. Just kidding; to do so I’d need to walk 3,499 more laps). Sure, IMS houses plenty of traditional concessions—your tenders-on-a-bed-of-waffle-fries ($10), your burger-esque objects ($10), and your Indy Dogs ($5), which are like regular hot dogs, except made of pollen. But my assignment was to wander a bit off the track (SEE WHAT I DID THERE) and see what I could find.

The main takeaway: Everything is very healthy.

.

.

.

Advertisements

The Selfie Bunny is Here to Basically End Easter Forever (The Loop / Golf Digest)

The Loop / Golf Digest — Meet the Selfie Bunny,  a precious blue-eyed demogorgon who is wearing a umpire’s pink chest protector and snapping a snappy snap that says, “You thought you had issues before, The Pope?” It’s a festive holiday snackable that is sweet and vaguely blasphemous and easily the most 2018 way to celebrate Easter, unless they make a chocolate porn star who sues the actual president, which is actually not a bad idea, patent pending, you vultures. And it’s available at — well, I’m not really sure where it’s available, but I’m guessing Dollar Tree is a solid bet.

Say hi to your newest enemy.

.
.

12 Easy Ways to Maintain Your Majestic Dad Dad Bod All Summer Long (via The Loop / Golf Digest)

Goals.

.

The Loop / Golf Digest — That visible blob around your midsection isn’t going to keep itself there all summer, dads of America. Here are a few tips for making sure you reach the end of summer without succumbing to any of that exercise you planned at the beginning of it:

• Black coffee contains zero calories, so limit yourself to syrupy beverages. You may be tempted to at least add sugar to your black coffee, but that only gets your hafway there. Make sure to order only drinks that feature caramelly drizzles or, if possible, come topped with burst of whipped cream the size of a hockey puck.

.

.

.


Tastes Like Burning: The Never-Ending Quest to Breed and Consume the World’s Hottest Pepper (via GQ)

gq-reaper-chip-cemetery-mcfadden

.

GQ — Late last year, the former guitarist for Guns N’ Roses propped up his camera phone, pressed the record button, produced a cherry-red coffin-shaped box and put its contents directly in his mouth.

The box contained a tortilla chip—one single chip—made from the dust of the Carolina Reaper, the hottest pepper on Earth, designed solely to obliterate the senses.  In the video, the guitarist, Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal, places the shard of fire on his tongue as his wife of 27 years, Jen, does the same. Incredibly, Jen smiles. Bumblefoot, meanwhile, looks like somebody hit self-destruct on his face.

“If you like pain, you’re gonna like this,” he says, through breaths that grow increasingly panting. “It’s still burning. I’m feeling kind of sweaty.” He grimaces, forces some smiles, the fire inching back up his throat. A few minutes in, he absently brushes his right eye, which, because his immune system works, immediately swells shut. “I no longer have use of my eye,” he says, half-laughing through tears and mucus. Jen, next to him, continues to seem totally fine. A guy who spent eight years with Axl Rose as his boss is getting slaughtered by a tortilla chip while his wife is like, eh, whatever.

This episode goes on for six minutes. Bumblefoot excuses himself to flush his eye with water—which obviously doesn’t work—until the fire finally dies down enough for the couple to record an outro. “Paqui chips,” he says, sweating and one-eyed, “Thank you very much for destroying my life for the next half-hour.”

The full story at GQ.com.

.

.

.


The Five-Second Rule Is Still a Bunch of Hot Garbage (via GQ)

5-second-rule

.

GQ — Scientists can rip atoms to pieces, make spaceships buzz past Saturn, and create perfect copies of other animals, so we should probably believe them when they confirm—again—that when you drop food on the floor, your food becomes gross right away. Not after a honeymoon phase. Not after a consultation.

The five-second rule is childhood fantasy: a wishful assumption that if you drop a Jolly Rancher on the floor, the germs, bacteria and vermin on the ground will pause and hold a committee meeting before deciding whether to attach themselves physically to the candy’s adhesive surface. According to Rutgers researchers, who spent apparently two years knocking over fruit, bacteria transfers on contact just as soon as food hits the floor—which, conveniently enough, mirrors how science works in the rest of the universe!

.
.
.

What Is Pea Milk and Should You Be Drinking It? (via GQ)

Pea-Milk-2

.

GQ — Alright, let’s get this out of the way: If you can say the phrase, “I’m about to drink a nice glass of pea milk” out loud without dissolving into hysterics, you have never been to seventh grade and I feel sorry for you.

And yet we need milk alternatives because cows are over and everybody hates them now. No one drinks milk anymore; we’ve all turned to an uproariously diverse buffet of beverages that includes, but is not limited to, almond milk, coconut milk, macadamia milk and hemp milk (yes it’s real, and no it doesn’t). The newest—and pretty much only—entrant into the white-hot alternative milk game is Ripple, a yellow split pea-based concoction that has already made the industry sit up, take notice, giggle at the name, and then say, “Eh, sure, why not.”

Here’s what this stuff tastes like.

.

.

.

 

Science Says Cheese is Basically Cocaine (via GQ)

cheesebrain

.

GQ — You know how it is: You’re bored at some fancypants dinner party, so you meander over to the snack table and think, “Cool, they have cheese,” and then, “Whoa, that cheese is tasty, I should have another few blocks,” and then 10 minutes later you’re smearing cheese all over your nose and jumping over coffee tables while shouting about how you’re the god of thunder? Well FINALLY science has taken a break from proving Earth’s spherical shape to B.o.B to afford us an explanation: Turns out cheese triggers the same excitable brain-parts as some of your favorite hard drugs! So the opposite is probably also theoretically true, which will help explain if you’ve ever been like, “This meth is good, but what I’d really love is some lasagna.”

The full sharp revelation over at GQ.com.

.

.

.


Snacks of the Damned: Half the Foods on This Terrifying List Are Real (via GQ)

Food_quiz_tout-v2

The one on the left we made up. Everything else is fair game.

.

GQ — So, a New York bar has created a gourmet pizza that’s topped with Cheetos; it’s a fancy blend of cavatappi pasta, Béchamel sauce, a “signature cheese blend,” and the number-one reason your video-game controllers no longer work. It looks, well, delicious—let’s not be elitists about it. But it was hardly 2015’s only curious kitchen mash-up. We’re not sure what’s up with this game of culinary one-upmanship being waged by basically every restaurant that the Omnivore’s Dilemma buzzkill might have whined about, but a lot of the results make Cheetos pizza look like an organic-kale quesadilla wrapped in Volt brochures by comparison. See if you can tell the real food-flavored objects here from the very, very fake.

.

.

.

 

%d bloggers like this: