GAZPACHO SALSA

Take a package of cream cheese, soften it
in the microwave, and add 4 cloves of minced garlic (yes, that much), 1
bunch of chopped fresh parsley, one can of minced clams (I like Snow's),
a little clam juice from the can (not too much, should be thick), and
salt and ground pepper to taste (lots of pepper). Let it sit…

Pork shoulder. 

Remove from oven, let rest for 20 minutes, and then use a fork to pull the meat.

For reasons too complex to get into here, thank God, the Emerald Isle
figured out a way to split the difference, using gigantic pot stills (as
a rule of thumb, the bigger the still, the lighter the spirit) and
three distillations rather than two to pull off a light yet flavorful
whiskey that can take a fair amount of…

Yes, and I have made "no effort" to convince Holy Mother Church to close
St. Patrick's and open up a fried-dough stand in its place. 

You could sell Folsom State Prison to Blackwater and the Golden Gate
Bridge to the Chinese and California would still be awash in debt.

I once recommended [in a San Francisco Chronicle column] that a
third arm — a plastic arm — be sewn at the base of the spine so that
people could have a tripod to sit on while waiting in line, and it was
taken seriously.

There was no room in the budget for a car payment — inevitably he found
himself finishing out the month on pimento cheese, Wonder bread, and
moonshine brewed in a 150-year-old still rescued from the family
homestead that was awarded to his great-great-great-great-grandfather
for his service in the Revolutionary War,…

Both the men said the same thing, he wasn't dead, you didn't kill him,
fuck'em anyway, shit-eating prick, had a head like a catfish, had a head
like a bastard rat.

And, because I have no idea what this goober is talking about, and
neither does he, apparently, I would like to offer him, in the interest
of bipartisan amity and in the spirit of the season, this lovely photo
of a bunny with a pancake on his head.

The need for Negus only strikes us when we're feeling particularly
Dickensian — Dickensian, that is, in the sense of crackling fires with
plump, eccentric fellows smoking pipes in front of them while dotty old
ladies in lace caps putter around in the background preparing plum duff
(whatever the hell that may be), not…

The Tour de France had somehow turned all of us into Catholics, and
eating that sandwich had become a sacrament for me, the body and the
blood.

Directly in front of his chair is a black-and-white photograph of the
Steak 'n Shake in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois, one of his hometown
hangouts.

Alex Stupak, owner and head chef of Empellon in New York, learned the
gastronomic particulars of smoking under Wylie Dufresne, but he keeps
things simple for his Halloween party with a fantastic pumpkin-seed
salsa, which he has simplified even further for you in the recipe below.

According to the New York Post, coffee chief Howard Schultz has
been skulking about New York City juice bars like Liquiteria and The
Juice Press, sampling juices, rubbing his hands together, and cackling. 

Period pieces often take liberties with historical accuracy, but this is
probably the first cinematic endeavor that depicts Franco's three
decade stranglehold on Spain with psychotic clowns wielding machetes,
throwing acid on their own faces, and kissing hot irons.

The world used to end on a finger of stones curled above the surf or
maybe just beyond, out past the shallows, at the sharp line where the
sky met the sea and both fell away into nothing.

He had sat down in the booth of the old-line coffee shop in L. A., declined the waitress's offer of eggs and coffee, and then unscrewed the top of the sugar jar and eaten heartily, first with a spoon and then, as the jar emptied, simply by tipping it into his mouth.

He says, "Well, wash your friggin' hands. I want a cheese sandwich."