There is a private Slack channel that exists entirely to serve as a gallery of weak-sauce garbage takes culled from the big, bloated hellhole that is NBA basketblogging. All your favorites can be found there: Such-And-Such Good Player is Actually Bad Because Analytics; Sam Hinkie, Tragic Hero; Is Such-And-Such Player…
It’s easy to fall into a summertime pattern of eating tacos and kabobs and barbecue on a three-day rotation, because those are delicious things to eat and they are best eaten in summer. Broadly speaking, this is doing summer right. Enjoy your tacos! Enjoy your kabobs! Enjoy your barbecue, so long as someone else is…
Years later, the kids would sit at a rickety picnic table and agree that there’d been nothing else he’d wanted for himself but to sit in the low folding chair at the edge of the surf and let the surf wash over his feet, until his toes were covered in wet sand and he was asleep, and the sun would burn his ankles and…
I’m sure we can all agree that summer is for grilling. Burgers are good for grilling, as are your various tube-meats. A good steak is delightful. I happen to think, though, that a good pork chop is the happiest, summeriest of the grilled proteins.
Here are some reasons why you might want to root for Kevin Durant to fail. You should feel free to pick from among them, or collect the whole set:
Here is what the Washington Wizards got from their all-out pursuit of Kevin Durant: back in 2014 it got them David Adkins—who coached Durant in high school—as a player development assistant. This is significant because the Wizards have been pretty bad, to put it gently, at developing talent over the past, um, decades,…
Summer—it’s here! It’s really, really here! Officially! The calendar says so!
A lot of incredible, spectacular shit went into Game 7. The balance of all this shit tilted slightly in favor of the Cavs, and that was always going to be the case in any scenario that had the Cavs actually winning—in a strictly player-for-player accounting, they are very clearly less good than the Warriors. In order…
Here’s an axiom that’s maybe only a little bit true: everything “tastes like chicken.” Actually, almost nothing tastes like chicken... including a lot of the chicken you’ve eaten in your life. The taste of chicken is something exceptional when done right.
We have entered the part of the year where it is finally appropriate for everyone to put away winter food—roasts, stews, squash, casseroles—and roll out the grill. It can be frustrating, though, because it’s early enough in the season that a lot of the stuff I like to eat fresh, or cook fast, isn’t really in season…
I often wonder whether the infamous French grouchiness isn’t born of resentment over the fact that the most fertile, bountiful turf in all of the Western world has given them only the third-best cuisine, behind both Spain and Italy. That’s gotta blow. Everything grows in France, and beautifully, and then those damn…
Stuff I regularly use is in bold. Asterisks denote useless garbage.
Nothing will make you appreciate the amazing chew of delicious pasta quite like substituting the sad, overmatched strands of spaghetti squash. Awful.
Some years back, my wife and I moved out of our lovely condo in a pleasant D.C. suburb and into a repurposed garage space in my mom’s little rambler, with the goal of renting out our condo and saving enough money to eventually buy some real land. And it worked! Roughly 18 months of stifling near-misery in a tiny…
A dumb thing to do, here, would be to tell you that the basic goodness of compound butter, its fundamental appeal, is much of anything other than that it is butter. It’s butter! That’s it. Butter good.
I’m inclined, right now, to say the end of Kobe’s career is, in bigger terms, the end of precisely nothing.
It seems like real-deal ramen has become a thing, which is cool. Ramen is great. Here’s an especially cool thing about ramen, though: we all get to say we were down with ramen before it was cool, because we were all slurping down bowls of ramen when it was just about the least cool thing imaginable. Behold!
Living is a choice, every day. I mean, yeah, it’s an involuntary biological process, too, but it’s also a choice. Today I went to the funeral of a man who died young after confronting that choice every day under circumstances that beggar belief.
Authenticity is an interesting thing, where food is concerned. We’ve reached a point, now, where it is possible to strive for authenticity in the construction of a thing while completely missing what is authentic about its origin, its nature.
We do this thing in my house where we arbitrarily shoehorn green things into the family diet, generally in quantities insufficient for any real nutritional purpose. Most often, this takes the form of a small bowl of sad lettuce splashed with cheap balsamic and presented as some sort of pre-dinner hazing ritual: We…
