Related: I don’t want to think about Big Sausage.

I mean, go to the source.

Right???

Hacking the hacking story. 

Best non-root beer float I ever had: Vanilla ice cream float with Cigar City Maduro Brown Ale. Bought it at Busch Gardens in Tampa at an out-of-the-way kiosk three years ago during their food and wine festival. (I KNOW, RIGHT?!?!)

How do you stock up?

Perhaps the greatest legacy of the AFJ — beyond the standard it set for food writing and reporting, restaurant review ethics and cultural exploration of foodways — will be Foodspell.

Here’s a recipe I use from Bernard Clayton’s book:

Gotta put in a good word for my very close, personal friend, french toast made with Cuban bread. Not as bland as baguette, not as fall-aparty as brioche.

SWEET JESUS CHRISTO ZUCCHINI, that sounds like a bad idea.

Now conveniently snortable.

My family had a bar in Baltimore. Back in the day, an uncle celebrated my cousin’s birthday by hiring a pony to ride around the bar.

I’ve had a tobacco-infused spirit. Unfortunately, it was pretty bitter.

1. You know somebody who needs a judge.

Years ago during the re-emergence of the craft cocktail scene, everyone was trying to figure out how to smoke a cocktail properly.

This is absolutely a predatory thing that they do. Or they buy a two-line ad under your listing that makes it look like you’re working with the delivery assholes, whether you are or not.

My favorite part of the film: When he is mystified by the intimidating series of ominous thumps, during both daytime and nighttime, to the point where he pops up into frame, like a petrified groundhog to scream, “WHAT IS THAT?!?!?” (Tom Hanks Screaming is the equivalent of Tom Cruise Running, btw.)

I’ve long been a fan of Inambic pantameter.

Lobster ice cream. Kraft Mac & Cheese breakfast. A swimmer breast-stroking the pool with milk on her head.

Advice is about the worst thing you can give someone.