Foodie MacFoodface

There are a couple things the United States of America can shamelessly offer to the world, and no, it’s not regime change and tax evasion. I’m talking turkey and Thanksgiving. En repos Back in the early days of the separatist American enclave, a band of fresh-off-the-boat religious zealots invited over their brown neighbors to toast a wondrous harvest. Corn, turkey, cranberries, and other assorted goodies were passed around in thanks, and a foundation myth was born. Pesky facts are irritatingly truculent, and it seems the record contradicts almost every alleged component of that first Thanksgiving dinner . They probably ate deer (not turkey), the natives were likely crashing the party, and the mythical Indian leader, Squanto, rather than being the heart of the party, was actually a former slave of the English who had lost his entire people to small pox. It’s entirely unclear what he would have had to be thankful about. But why sully a good story? Fast forward almost

Ah! I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking butternut, and make soup. That shit is going to taste so seasonal. I’m about to head out to the store right now to find that mutant squash fucker, peel and de-seed it, toss it in olive oil, and roast it just right. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my roasted butternut soup, assholes. Guess what season it is — fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of tasty fucking squash soup. They set the clocks back this weekend past, and Thanksgiving is in sight. The summer garden is all but dead, and my toes are creaking at the prospect of frost. It's Roasted Butternut Soup season, mofos. I'm from the nether-regions of the African continent, where butternut squash grows with abandon and every restaurant and household hoards a secret recipe for the sacred soup. At the intersection of the prevailing westerlies and trade winds, the vernacular cuisine of my h