Season’s Greetings!

tofurkey

This delight is tofurkey, brought to a full thanksgiving dinner.

 

Advertisements

Mac’s Apple Pie: Missouri Moonshine in the Fall

[This is transcribed from an audio recording I made with Merlin, a friend from Missouri]

Me: So, Mac, you have quite a different recipe for Apple Pie than I did, from my mother, growing up, and I wanted you to give us a little education about it.

Mac: Well…Apple Pie means a lot of things to a lot of folks. However, in most cases, you are thinking of a dessert. Where I come from, Apple Pie means one thing and one thing only. Fall.

Me: Fall, like, Autumn?

Mac: Yeah, Like Autumn. You might be questioning why it is called Fall. Because Fall is the time of year that persons of a certain ilk would start…making…what we called Apple Pie.

Me: so you called it Fall of the Year, where you are from? We always called it Autumn, I guess.

Mac; Fall, fall or the year, whatever.

Me: Same as Autumn.

Mac: Yeah, we never used Autumn that terribly much. It was a time when you could smell leaves burning, and the harvests were going on, and things became available.

Me: What kind of things?

Mac: Well, the drink called Apple Pie. Now, when you say, drink…

Me: I said, what kind of things?

Mac: Well, that’s what apple harvests were, and fresh cider is one of the first things that you have to have in order to make it.

Me: Did you use fresh fall apples, or did you actually use the fresh fall cider that other people made?

Mac: You have to use cider.

Me: Did you make Cider sometimes?

Mac: No. There’s just too many apple farms and it’s too easy to get high quality Cider. For next to nothing, really. You could get a gallon of high quality apple cider for, and I mean really good stuff, for, approximately, uh, 2.50? So trying to make cider seemed a tad excessive.

Me: I have no idea how to make cider, but…

Mac: Oh, I know how to make it.

Me: Maybe next time we talk we’ll discuss that.

Mac: Requires a press. The best thing to have is a friend that has a still about.

Me: That’s helpful.

Mac: You had to have 2 quarts of what’s known as the heads.

Me: Heads? Like H-E-A-D-S?

Mac. Yeah; there is two different terms for heads. Now, when you run a still the very first part is also called the head, but you don’t want that, because that has all the impurities and the bad things.

Me: You’re confusing me.

Mac: Ok, there are two varieties of heads; heads are also the first jars that come off the still. After you’ve got rid of the poisons.

Me: You already haven’t gotten me through getting rid of the poisons and what the heads are.

Mac: Well, I guess I take it too simple.

Me: No, yeah, you sort of skipped the kinda critical bit.

Mac: Then we will separate this down for someone that has never touched a still.

Me: That’s what you want to do.

Mac: When you fire up the still, and it first starts coming to temperature, you’re going to have, depending on the size of the still, anything from a pint to a quart of stuff that is undrinkable. That you don’t want.

Me: But what are you putting in the still? All you said was that there was apple cider. Do you put it in straight?

Mac: Well, no. You don’t put the apple cider in the still.

Me: Ok, Ok, let’s backtrack. What do you put in the still?

Mac: You put mash in the still.

Me: What is the mash made of?

Mac: That I am not telling you.

Me: Now come on, hint, anyway.

Mac: Corn mash, sour mash, you know.

Me: So this mash has apple cider as an addition of apple for a flavor, like cinnamon in my mom’s apple pie?

Mac: Now wait, hold onto your shorts, we’ll get to that part. They’re going to know that you want pure white lightning. So what they did was throw the first few quarts pint off, as they called it, off because it’s toxic. That’s what gives you hangovers, headaches, and this causes the rumors of people going blind.

Then, the first two jars, first run, are going to be the strongest, and those are ones you want for making Apple Pie. So you take those two jars and you’ve got two quarts. You’re going to take your apple cider that you got before. You’re going to put that into a large pot. You’re going to heat that up. Now, you do not want to exceed 150 degrees, because if you exceed 150 degrees, because if you exceed 150 degrees when you add the alcohol, you’ll be losing alcohol. You’re going to add to that, once it heats up to around 120, and in that you’re going to dissolve

A cup of honey
• 2 tablespoons of cinnamon oil
• 2 tablespoons of Nutmeg

Stir it until everything is dissolved. Let that cool down to room temperature, and then you add the two quarts of shine that you saved. You stir that, you put it into quart jars, you throw a couple of cinnamon sticks in each jar, then you let that sit for a while.

And it tastes just like drinking a nice Dutch apple pie. The only problem with it is that too much of it and you will be on the floor.

Like, Fall on it.

Me: Gotcha! Thank you!

Mac: You’re welcome.

Mom’s Apple Pie: Life on an Old Oregon Orchard

Portland Oregon, early 1970’s:

My mother was a terrific baker. In Oregon we lived on a new big home on the old, and mostly sold off, homestead but she spent the spring planting the few acres left and the fruit trees were allowed to escape golf-lawn decimation. The rototiller, manned by an increasingly, impossibly deaf old man named Delbert Nodurft, came every year. We may have been his only remaining annual assignment.

We had a lot of very old fruit trees; Gravenstein apples, Newton Pippins, and one very old apple tree that I can’t recall. We also had several sour cherry trees. I love this fruit beyond measure. There was a black cherry, and a Royal Ann, which never bore well. I didn’t care for Royal Anns anyway. We grew raspberries and blueberries too. Blackberries grew wild in the back of the property. There was an ‘Italian Prune’ tree with the nicest plums ever, dusted in blue, very small and succulent. We could never ‘put up’ all of them, although we filled freezer after freezer and rooms with jam. There were pears and a peach that never bore well, and an ancient crab apple that did, although we didn’t do anything with the fruit. It was ‘ornamental’. Not to leave out the nuts. There were ‘filbert’ (hazelnut) trees lining the property, which we ignored, an English walnut tree, and an enormous black walnut tree which we tried to ignore. It may have been the most prolific black walnut in the world.

Mother planted the full acreage. To the east was a corn patch, and to the West, carrots and dill and basil and beans, beans, lettuces, tomatoes of every sort, and Lord remembers what else. I lost touch with it as I entered my violently urban teens. But this story is about her apple pie.
*
My memories of my childhood are shabby. I will have a strikingly clear one, and a year or two of none at all. I was a bullied child, at home and at school, and I guess I just didn’t want to recall that much in the future. But I remember making pies with my mother, and other dishes, in great detail. I suspect that these recollections come from before 1st grade started.

She used the Gravenstein apples, ugly by today’s ‘standards’ but unbelievably tasty. They are a green apple but the green apples in the store bear no resemblance to them at all. I pray that someone is rescuing that heirloom breed. Gravensteins are thin skinned, lumpy in appearance, and as sweet and sour as it is possible to be. Juicy. Some of them had what my mother called ‘watermarks,’ strange translucent streaks near the core that indicated a particularly tasty apple for plain eating. We ate a lot of apple pieces while making pie.

Mom did not peel the apples; the skin was very thin, and in the ‘70’s people believed that the skin held all the vitamins. I wonder what lazy Chef made that one up; anyway, it’s not true, but I don’t mind skin in some dishes.

Several cups of apples were peeled, cored and cut into little triangles. I wasn’t allowed to use a knife, so I peeled and then watched from my tall wooden stool. She set the apples aside and pulled out the cutting board, which was built-in, rare in modern kitchens.

She floured the board well and made the pie dough, carefully instructing me. She cut the butter into fine little pieces with a dinner fork. She frissaged it, a French method she had learned about from Julia Child, before patting the pastry into a little round flat discs which she quickly refrigerated in layers of ‘wax paper.’ She would explain that cold pastry and our mutually cold hands would make the pastry perfect.

She then tossed the apples with sugar, cinnamon, and a few tablespoons of flour, measuring everything by eye, then tossed the mixture until each little piece was totally coated, crunch with sugar and well scented with the cinnamon. I loved snacking on those little pieces of sweet apple.

Then we rolled out the dough, a little roll in one direction, turn and then roll the next a little, and so on, always turning until the bottom of the pan could be over covered more than completely with thick, almost perfectly round crust. We trimmed the edges off and used them to repair any accidental cracks along the rim by wetting our fingers to make a sort of glue. Then this crust went back into the fridge while the top piece was rolled out. She did not roll it in the parchment, only with a little flour on the large wooden board with her ancient wooden rolling pin.

Then she assembled the pies, heaping each pan with apples until it was as high as a haystack. She usually made two at a time and gave one away All of the apple pies I see anymore are flat, which make more sense for pumpkin or chocolate cream. The edges of the top crusts were carefully sealed with a fork, and then decorated with little vents, using a paring knife. The pies would cook for 15 minutes at 375 degrees and about 45 at 300.

*

I know the recipe by heart and I don’t keep it ‘secret’. The problem is that I find that it no longer works, at least in the South where I have spent my adulthood thus far. I’ve adapted her crust, because it seems that even the best butter I can use doesn’t work exactly like the butter she bought from Swenn’s, the local drive-through dairy. I think today’s flour is a little different too.

As for apples I cannot source good ones here. If you’re lucky enough to live someplace with great apples…well, the recipe is above.

For the crust, my mother used a cup of bread flour to a half cup of butter per crust, a pinch of salt, and a tablespoon of ice water. I honestly don’t know exactly how or why this worked.

I now use cold cream instead of water, skip the salt (health reasons) and find I have to add about 1/4 cup of cream to bind the mix. I switched to cream feeling that that much water would be too much and make a tough crust.

As for the apples where I now live, the problem isn’t solely that they lack flavor. After several tries I found that they lack pectin, for some reason. Gravenstein apples gelled in the mix but the ones I can buy now don’t.

I’ve never worked with pectin but when I try again I will, because I’m tired of making expensive, soupy pies. I’ve had the same trouble with today’s blueberries. One day I will research this but my current guess is that this has something to do with shipping qualities. Maybe the pectin was bred out by accident as apples were born to have thick skins and bruise less.

Nonetheless, take this as a warning and be prepared to add a lot of cornstarch if you care to try to make this pie with store bought green apples.

Bon Appétít!

 

7 ways to screw up a Jameson and Soda

Wait, you didn’t think there were any? Think again, especially before you travel.

I lived in Miami for a few years right before and during the ‘Great Recession’, and before the Era of Mixologists began. It may have begun in a few places but no one could afford to go to those places and many of them failed as a result.

I quickly caught on to the fact that I couldn’t get a decent bloody Mary if I wanted one. I’m kinda picky and had to think this out. I decided that I would switch to Jameson and soda when I went out. Simple, top shelf, and generally available. I like to have my J&S in a pint glass…lasts longer, more hydration. Plus, I wanted to find an occasional watering hole, like I was used to in my home town. How could Jameson and soda get screwed up?

Let me count the ways…

1. What is soda?

Fairly near my house was a neat bar that served tapas. It was outside but planted in a wonderful, well planted jungle of vegetation with a fountain that even had turtles in it. The bar had a thatched roof. It was a very pleasant oasis.

It was staffed by an endless flow of attractive young women who inevitably interpreted the word ‘soda’ to mean 7-up. This was so surprisingly common that I started to ask for Soda Water slowly and clarify as much as necessary wherever I went. I often had to turn down a big bottle of San Pellegrino. At that point I would likely be served tap water but I dislike confrontation so I let that go.

2. What is Jameson?

So, a new ‘pizza themed grill and bar’ opened near where I lived. You have to understand that at that in Miami at the time pizza was a staple, being easy and inexpensive to make. These grills were anything but humble looking. Another thing to understand about Miami is that Decor is Everything. This place had a black and white tile floor and all silver furniture. The bar was chrome with silver stools and behind it was an enormous mirror with glass shelves, well spaced, each shelf with a scattered but elegant display of top-shelf liquor.

The bartender, a handsome young man all in black (everyone was always all in black) couldn’t find the Jameson, which was in the middle of the third shelf, which was directly behind his head. Eventually I had to walk behind the bar and point to it.

3. How do we identify this ‘soda’ stuff?

I found an Irish bar, a little more removed from my place but very promising to in appearance. Old wood, The expected Irish type decor. The old wood bar was lined by classic stools and over it were dim glass light bulbs, styled like they were made in Edison’s era. Looked good! Strangely, it was only 2 years old. The owner was said to be Irish but the staff certainly wasn’t.

I’d travel there once in a while on weekends. I was served tonic water instead of soda so many times that I started asking them to taste a little before ruining my Jameson with it. The inevitable explanation was that ‘the guy that does the soda taps’ must have ‘mixed up the lines’.

If you’re wondering, Jameson and tonic is not drinkable. If that’s your drink, I feel sorry for you.

4. Make it pretty!

I went to a conference next door to a fairly nice hotel and thought, why not try the bar afterwards? This place served an international audience. The bar was what you’d expect, rectangular with lots of bottles in the center, surrounded by the tables, lit in the way that corporations like.

They made the drink properly and then garnished it with lots of fruit. Once the drink is accomplished it looks so plain, the logic clearly dictated. ‘This drink doesn’t say ‘South Florida’ at all!’

So she added lemon, lime, pineapple and a cherry, The citrus can be disposed fairly easily of but the cherry is hard to remove because it sinks. The only touch I didn’t receive was one of those little umbrellas. Fruit was common but usually kept to a lime.

5. Go big!

So a new pizza grill opened between my house and office and, of course, I had to check it out. This one had a lot of burgundy and black accents and a bright silver theme. There were velvet couches and velvet draping at the entrance. The chrome bar had the usual lovely glass display of top shelf liquors.

This bartender was my favorite…at least for this list. First, I went behind the bar and pointed at the Jameson. Then we spent some time identifying soda water, club soda, not San Pellegrino, and found a small bottle. I pointed to a pint glass.

He proceeded to fill the entire pint glass with Jameson. He proudly placed it in front of me and then held up the little bottle of club soda and said, “What do you want to do with this?”

If it was legal in Miami I’d have asked to have the whole thing to go. I doubt he knew this was prohibited but I was driving home.

I watched sadly as he poured the excess away and added ice as per my instructions. I thanked him, paid and sat at a table until I could escape.

6. Now what should be added? The instructions seemed clear.

Not far from my house was a fairly established restaurant with red awnings. The bar was outside and built tiki-fashion…for the uninitiated, that means one of those thick straw roofs associated with the Carribean, not tiki style decor. The place was pretty busy. The bar was a long row facing a long row of bottles. They were well equipped. There were some ceiling fans but you were basically sitting outdoors in the shade.

A pretty young woman who was serving me understood my directions and made a Jameson and soda in a pint glass, filling it to the top. Then she turned to me and asked “Do you want ice with that?”

Um, yes. Yes, please. Especially because it’s 80 degrees here. Actually I had been thinking of ice in it. She gave me ice on the side so I made 2 weak drinks by careful decanting. Sometimes it’s better to be patient.

I there a moral to this story? Well, no. I’ve heard of sour bottles of beer, a shot and a beer interpreted by putting a shot in the beer. You’re on your own when you go exploring.

A Tribute to Anthony Bourdain: Love and Endless Cruelty

I’m still trying to recover from the death of Anthony Bourdain. I look at his past episodes and the social media which I normally avoid. This was the only time in my life that I wished that someone I loved had relapsed and O.D.’d.

The most pithy comment I saw on Twitter was made by some newscaster at CNN. He said “We all wanted to be him. I wanted to be him. Everyone wanted to be him”.

I certainly did. And I felt…as did a whole lot of people…that my relationship with Bourdain, who I never had a chance to meet, was personal.

In 2001 or so I was not in great mental shape. I’d lost my daughter, my fairly long term boyfriend, and as I had worked underground as a cocktail waitress for several years I didn’t have a lot of career options.

I was about 34. I took an inventory of my wreck of a life and decided that the only thing I liked to do every day was to cook. So I cooked, for a while, and read everything I could find about being a professional Chef. As I recall it, the newly published Kitchen Confidential was the first book I read but that might not be true. It was certainly the most influential book I read. My only resource was the local library.

It took me over a year to find an apprenticeship in a French Kitchen in Baton Rouge, where I was living at the time with a transexual boyfriend, who had cable. To my astonishment, Tony was suddenly on the newly minted Food Channel. Whenever I felt discouraged, he was encouraging. It wasn’t overt cheerleader stuff. That he had had a checkered past and a late career was made clear, however. There was no shaming. He liked, and related to, the underdog, the unlikely, the people classified as damaged losers.

He moved on and so did I but I never stopped following his books and shows. He was my only celebrity hero. My career went fairly well…until I became ill.

As it turned out, I have rare hereditary condition called ‘Wilson’s Disease”. First I quit cooking and led a non-profit. When I was too ill to continue I started to write about food. I re-read MFK Fisher and every one else in my oeuvre but it was Bourdain to whom I turned, once again.

How do you get into the kitchen? He taught me. How do you get out? He taught me that as well. I was never looking for fame and fortune. I just wanted to know that it could be done. He was me as a young, hardworking Chef with a lust for life and me again as I sought success at a later age.

I’d always kept journals and notebooks, largely about food. I was just reluctant to try publishing. Tony simply published stuff. How he managed that I’ll never know. He certainly seemed to have luck on his side but he never shunned the unlucky, discarded people. He loved them. He was a strange and atheistic Gen X Jesus.

Suicide. I still have trouble accepting this. We all wanted to be him. He’d attained all the goals all of us…the wayward, the lost, the straggling, the addicts, the gentle poor of the world, aspired to achieving.

I guess that’s the guilt phase of grief. My first thoughts were how could he do this to us? How could he do it to his daughter and Eric and Asia and Ottavia? An Elton John song, of all people, kept running through my mind. If you’re a bluebird on a telegraph line I hope you’re happy now. I’m pretty sure Tony hated Elton John. His theme song for Parts Unknown ran through my mind too.

Today I’m thinking that maybe he did feel the weight. Maybe psychic strain of so many people depending on him simply broke him into pieces.

I felt angry as well as sad. My logic was, and to some extent still is, that he showed us that there really might be a prize under the rainbow…but it’s worth nothing at all.

Thinking about how much I love M., my dog, and the cats and my shabby apartment isn’t much comfort if an amicable ex-wife and lovely girlfriend and, most importantly, a growing daughter aren’t enough, even when coupled with a huge salary and terrific job. I guess there is never enough.

Tony Bourdain kept so many of us alive and we couldn’t return the favor.

Gastronicum

Pure Gold

 

Johnathan Gold

Johnathan Gold, you will be greatly missed. Your voice was like petting the softest fur and your intelligence was astonishing. I listened from afar and tried to never miss a show on Good Food’s podcast. R.I.P.

Donugs?

Donug

Maybe you’ve heard about this one if you hang out on social media but the Donug caught our attention. Yes, Do-Nug…a donut shaped chicken nugget, deep fried, with toppings. Uh huh. Sadly, the toppings are (apparently, and so far) all savory. Who’s going to add the Molé with pecans? The maple syrup bacon BBQ icing?

IHOB joke by A&W

IHOB Fails Us:

In a casual blind taste test, the IHOB burger outscored burgers from Islands,  Denny’s, Five Guy’s and Red Robin. Who would have thunk it? We’ll miss mocking them for the name change but we still love commercial waffles and pancakes and prefer making our own burgers.

Windex - Copy

What’s in a Name?

Er, the worst cocktail name we’ve ever heard of was…Windex. This was in the age before ‘mixologists’ but some bartenders were creative anyway. A bartender made a mix of vodka and blue curaçao to be served in shots…and yes, it looked exactly like Windex. No one would drink it. She said it tasted pretty good but we’ll never know.

Jello salad

Grandma’s Cooking

My grandma hated to eat, cook and basically everyone, as was apparent from her staple holiday recipe, good for all occasions. It was Lime Jello with chunks of iceburg lettuce floating around in it. It may have caused permanent damage to all the children involved. The above picture, which was open sourced, actually looks better than hers. Grandma was not into garnishes or extra ingredients…revolting as those depicted are. But yes, she molded it. I’d make some for an image but I have better things to do with what’s left of my sanity.

pickle fork pic

Louis XV by Whiting Div. of Gorham, Sterling Olive Fork, Long Handle

Buy used:

$62.00

+ $6.95 shipping

Just what we all need, right?

Q:How do I Keep my Neighbors from Stealing my Herbs?

Mangos on tree

Answer:

I used to live in a tiny house with an enormous mango tree, as well as an avocado tree in the yard.

My neighbors constantly stole things, most of which I would gladly have given to them.

One time, they broke into my yard, (could have knocked but they broke in all the time), stole my laundry basket, which was outside on my washing machine or dryer, and filled it with mangoes. Which, as I said, I would have gladly given to them.

I came home and hunted for my laundry basket until I saw it in their yard, full of my mangoes. I demanded it back. They said “Oh, we thought no one used it.”

Another time was my bike, which I rode every day…they stole that complete with the lock around the frame and wheel. When I demanded that back, they said “Oh, we thought no one used it.” Grr.

So, if you rent save up and move.

I think a nice person might find a nice, small basket, put some herbs in it, put a bow on it and present it to them saying “Oh, I thought you might like some of these.” and see if they get the point.

My neighbors were hopeless. Sorry I can’t help with your problem.

How to Use Your Spork Properly

Sporks

From popular joking points in kitchens, people learn to properly use a spork in jail. Prisoners are given plastic sporks because they can’t be weaponized.

Sporks have been around a long time. They were first patented in the U.S. in the mid 1800’s, although the idea wasn’t new.

The concept behind a spork, other than why it is issued to inmates, is pretty obvious. A fork and spoon combo! In 1848 the first patent was issued for a spork that had a cutting blade. Whether this had any applications is unclear. Maybe in the military.

At any rate, if you invented the spork today, a lot of people would say “how stoned were you?” Sporks don’t work well for eating anything, at least in my opinion. Sporks illustrate a fundamental thought in physics, which is that in trying to adopt the qualities of a fork and spoon at once, the benefits of a fork, or spoon, are lost. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

 

Why is the Chai Blue?

So you find yourself in a coffee shop one day and watch a guy ahead of you picking up a brilliant blue drink. It looks like Smurf blood with a swirl of foam, yet strangely appealing. You ask your barista what the beverage is.

“It’s blue Chai, made with blue Matcha”, she answers helpfully.

“What is blue Matcha?”

“It’s made from the butterfly pea flower”, she states.

You tip, take your ordinary old chai to a table and seriously wonder about the mushrooms that were on that slice of pizza you had before bed.

But it is all true. There is indeed a butterfly pea flower, which produces a brilliant, almost indigo-colored dye which changes color to bright purple with the addition of an acid, such as a squeeze of lime juice. Long used as an iced tea drink in south-east Asia, butterfly pea flower tea is becoming very popular in the U.S. among baristas and mixologists.

Everything is sunny when it comes to blue chai. Technically, Matcha is a special powdered tea made from young tea leaves grown in the shade and dried in cool sheds, This is a little picky from an American standpoint, as we can, and do, legally call a variety of powdered teas ‘Matcha’. ‘Chai’ simply means ‘tea’, usually spiced. Butterfly pea flower tea is marketed as such, or as blue Matcha or blue chai.

Green tea and true Matcha are credited with a number of health benefits. Butterfly pea flower tea also is said to have some positive effects, although they are different. Blue chai is caffeine free and may soothe anxiety. It is entirely non-toxic and certainly the most healthful blue food coloring agent available if you discount alkalized purple cabbage juice, which is somewhat lacking in mass appeal.

The butterfly pea flower plant is a quick growing ground cover found in tropical regions around the world, and it is used as an inexpensive and nourishing feed for livestock. Readily available, the tea isn’t expensive and it is relatively easy to source. Blue chai is always spiced a little bit, most often with lemongrass and ginger.Instagram and Pinterest have terrific sections on blue Matcha drinks.

Check it out for yourself! If you don’t feel like making your own blue chai you can always impress your friends by ordering some at the coffee shop. As an added bonus, blue chai doesn’t turn your tongue blue, so you can take your selfie with confidence.

The Chester Plan

[From the Department of Utterly Fake News: Nutrition]

The Chester Plan

The government is working on a plan that promises to feed qualifying US citizens for years after a major disaster, such as a nuclear war, a White House source has divulged.

This plan, which includes underground bunkers and covert gas stations converted to dispense only diet coke, has been forming for over a year under the code name ‘Chester’. in an apparent homage to a food that may only remain available to the ultra-rich, Cheetos.

“A major concern to the administration is that while crops may still grow in limited areas, the staples of an American diet, such as Diet Coke and Cheetos, may become difficult to produce,” stated our source.

Following the tradition of many first ladies, Melania Trump has had a hand in planning a diet suitable for the target population. “We initially thought that the Lemonade Cleanse Diet would be simple,” our source informed us, “but we began to understand the complexity when we realized that the only two ingredients, which are real lemons and maple syrup, may become difficult to procure, as the proletariat might try to use them as foods. Thus we came up with an entirely synthetic lemon-maple flavored kool-aid, to which one only has to add water.”

The break from the 9 day fast is traditionally raw kale with vinegar, which presented further problems. Nutritionists from McDonald’s, who have been recruited as consultants for the plan, assisted with this obstacle by re-purposing the ingredients of the ‘vegan burger’ they are marketing in India.

“That information is so proprietary [that] even we don’t know the ingredients,” our source explained. “But tests have shown that models will eat the fat-free version.”

Surprisingly, Cheeto storage didn’t present as much of a problem. “…we quickly settled on linking the abandoned coal mines to the underground bunker system and using the mines for storage. The only challenge was painting the tunnels that precise hue of orange, so stray coal chips blend right in [sic]”…” thanks to the new EPA standards, the paint didn’t have to be lead-free. We even saved taxpayer dollars by using some of the reserves that we were keeping for use if HUD decided to repaint the affordable housing, which we don’t foresee happening in the future.” He went on to say that the Cheetos stored this way had been approved in a blind taste test, although he was not forthcoming about the details.

When asked if this supply would be sufficient for the entire population, our source explained that this was not necessary. “Foraging for food is as natural to the stock as breathing and we expect that many of them will cease exerting themselves by doing so much as trying to inhale. It takes true laziness to stay poor in this country.”

We inquired as to why he had chosen to leak classified information when it was clear that he was still involved in the planning.

“We felt that the donors who really count were becoming nervous,” he stated. “We chose to give them a little controlled reassurance without disclosing details that might compromise national security.”