White Cow Dairy Chocolate Malt Yogurt

I think more grocery staples need makeovers. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition has been done to death, as has the plastic surgery version. I want to see a show that directly impacts my pantry. And I want the team to start with yogurt. While I don't see a need for extreme quinoa or a new frontier for beans, yogurt is crying for a new look. It's worked hard all its life to prevent indigestion through the magic of Jamie Lee Curtis and the more awesomely named Suleiman the Magnificent. It's one of those foods that has been around since 2000 BC and, like the Magical Girl in all films ever made, just needs to take off its glasses and bland background and get with the cool crowd. And White Cow Dairy is its new fairy godmother. Or Clinton Kelly, your call.
Chocolate malt yogurt, people. This ain't your mother's key lime pie Yoplait. And this yogurt is freckled. And it comes in a squat milk bottle. The packaging is gorgeous and adorably prim and kind of makes me feel like I've been transported to a quaint Greenwich Village farmer's market that serves as the backdrop for an adorable scavanger hunt set up by my girlfriend, Zooey Amelie Unicorn Cactus Flower. . Move over, pudding cups and step aside, Dannon. This is bringing sexy back for yogurt in a whole new way. Now, let's see how it tastes.
The nitty gritty: This particular flavor has a caramelized note that intensifies the nuttiness of the malt powder, but is a little overshadowed by the zippy tang from the cultures in the yogurt. It's a very mature-tasting yogurt, not something you'd buy for little Timmy as a compromise between Ho-Ho's and carrot sticks. The sugar is minimal, but interacts well with the Dutch chocolate, giving the yogurt a mellow, fruity flavor like raw cocoa nibs. Unfortunately, the malted milk flavor was barely there at all, imparting a mere whisper of barley and cream. The entire concoction stuck to the cheeks and worked its way into the corners of our mouths with its gritty texture and left a bitter aftertaste, mollified only after a glass of water. While this flavor wasn't perfect, I have faith in the wonders of science once more. I'm almost convinced that there's a bright future for cottage cheese.

Hungry Jack Funfetti Buttermilk Pancakes

Well, it's happened. The internet's obsession with combining the crap out of various foodstuffs has seeped out, like a spilled red velvet cupcake fudge milkshake onto a white Maud Sienna carpet, staining the world of brands as we know it. Yes, Virginia, there are now Funfetti-flavored pancakes, Funfetti being the socially acceptable way to literally eat candy with candy. And I have eaten them and lived to tell the tale.
Hungry Jack, the company that brought you breakfast by Dad on school days when Mom was busy and the Australian Burger King now offers up an easy pack of pancakes dotted with the perennial birthday party favorite, sprinkles. Visually, these look like the calling card of a rogue, murderous IHOP employee on a quest for vengeance. I'll call him Murray the Pancakinator. They're upsettingly neon with a lazy heaviness to them, a density that emcompasses a mental weight far beyond sprinkles and pancake mix.
The mix, which could double for a My Little Pony recreational club drug, ballooned from a scant two cups to like, thirty cups of gloopy batter a result of sitting out on the counter for five minutes while the stove heated up. The first few pancakes were pretty and evenly speckled with sprinkles, while the remaining pancakes took on a dingy grey tinge, the result of the sprinkles melting together like a cheap watercolor set.
After cooking, the result was fairly underwhelming from an edible perspective. Funfetti is just another way to add delicious sugar and birthday colors into an already sugary edible, the cupcake. When you take the sugar out, in the case of the pancake mix, you're basically eating the poor man's Funfetti. And man, is it awful- the flavor is chalky with no sweetness to speak of outside of a few sharp little pockets of astringency from eating straight up sprinkles. The heaviness from the batter translated poorly to the pancakes. Each one was leathery on the outside with a burnt flavor, despite being a perfect golden brown color, and had a doughy chew to them.
But there are options. Yes, there is always a plan B, in this case, B for Birthday Massacre. Also known as, BM. In true Buddy the Elf fashion, we pimped out these pancakes with three different kinds of frosting, butter, syrup, and powdered sugar. We even garnished them with candy canes because we are literally sugar pimps. And you know what? Despite looking like clown vomit, they tasted pretty darn good. The excessive amounts of sugar definitely gave it a more cake-like flavor, which made sense being that it contained all the components of a cake but fried in a pan, and even moistened the dry little suckers up to make for a fairly manageable one bite before we and everyone in a three mile radius contracted diabetes.
So, the moral of the story is this: when you have a product that tastes like sand, copious amounts of frosting and food coloring will prevent it from being bland. Or so the saying goes. Honestly, the real moral of the story is that it's never good to trust $1 pancake mix, even if it does seem to be a small price to pay for sugary childhood memories.
It does get a point for value- it used water and nothing else and yielded nine medium-sized pancakes, but when that value roundhouse kicks your health and dental insurance plan in the stomach, you begin to realize that your money would be better spent hiring a psychiatrist to unbox your childhood instead of pancakes. But on the plus side, #fuckyeahrainbowpancakes!
Seriously, don't do it.

Bagels

Dunkin' Donuts, what can I say? It's been a while.
Look, let's cut to the chase. I know you don't even know my name. I'm the girl down the street. We chilled a few times over the summer when I needed a break, we grabbed coffee during my late nights studying this semester. We may have even hooked up at a lackluster work party. You know how it goes. I love those Munchkins.
I thought I'd be able to call you my coffee shop. I was entranced by your regional charm and ample selection of goods. But you had a lot going on. You're going places- I mean, who would have time for a commitment when you're busy opening 250 more retail locations throughout the US? I understand. So, you know, I played the field. I checked out the soulful neighborhood coffee shop, the rival Starbucks in the next town over. At the end of the day, though, sometimes a girl's got to do the job herself.These bagels blew my mind. I'll be back for your specialty sandwiches and doughnuts, but as far as bready breakfast is concerned, we're done. Don't call me until you're ready to settle down.

Jess
Peter Reinhart's Bagels (adapted from Smitten Kitchen and Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice)
Ingredients (makes six 4.5 oz bagels or ten 3 oz bagels)
Preparation time: 2-3 hours to prepare the bagels (best to start in the afternoon) and a rest in the fridge overnight
Cooking time: Fifteen minutes
For the sponge:
3/4 teaspoon of yeast
2 cups of flour
2 cups of water

For the dough:
1/4 teaspoon of yeast
1 3/4 cups of flour plus two tablespoons
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of corn or malt syrup

To finish:
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of corn or malt syrup
Cornmeal for dusting

1. Starting the afternoon or night before you want to bake the bagels, start by making your sponge. Combine the flour and yeast in a large bowl and slowly add the water until the mixture resembles a smooth pancake batter. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let it sit for one to two hours or until the mixture has doubled in size.
2. Incorporate your dough ingredients, starting with the yeast and flour and finishing with the salt and corn syrup at the end, mixing and kneading the dough until it is completely hydrated and no raw flour is left. Knead the dough until it is smooth and pliable but not sticky (about ten minutes) and all of the ingredients are incorporated into the ball.
3. Immediately begin dividing the dough into small balls of your desired weight or size. I weighed mine so that they would brown evenly but it's not necessary. Smooth the balls out and cover them with a damp paper towel. Let them sit for twenty minutes.
4. Once the balls have rested, start by shaping them into bagels. I used the "stretch and tear" method, where I poked a hole into the center of my bagels and stretched the dough around my finger to create a smooth, even thickness. But you can also use the "rope and loop" method. Take a piece of dough and roll it into an even tube like you would a clay snake. (I failed art class) Take the tube and fold it over two of your fingers, looping the two ends together and smoothing the bagel dough out. Repeat with the remaining bagels.
5. Grease a baking sheet and lay your bagels on it. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let them sit for another twenty minutes. Once they have sat, fill a large bowl with cool tap water and perform the float test, where you will see if the bagels are ready to retard in the fridge over night. If a bagel floats on the surface for ten or more seconds, they are ready. Pat the wet bagel off with a paper towel and pop the pan on a flat surface in the fridge over night.
6. In the morning, preheat your oven to 500 degrees. Start boiling some water in a large pot on the stove. Leave your bagels in the refrigerator until you are ready to cook them. When the water is boiling, add the baking soda and corn syrup. Boiling the bagels is essential and will help prevent the bagels from spreading in the oven as well as create that chewy, thick crust that makes a bagel a bagel. Boil the bagels for one to two minutes, alternating sides halfway. The longer you boil your bagel, the thicker the crust and chewier the texture will be.
7. When all the bagels are boiled, spread your cornmeal out on your baking sheet and place your bagels on top. This is also the best time to add any toppings to your bagels, like poppy seeds, chopped onions, or garlic salt. The cornmeal will prevent the bagels from sticking. Bake for ten minutes or until the tops are golden brown.
8. Let the bagels cool for fifteen to twenty minutes, and then slice and toast or eat plain. Serve with salted butter or cream cheese and lox.

Salted Butter
Ingredients (makes 1/4 cup)
1/2 stick of butter
1/2 teaspoon of sea salt or fleur de sel
1. Combine all ingredients.
2. Spread and eat once melted.
These are so goddamned easy to make. It's the yeasty equivalent of "set it and forget it." Now, thank me for your New Year's Day breakfast.

Cornmeal Crepes with Jalapeno, Sage and Maple Chicken Sausage

A little simple math for you so you can play along at home.
What does this?
Plus these?
And some of this?
Equal? Some of you may have said "awesomesauce" You are partially correct. Some of you winced and said, "calories." You are wrong and deserve to be kicked in the face. These are crepes 'n' sausage, also known as pigs in the blanket, and our personal family favorite, pigtails, are a mouthwatering, comforting dish which can rack up to 829 calories per serving with 27 grams of fat and 1,502 grams of sodium. Kind of awful amidst all these holiday meals, no?
What if I told you we could cut that number in half? We totally can- but we have to go deeper. We'll start with the sausage. In the immortal words of Alex from School of Rock- pork, you're tacky and I hate you. Of course, I'm kidding, but yeah, we can totally do better. My homemade chicken sausage patties and links took about fifteen minutes to make and fifteen minutes to cook. Each link or patty has a whopping 60 calories and 2 grams of fat and have a bold, meaty flavor with a smooth, minced texture. For the crepes, I adapted my recipe from this one and thought it did the trick wonderfully. Next time I'd even use less butter. Three crepes runs you 280 calories with 10 grams of fat. A little high in fat, but still not completely insane.

I added some jalapeno maple syrup, two tablespoons of which has around 150 calories. That's optional, but damn, is it good. The total calorie count for this recipe without the syrup, per serving, comes to 460 calories and 16 grams of fat for three sausages in their blankets. Move over, Baby Jesus, this is the real Christmas miracle.

Jalapeno, Sage, and Maple Chicken Sausage Patties
Ingredients (makes 8 2 oz. patties or 20 links)
1 lb. boneless skinless chicken breasts
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon Root liquor (optional, but makes it awesome)
1/4 teaspoon dried sage
1/4 teaspoon chili powder
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon chopped jalapenos
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large clove of garlic

1. Combine all ingredients in a food processor and pulse until finely ground. The mixture will be a little sticky.
2. Form small patties and links with hands- don't worry if the edges are slightly ragged. It will give them a better, crispier texture.
3. Heat a small frying pan with a little olive oil and fry the sausages in sets of three or four until the meat is no longer pink around the edges and has a golden brown crust. Serve with pancakes, in a sandwich, or eat them on their own. They're best fresh, but can be frozen for up to three months and reheated on the stove or in the microwave.
Cornmeal Crepes
Ingredients (makes 8-10 5-inch crepes)
1/8 cup plus one tablespoon of ground yellow cornmeal
1/4 cup plus one tablespoon of all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1/2 tablespoon of light brown sugar
2/3 cup of milk
1 egg
1 tablespoon of butter, melted
1 tablespoon of butter, unmelted

1. Mix wet ingredients together. Slowly, incorporate dry ingredients until the batter is smooth.
2. Melt the remaining tablespoon of butter into a small frying pan. Take two to three tablespoons of batter and plop them in the pan. Remove the pan from the heat and swirl the batter around until it is in a thin layer.
If you can do this, you're doing it correctly.
3. When the edges of the crepe are crispy and brown, flip the crepe and cook for another 30 seconds until the other side is brown as well. Serve immediately on their own or loaded with toppings.

Terrestrial Crab Cakes (a.k.a, a very wd~50 Thanksgiving)

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't incredibly impressed by wd~50 to the point of wanting to use some clever tricks in my every day cooking. While I didn't bust out my supply of emergency sodium citrate and calcium chloride, I did try to take back the concept of taking a concept- holidays, udon noodles, Jackson Pollack, and translate it into food.
With all the Thanksgiving leftovers lying around, I wanted to make something a little classier than the standard sandwich 'n' hash deal (though I ate plenty of that as well) and decided to try what Keepitcoming Love later dubbed the Terrestrial Crab Cake- a croquette made of leftover Thanksgiving offerings that emulated the buttery, stringy texture of a crab cake with no seafood.
It's fucking delicious. And simple. I literally can't believe that I made this in no time at all with such perfect results. Speaking from the humiliated perspective of someone who isn't all that keen on Thanksgiving foods, this completely swayed me. Eaten with a sunny side up egg atop the whole mess, it made a decadent, but subtly complex meal.
Terrestrial Crab Cakes (Thanksgiving Hodgepodge)
Ingredients (serves 2)
1 small leek, thinly julienned
1/4 cup cranberry jelly or sauce, preferably with whole cranberries
1/2 small Poblano pepper, diced
1/4 cup water
1/3 cup sopressata, sliced and cubed
1 large turkey breast, cubed
3/4 cup leftover mashed potatoes
olive oil
dried or fresh sage to garnish (optional)
1. Gather your ingredients and cut as specified. In a small pan, drizzle a little olive oil and pour in your leeks, cooking slowly on a low heat until caramelized.2. When leeks are soft and almost cooked, pour cranberry sauce, peppers, and water into the pan and turn the heat up slightly, cooking until most of the liquid is reduced.
3. Put remaining ingredients in the pan until all are mixed together and hot. Put the mash on a plate and let cool until you are able to handle it and mash it into small patties.
4. Form into patties and prepare another small pan with a thin layer of olive oil. Cook patties on medium until they are golden brown and crisp on all sides and serve with sunny side up egg or on their own.
Eat this. Just eat it. Even a baby could cook this. It surpasses the sandwich and slaps the leftovers upside the head with subtle, sweet flavors.

Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Corn Muffin

Euphe-what? I went there. To whomever neglected to inform me of the wonders and joys of Big Lots. You are a saint. I now have yet another funnel of cake and destruction to fuel my hard-earned paychecks into. This store is a mecca of weird-assed junk of the weirdest and assiest variety. I spent $12.50 on beautiful things and a lifetime supply of Propel in the ever-popular Lemon Pledge variety. Today's selection, however, is not for the faint of heart. It is an item that exists on no websites, with proceeds that go toward prolonging a dubious catchphrase, and is advertised by a celebrity virtually nobody enjoys.

Amidst a gentle background of Conway Twitty, ladies and gentlemen, this is Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Cornbread mix. Hey, it was between this and a child-sized guitar emblazoned with a hip-gyrating Elvis, filled with festering cheese popcorn. No brainer, right?

You'll notice that I neglected to sample the vast majority of the entire Cable Guy family recipe roster, including the Triple Cheese Cheeseburger Skillet Kit and Lasagna Casserole. This is because I do not fetishize e. coli and stomach pumping. Those of you who do have come to the right place. The first thing worth noting about this is its complete lack of presence on the Almights Lord our Internet. The only trace of this I found, aside from the downright creepy Git 'R Done Association, whose charitable payouts undoubtedly include Big Mouth Billy Bass dolls for all, was the apparently brilliant pyramid scheme of selling these on eCrater for a mere $9.99 apiece. And to think I almost balked at parting with a dollar for the humiliation of having Larry's face grace my kitchen. Eh, I've done worse.
Perhaps the most upsetting thing about this package are Larry's witticisms and advice, scarily intended for an audience to which he is superior. Larry warns me on the back to "taste 'em before you add more hot sauce" and enthusiastically points out that I've "gotta try this." What the fuck, Larry? No offense, I'm sure you're a great guy, but I don't come to you for advice on FDA safety regulations and Frank Bruni-esque recommendations. But I bought this cornbread because I was delirious with glee and also, hungry. For a dollar, it's not terrible. Emphasis on the "not" and the "terrible" part. By that, I mean that it is edible, but only to a certain degree. My friend Larry might compare this to roadkill or one of his second cousins, but it's no better than soul food and no worse than cornbread made from huitlacoche. I'm done. I'm sitting alone in my kitchen eating cornbread branded by a man with all the finesse of a drunk Guy Fieri.

Do not patronize me, Lawrence.

For all its poor advertising, though, the cornbread is a decent value. What it lacks in visual appeal it surely makes up for in taste, with a surprisingly spicy, non-medicinal burn and a tender crumble with a moist center. Too bad it's colored in Home Depot's bestselling "decoy orange" shade. I served it with a roasted jalapeno compound butte- ahahaha, I did no such thing. I ate it out of the pan. In the great, wide world of TV tropes, it's the quickbread with a heart of gold. If you chance upon these, folks, I might say to give them a try. For a dollar they're no worse than Hamburger Helper, but for the love of God, if you must gamble with your life and try the Cheeseburger Dinner, git 'er done- git 'er well done and don't send me your hospital bills.

Ocean Spray Cranberry Orange Muffin Oatmeal

The storm is over, I have seen the light! And yea, I have passed thirty two hours in sin, wandering distant lands in mine bathrobe, clutching a lone box of oatmeal amidst the dim backup generator lighting of the Stop and Shop. And let this oatmeal be my salvation, look for your critic, for she has not forgotten your hunger, and let this review be my command.

Holy crap, guys. Turn off the power for a day and a half and watch an upper middle class town in New England go insane. Seriously. Last thing I remember is buying this oatmeal in a coffee withdrawal daze and next thing I know, it's six at night, pitch black, and I'm crying under the covers and screaming at the general concept of candles, wondering if Yankee Candle has power or if they have to burn their remaining stock for heat and light.

And now everything is okay. And I have oatmeal to show you. Today's treat features the greatest collaboration this side of Lazy Town and Lil' Jon, Ocean Spray's Cranberry Orange Muffin Oatmeal! This stuff is delicious, but I say this with the disclaimer that at the time, I ate four packets of it lukewarm to build up strength and bulk in the hopes that it would aid me in hibernation through difficult times. Its flavor scarily mimics St. Joseph's Baby Aspirin, down to the creamy, medicinal tang. Luckily, that happens to be one of the best things ever, and helps wean me of my dangerous Flintstones Chewables kick in the process. Aside from the strange flavor, it's like regular oatmeal in consistency.

The tastiest thing here is the cranberries. These are honest-to-god dehydrated pieces of cranberries that rehydrate surprisingly well in the cooking process. They have pieces of skin and ample amounts of pulp, with each packet containing a fairly generous portion. Unfortunately, the amount just isn't enough to balance the overpowering glutenous surge of oatmeal intensity, and ends up getting lost in each bite, unless you're OCD enough to pick out each individual berry slice and eat it separately. It should go without saying that the Ocean Spray scientists have not managed to make this mimic a muffin, and for good reason. I was bracing myself for a fake-butter, "freshly baked" aftertaste that never came. While I did buy it in the hopes that it would deliver that baked good charm (another lost George Harrison hit, CC) I felt better knowing that it stuck to a simpler formula and delivered good, if not great, results. Oh, and Happy Halloween.

Rokit Fuel Pumpkin Chocolate Cereal Cup

Today's my birthday and I figured I ought to kick off the bacchanal with a good breakfast. I'm a closeted oatmeal lover. As soon as the air gets nippy and the nipples get snappy, I'm heating up a cup of Quaker in the communal microwave. Today was different, though. To adequately prepare myself for the fall season, I prepared a cup of Rokit Fuel, a new brand I spotted at the school convenience store the night before.

Rokit Fuel has a subtitle following its endearingly misspelled name. "For humans." It seems like less of a descriptor than a disclaimer. Although Rokit Fuel doesn't explicitly say it was originally intended for dogs or elephants or infants, its oatmeal certainly contradicts that. Not to swerve off our grand highway onto a tangent as dirty and controversial as a trucker's rest stop, but well, tough crap. Rokit Fuel employs a passive-aggressive little statement at the bottom of each of their products (and also, I hear, in the form of bumper stickers) that says "Not for Wussies- Wussie (noun) A person whose pursuit of excellence is eclipsed by a total lack of discipline and drive."

Wow. Never thought I'd see the day when I had to write about sexist oatmeal. While that's laudable in a wacky Jackie Gleason hi-jinks/domestic abuse fashion, I'm pretty irked by the word "wussie." It doesn't take a genius with a degree in vagology to know what that's loosely imitating by rhyming, and I'm a little insulted that Rokit Fuel, in all their creative misspelling and edgy graphics, turns to a staid mysogynistic stereotype to imply weakness. I've been told I have a good sense of humor, and a dark one at that. And even I don't particularly find it funny or effective. I'm actually less annoyed that they're ragging on lady bits so much as irritated at the feeble structure of their joke. It's like something an angry child of a single dad would make up. I don't see who the intended "non-wussie" audience is. I bought it and I'm an overweight food writer. I'm the direct antithesis of a tennis ball. It wasn't an endorsement for the contents inside. Rokit Fuel didn't make me any more driven in my day. It's a low blow appropriate for an already shoddy product.

Back to our college dining theme, you'll be pleased to know that since I ran out of spoons to eat with, I used a tablespoon and can accurately report to you that there were 13 1/2 tablespoons in this cup. Which brings me to my next point. Not only is Rokit Fuel heavy on the calories, with a hefty 340, 120 of which come from fat, and 20 grams of sugar, (the most blasphemous Quaker variety, Banana Bread, has 150 calories, 18 from fat, and 14 grams of sugar) it's annoyingly minimal in its cooking instructions. It provides consumers with the basic, Captain Obvious facts anyone out or in an assisted living facility for retarded adults would be aware of and leaves the important stuff out. How much milk or water should I put in this? Nobody knows, so get the hell out. Leave the resealable top on while cooking? No fucking clue.

I still wound up with an oatmeal with a decent consistency, but I finished with a bad taste in my stomach and a frown on my face. What the creators imagined tasting like a "freshly baked pumpkin chocolate chip cookie" tastes like a muddled gravy-like concoction reminiscent of overbaked butternut squash and tepid stuffing. The consistency was thick, but wet and pasty with a very dense, unsweetened flavor. Believe me when I tell you that when I went to bed last night I was more excited to wake up and eat this oatmeal than I was to watch the season seven finale of Weeds, close the book on another year, and sleep in. So gulping down a flavor typically reserved for soup kitchen Thanksgivings and retirement home meals was not optimal. The flavor made eating the entire cup feel like a chore around the last few bites, and the stupid jokes and sparse instructions annoyed me. I'd spent $3.29 on a single serving of sub-par oatmeal. Hikers and bikers may have elevated standards, but in the end, the man in the wideawake hat knows best. Straying from the pack has devastating consequences.