This may be off topic, even for a blog that technically is about USC football, the Bachelor and things I do when I have too much bourbon and hang out with the Mad Men. That said, what kind of fucked up week gives you a Saturday on a Wednesday? Come on, America. France gets like 2 months paid vacation. We don’t even get a 5 day weekend to celebrate YOUR fucking birthday? Don’t be that asshole, America. Not with the Olympics coming up. You need us now, tonight. You fucking need us more, than ever.
All that aside, I write to you to call us out as a nation right now. I need to shed light on the realness right now because you are all either celebrating too much about Obamacare or threatening to move to another country with socialized health care because you don’t understand what Obamacare is.
I am writing you because we have let pastries get out of control.
Social media is the ultimate recognizer of trends. If this was 1994, only half of you would have known what “Call Me Maybe” was. Only a third of you would know the joy that was dancing like an asshole to “Levels” and then “Levels (In Reverse)”. Hell, most of you would think dubstep was a new way of getting high that involved farting into a plastic bag (ironically, even when I am enjoying the drop in Cinema, it still sounds a little like that anyway).
Social media is the reason that despite not being a pastry person, I know what all of you are eating. I know because you guys tweet and shoot photos of everything you eat. I can dig that. It’s a good way to see what’s out there. Until a trend in pastry gets out of control and it brings out everything you hate in everyone, movies, society and humankind.
I think I first noticed it when everything was chocolate covered bacon. It was like, chocolate covered bacon ice cream. Chocolate covered bacon foam on a bacon frittata. Bacon cupcakes. Bacon fuck you. I can’t deal with this just coming off the food truck thing. Food trucks are like restaurants. They are sometimes good, sometimes not. Just because it drives and tweets doesn’t mean you suddenly lived in Brooklyn for eight years and were a successful DJ in Sweden.
The next trend was red velvet cupcakes, cakes, pancakes, you name it. This shit got so popular, people were literally freaking the fuck out in the streets rubbing cream cheese frosting on their faces and crying. You’d be in your office and hear people oohing and aahing and you’d walk over to see what you hoped would be something awesome. Nope. Someone went to Sprinkles and time and space started going in reverse.
Nevermind that red velvet cake has been around forever, was a treat in the south dyed red with beet juice and is basically just a chocolate buttermilk cake dyed red. Nope. It’s the new hot thing and if you aren’t on board, kill yourself. Hell, I learned to bake them just to make a point to co-workers that if I could do it, it’s not special. Ironically, this type of thing taught me how to cook and now I am ever MORE attractive. BRB, gonna look in the mirror for a while.
[twenty minutes later]
Damn, that was good.
After red velvet (and the totally ass-backwards blue velvet, remember?), there was salted caramel everything. Again, this has been around forever (just ask Alton Brown) just like putting salt on a grapefruit. That didn’t stop the world from fascinating itself with exotic sea salts on every kind of caramel you could think of. Salted caramel gelato, salted caramel cupcakes, salted caramel covered chocolate dipped bacon red velvet cupcakes. Whoa, aneurysm.
We survived all of this only to get to the most ridiculous trend of them all. I thought it was going to be the cake mix in a jar thing, but turns out that is actually practical enough that people aren’t obsessing. They just appreciate the convenience of “just add eggs”. No, the new trend is obvious, in fact, it’s not that new (which means it’s about to get uncomfortably big).
It’s turning everything into a fucking popsicle.
Because a bite size cake wasn’t enough. You needed to shove a stick up it’s ass. You said, “I don’t look like quite as much of an asshole as I thought eating this chocolate bacon red velvet cupcake, I know, let’s eat it on a stick”.
It doesn’t stop there. Once these things came into fashion, we had to start putting sticks in everything.
What do we need a pancake pop for? Can we just as a society commit to eating a fucking pancake on a plate with syrup? Like Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter intended? The point of a pop in the first place is to eat something more conveniently. Like a FROZEN, STICKY ICE CREAM BAR or A STICKY, HARD CANDY LOLLIPOP. We have the technology to eat our cakes and pancakes on a plate and for those of you that wanted it bite-size, that’s why they made cupcakes. It’s convenient enough without making you look like the kind of asshole who is amused by a fondant wrapped cake shaped like Hello Kitty that you can eat in 2 seconds impaled on a stick like it was sitting in front of King’s Landing.
And don’t tell me pies are convenient. If you went to middle school, you know they solved this problem long ago.
That’s the American way. We’ll make anything more convenient to put in our fat ass, but we ARE NOT DOING IT TO SHOW OFF WE ARE DOING IT BECAUSE WE CAN. No one looks cool eating a cake pop. Rule of thumb, unless you NEED a stick to eat it, find another way. What’s next, meat and vegetables on sticks?!
Oh, but we aren’t freaking out and posting pictures to every social network about kebobs are we? We’re not painting eyes and mouths on skewered lamb chunks, are we? No, we aren’t. That’d be awkward. Kind of like putting a popsicle stick in something you could just as easily pick up and eat with the world’s original convenient eating tool: your fucking hand.
Until I see someone win Sweet Genius with a cake pop, it’s not happening. Ron Ben Israel (RBI as my brother in law calls him, which is amazing) is the only judge of confection I trust. Why? Well, he’s hilarious for one. Two, he was an Israeli soldier and has probably killed people. Then, he tops that by becoming a professional modern dancer for ten years only to retire and become the world’s leading cake maker.
He will tell you if you belong in his magical world of desserts and if you don’t, tough shit he’s been trained in Krav Maga to kill you, but you should just kill yourself because you failed RBI. You are no sweet genius. You do not share his obsession with confection. Sorry, bro. Go stick a popsicle stick where the sun doesn’t shine.
Here’s a suggestion from the bearfighter. This Fourth of July, do what our forefathers intended. Bake a cake and cover it with fruit to create a noble depiction of the stars and stripes. Like Martha Washington never did.
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