"Wut up, my Neezy?!? I luv u 2 much, yo! Holla back! LOLZ!!1!!"

Dear Puff Pastry,
     Oh, my sweet, flaky, buttery paramour; my luscious, savory lover; my delicious, rich suppliant – how I love you so.  I remember that first day we met, my dear, when I accidentally picked you up instead of store-bought pizza dough.  Initially disappointed, I quickly realized that you were so much better than the one-dimensional magmatic I had intended to buy.  So many possibilities to explore, so much food to wrap you around, so much scotch to drink while waiting for you to bake, so many hooker parts to bury.  Oh, how you opened up my mind to such culinary whimsy, my tasty inamorata!  Hot dogs would never be the same.  Nor would the sausage or kielbasa or pepperoni or red-hots or chorizo I swaddled in your velvet embrace.  But sausages and my penis were only the beginning, mi amore!  There were – and are – so many things left to put on top, into, and under your lipid-laden embrace.  I look forward to eating you in conjunction with many foods, my love, and as soon as I can perfect my deep-fried puff pastry-wrapped macaroni and cheese and bacon balls, I expect that you and I will enjoy nothing less than culinary immortality.

Love Always,

The Chef’s Prerogative

I love food that’s topped or wrapped in other food, and I’m pretty sure you do, too.  I mean, would anyone really eat onion soup if it wasn’t covered with a big crouton and a slab of cheese?  And, sure, a stuffed burrito is delicious; but have you ever tried to pick one up without its tortilla wrapper?  And, yes, Anne Hathaway is a beautiful woman, but don’t you think she’d look better with me draped all over her supple body?  Of course you don’t, you jealous bastards.


If you go to your window, right now, chances are good that you can see my boner from where you are.

For example: I remember ordering a ham and cheese roll once, but rather than receiving a ham and cheese sandwich on a roll, as I was expecting, was given ham and cheese baked in a roll.  Naturally, it tasted just like any other ham and cheese I’d ever had, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t love it exponentially more than any I’d eaten before it.  Perhaps it’s my OCD nature that provides the basis of my inclination for loving nicely wrapped packages of food, all ready for orderly consumption.  Perhaps it’s some psychological quirk suffered because my parents put me to sleep in a burlap sack from the ages of 4 to 15.  Who knows?  Anyway, my favorite wrapped food is, without a doubt, beef wellington.  It’s no coincidence that beef wellington happens to be enveloped in my favorite wrapper of all – puff pastry.  It’s also no coincidence that eating beef wellington is like having sex with Monica Bellucci – in your mouth.


What I like most about this photo isn't the well-thought-out contrast, nor the creative lighting, nor the photographer's use of aperture. Rather, it's the fact that you can see her nipples.

Ah, filet de boeuf Wellington!  Got a lot of time and money on your hands?  Sick of not being frustrated by things?  Have a hankering for wall punching?  Well, then, boy do I have the dish for you!  Don’t get me wrong, beef wellington is fucking delicious, but, let’s face it: it ain’t exactly “oh, I think I’ll make that for dinner, tonight” fare.  Instead, it’s more “fuck this motherfucking goddamn beef Wellington – let’s order pizza” fare.  Hopefully, my simple guide will provide you with ample information to perfect this somewhat anachronistic feast.  But if not, please don’t get mad at me.  Rather, just sit back, relax, and look at all that kooze up there!


"Well, Nuke's scared 'cause his eyelids are jammed and his old man's here; we need to cook this beef twice, apparently; there's a duxelle and foie gras to contend with; not to mention the fact that an ingredient in our sauce is basically another sauce. We're dealing with a lot of shit."

Les Ingredients:

Beef tenderloin
Fucking pate de foie gras
Mushrooms (finely chopped)
Onion (finely chopped)
Puff pastry
You’re not going to belive this, but: bone marrow

Le Cook:

This dish is fucking obnoxious, and I love that about it.  Roast the beef until the internal temperature is about 120 degrees (in terms of temperature, not of geometric angle.)  In a pan, saute the mushrooms and onions in butter, and season with salt, pepper, and thyme.  I’m pretty sure this is a duxelle, but who the fuck knows.  Anyway, place the beef on top of the puff pastry that I forgot to tell you to roll out.  Take out that luscious pate de foie gras and resist the urge to go eat it in front of a bunch of homeless people – instead, and I’m not making this up, slather it on the beef.  See: obnoxious, right?  Top that with your duxelle and transfer to the middle of the rolled-out pastry.  I don’t care how you do it, just make sure that your beef wellington is totally covered with fungi and fatty duck liver.  Roll the sides of the pastry around the beef, and seal with egg wash.  Put the whole beautiful abomination – seam side down – on a baking sheet, then put that thing in the fridge for two hours to cool down and think about what it’s done.  I don’t know why this is necesary, but an old cookbook that smells like cigarettes and 1952 tells me that you should.  Break your boeuf out of its arctic prison, paint it with more egg wash, and bake it at 400 for 25 minutes, then at 350 for 5 more.

Your beef is now done.  But don’t get excited, homeboy, ’cause you’ve got bordelaise sauce to make.  Good fucking luck.  At this point, no one’s going to fault you if you quit while you’re ahead, but if you want to take a stab at the Full Beef Wellington Experience, you can do as follows…  Soften shallots in butter.  Add in some red wine and reduce.  Add thyme and peppercorns and reduce.  Add diced bone marrow.  Add demi-glace and reduce.  Okay, I just read how to make a demi-glace, and I can safely say: fuck that shit.  If you’re half as exhausted making this shit as I am writing about it, just go see if they have bordelaise at Whole Foods.  If not, that ubiquitous packaged brown gravy they make is pretty good – just get that.  In any event, at least you have a delicious tenderloin of beef, slathered in duxelle and fucking foie gras, for chissakes, to keep you company.  Pour a glass of wine and enjoy your liberty burrito, as we call it here in the good ole U.S. of A.  But, just in case you’re still pissed about the whole bordelaise thing, here’s Carla to help assuage your anger…


Know how much sexier this picture could be? None. The answer is "none" sexier.