I like that this cherry cordial chocolate Death Star has three cherries in the center.
It’s unclear who is behind this delectable looking treat, but all sources point towards the Facebook page of Zeek Confectionery.
Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Chocolate skulls gone nuts
Via Neatorama
A wee bit morbid, perhaps, these life-size white chocolate baby heads by Conjurer’s Kitchen might make for a good X-mas gift for that wacky friend who has an unhealthy interest in eating babies.
Apparently these were a “private commission.”
Via Nerdcore
The caviar of the Nordic proletariat—not the kind you would find in a luxury vending machine
Admittedly, I am not good at predicting trends but, I think luxury vending machines might be a bit too gauche to catch on as anything but a novelty for the nouveau riche. It sounds like a business venture from Real Housewives of Ibiza, (a show I just made up, but would totally get drunk and watch). From the video below:
Now some touch screen vending machines that sell caviar and other high price items have just been opened at a few locations in Los Angeles.
The machines also carry other high end products like truffles, esacargot, bottarga, blinis, oils, fancy gourmet salts and assorted items like Mother of Pearl plates, spoons, and gift box sets.
Prices on items from the vending machine range from up to 500 dollars to 50 dollars.
Have these people never heard of grocery stores? Home furnishing boutiques? I know they have ones that are suitably fancy and sell crazy luxury stuff—going to one of those sounds far more pleasant to me than waiting for my truffles and grapefruit spoon to be delivered like a Mountain Dew.
Contrary to satirical musings, I’m not actually opposed to luxury foods, but I honestly prefer my cavier to be Kalles, the brand pictured
The gold exchange is even weirder. Why would anyone do that? “Hang on honey, I have to turn my exchangeable US currency into something I can’t buy things with—lemme make a stop at the gold machine.”
The only legitimate reason for a gold vending machine is if you fear some sort of apocalyptic class war and don’t understand that 1) gold has no inherent constant value, and 2) we’ll probably loot the machine before you get to it, Mister Moneybags.
Stainless steel Death Star infuser ideal for loose tea.
Available over at Think Geek for $19.99.
Before coffee houses were homogenized into interchangeable Starbucks, and sucked dry of atmosphere and character, the espresso bar was a meeting place for Beats, musicians, writers, radicals and artists. Each coffeehouse had its own distinct style and clientele, and provided a much needed venue for the meeting of minds and the sharing of ambitions over 2-hour long cappuccinos.
It was the arrival in London of the first espresso machine in 1952 that started this incredibly diverse sub-culture, which became a focus for writers like Colin (Absolute Beginners) MacInness and pop stars like Tommy Steele, Billy Fury, Cliff Richard and Marty Wilde, who frequented the famous 2-i’s cafe. This beautiful, short film serves up a frothy serving of London’s cafe scene in 1959, long before Starbucks ruined it all.
Dirty bird
I’ll spare you any more bad puns, but this is legitimately the best thing to come out of Fifty Shades of Grey
A sampling:
The way his apron hangs from his hips already has me all wobbly. But as he coats my thighs with sticky liquid I can hardly contain myself. Is it the wine, or is my aroma starting to drive him crazy too? He heats me up fast, it won’t take much too?
He heats me up fast, it won’t take much to finish me off now. His lips quirk up to a smile. My own juices are mixing with the coating and running all over the place. I get the strangest, sweetest, hedonistic feeling up and down. It’s epicureanism run wild!
He spreads my thighs out on a plate. Sticky hands and at least five wet napkins. What will the housekeeper think? Who cares?
The recipe looks good, too!
I’m just going to park this one here without comment and run away.
Cold sore cupcakes are by Tattoo-cakes who you can follow on Facebook (NSFW-ish) for their “appetizing” updates. You’ll be in cupcake bliss(ter).
Here’s security camera footage of a nun—dressed in a traditional habit stealing beer (and some Four Loko?) from a convenience store. If she even is a nun, and not just a clever grifter disguised as a nun, because everyone knows that nuns don’t shoplift. Whatever the case may be, she’s a dangerous mind, indeed…
Via Geekologie
Mayonnaise “artisans”!
There is an artisanal mayonnaise shop in Brooklyn. I know I hate this—and believe me, my hate is pure—but I’m not actually sure why.
I delight in unexpected foods. I like nice things, and I like mayonnaise. I like bahn mi and euro-style fries and even the classic turkey sandwich. But it does represent something very generic, doesn’t it? Mayonnaise, I mean. Or am I besmirching a noble condiment out of hand, motivated by my own prejudices?
Maybe it’s political. I could be put off by the standard mayonnaise archetype—a wholesome Hellmann’s jar gracing the tables of 1950s suburban middle-class households
Maybe my objection is feminist. There is the mythos of a condiment once fine, now ubiquitous to every insipid kitchen, making a mockery of traditionally feminine labor with its diminishing quality. What was once a delicate combination of oil and water, a volatile emulsion requiring expertise to produce, now only evokes the vulgar industrial tubs of my food service days. Mass produced mayo was meant to simplify, save time and enrich the lives of women, like the vacuum cleaner. But with the vacuum cleaner came the standard of wall-to-wall carpeting—slightly differentiated dull labor and a more stringent barometer of cleanliness. Have our innovations in modern domesticity only made domestic life that much more banal and disaffected, haunting us like some sort of technocratic Betty Friedan nightmare?
Or is it a cultural issue with these people? These… mayonnaise people. Have I assumed their pretension too harshly? Did I falsely detect a sense of irony so thick they don’t even know when they’re kidding anymore? Why do I assume they aren’t earnest in their love of mayonnaise? They look like nice people.
Why would I hate the mayonnaise artisans? I mean, hey, I’ve often waxed affectionate over the esoteric intellectual motivations of my dearest friends. My favorite people always have some sort of strange specialty; one friend with an encyclopedic knowledge of 1980s queercore punk rock, another a talented typesetter, passionate over fonts. How does artisanal mayo inspire such ire, while the relentless academic pursuit of a near-forgotten Marxist inspires such tenderness? Could I ever become endeared to these people, as I am endeared to my dearest of comrades? Could I really see them, as lovely to me as my own loved ones, who know every Richard Pryor routine by heart, or who would stirringly lecture you about art nouveau toilets?
No. I could not. Because it’s artisanal mayonnaise, and I have my limits.
Some scary ladies getting some love in the cake pop industry with these wild “Women in Horror Cake Pops” by Miss Insomnia Tulip.
I wonder what they taste like?
Previously on Dangerous Minds:
‘Game of Thrones’ severed head cake pops
Via Boing Boing