Originally published on Mon September 15, 2014 3:42 pm
By Ian Chillag
Lay's Potato Chips is having some sort of promotion in which they release a bunch of new flavors and we vote on which one is best, based on flavor, crunch, and foreign policy experience. One of the finalists is Cappuccino. This proves unequivocally that democracy itself is flawed.
Miles: What a rip-off! Three-fourths of the bag is foam.
Kelsie: Can I get mine substituted with soy?
Ian: The cappuccino-potato chip combination is the culinary equivalent of a mullet.
Originally published on Mon September 15, 2014 12:04 pm
The modern peach is a work of art: rosy, fuzzy, fragrant, fragile — and, of course, impossibly sweet and juicy. But that enchanting fruit is the product of centuries of painstaking breeding that have transformed it from its humble origins. The peach of the past was much smaller, acidic and a greenish-cream color.
Where the original, wild peach came from has been a mystery, but a new clue brings us closer than ever to its origin.
It's a warm, late-August day on Glen Fuller's Western Colorado farm, and a whiff of something vaguely citrus wisps through the air.
It's the smell of hops. The lush vines climb 18-feet high, drooping with cone-shaped flowers, nearly neon in their greenness. Fuller is in the middle of harvest, cutting vines by the row and feeding them through a machine to remove the aromatic cones. Many of his hops will be used nearly immediately, as Front Range brewers gear up for a seasonal brew called a "wet hopped beer."