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We asked our staff writers to teview something disappointing, but with love and care. Be gentle. Be kind. Coach it, a little bit. Show it the pathway to excellence. Give it a gentle nudge and a hug, all in one short breath.
Kelaine Conochan
Hey apple tree, can we talk? This will just take a minute. So, I know you’ve been pretty stressed out lately about the existential threat of climate change and all that, but I’ve noticed a significant drop-off in the quality of your work. Is everything okay at home? See, I’m asking because, well, I just had one of your apples. And I’m going to be honest, it was pretty disappointing. The skin was… almost rubbery? And the flesh on the inside was—no, no, no, I wasn’t going to say mealy… don’t put words in my mouth. It wasn’t mealy. But it was dry and, forgive me if this is too harsh, flavorless. It just felt like you didn’t try. Like you didn’t care. And that just didn’t sit right with me. So, anyway, I just wanted to see how things are going. I really care about you, and if there’s anything I can do to help get you back to that crisp, tart, delightfully handheld vibe, just know that I’m here for you.
Jay Heltzer
I’d like to say a word or two about the JilKel 12” nonstick frying pan. This was the best-looking frying pan on the Target shelves. The grey-blue colored bottom of the pan was like a Ryan Gosling, smokey-eyed gaze, beckoning me with a sexy, “What you fryin’, baby?” look. The handle is the most ergonomic, palm-friendly, finger-gripping love affair I’ve ever experienced in the culinary arts. I declared in the middle of aisle B45, “I am PANSEXUAL!” I loved you JilKel… until I brought you home and you treated my scrambled eggs like grade school paste. Even with olive oil rippling on your heated surface, you gripped onto my food like you were looting the stores during a riot, yelling “MINE!” and wouldn’t give it back. My burgers shredded, when they should’ve slid, my veggies scorched like apocalyptic Earth. Sorry JilKel, you sexy beast, it’s not meant to be.
Jillian Conochan
What follows is a friendly review of the previous reviewer:
You know a good thing when you see it and you’re very witty (“PANSEXUAL” joke 💯), but have you tried turning down the flame on your stove? I say this with only concern and care as you seem like a really good guy. I too used to operate my stove in the 80th percentile, because ain’t nobody got time for 6 minute eggs when 4 will do. Then one day while whipping up some chicken tikka masala my bossy friend from college unconsciously enveloped my hand in hers and rotated the knob down to medium-low and—are we still saying Bam!? Or was Emeril Lagasse cancelled?—my whole life changed.
Hold up, did you say nonstick? Find a field, dig a hole, and bury it; that shit is more toxic than Britney Spears in her bathing suit making mac and cheese. But also, check the height of your burner. Never hurts.
Natalie Brandt
To The Bear (spoiler alert),
Everyone loves you. Only the Game of Thrones could match your hype. Sure, I quit GOT after that hot neanderthal killed his own dog in episode 2, but I decided to let your ursine legend carry me like flotsam to the TV promise land. Honey, you can call me Chef! Season 1 was perfection even though I’ve no clue if “cousin” is actually a cousin or why the sexy ghost hid money in those cans. Well, I’m four episodes into Season 2, which everyone said was even better. I never realized how many deaf, calm, and patient people I knew. See, my little blue-eyed, knife-wielding kitchen elf, all the loud, angry relatives (they are related, right?), the time slippage (seriously that ghost is hot), and the ubiquity of random nicknames (I swear Tina keeps calling you “Jeff”) asks too damn much. Please, just cook something.
Josh Bard
To Pumpkin Spice Beers:
Hey guys, good to see you again. I know it’s your busy season and I don’t want to take up too much of your time. But if you will just indulge me for a quick second. The thing is that where I live right now, it’s 95 degrees and feels like 195 in the shade. It is early September, which means it is summer, by all measurements. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you or don’t want you around, but when I am looking for a cold refreshing beverage in the summer, I am never looking for an autumnal spiced flavor. I want crisp and light and citrus-y. Face it guys, you showed up a little too early for the party. And while you are very welcome guests, I think we’d all be a bit happier if you went back out, drove around the block for a little bit, and showed back up in a month.
Thanks and cheers!
-Josh
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