No take-backs

I really hate people who go around saying, “I have no regrets.” (Their favorite web site must be www.denial.com. Right? High five!) But when I really think about it, I stand behind my own life choices, too. If I could have a life mulligan I’d only change one thing.

I would not have purchased curry-flavored potato chips.

Editor’s note: The flog is back. That horrible volcano that erupted various segments of spaghetti bolognaise was brutal. But thanks for all your prayers.

AND if you have any food questions please email us at thisisafoodblog@gmail.com

Messed up sugars in tomato sauce

Oh, hey readers.

Joanna and I encountered a natural disaster three weeks ago and subsequently have been unable to flog. You see, a giant meatball rolled down from a volcano and crushed our small island village. And if that wasn't bad enough, well, that was only the beginning. The volcano proceeded to erupt flooding the ruins of the village with a merciless river of marinara sauce.

It was pretty bad. I lost my appetite for meatball subs. Joanna lost a leg.

And if that wasn't enough, I received a startling diagnoses from my doc about my blood sugar. I'm hypoglycemic. Much to my chagrin that does not mean I can dispense ice cream toppings from my fingernails. It means my blood sugar levels are regularly too low, and when I feel weak and super hungry during the day it's not me being an infant baby babe. Still, this condition is preferred to diabetes, in which one's blood sugar is too high. Better in that, sometimes, I might have to eat candy bars and pastries for my well-being. Diabetics can't eat anything fun. I have to.

It blows but it's not as bad as cancer or the prospect of being in China right now. Sorry earthquake victims :(

Yeah, you'd lick the bowl

Brownie: The bastard child of the baked goods world. No one will lay claim to our fine fudgie friend with a muddled history covered in chocolaty crumbs. Though presumably American-born, this innocuous potluck picnic standard is left to wander the streets asking, “Are you my daddy?” or perhaps more striking, “Who am I?”

Too dense to be a cake. Too cakey to be a cookie.

With this identity crisis in tow the brownie is easily seduced by you or me. We promise the moon, the stars… love. But we’re really just looking to sink our teeth into that delicious quadrilateral snack. It’s not a fair fight.