When people find out that I'm a chef, they inevitably ask, "Do you know how to make a banana split?" You might as well ask my landlady, who happens to be a children's librarian, if she's at all familiar with the works of Dr. Seuss. My landlady says that it's best to behave as if there's no such thing as a stupid question. Hah! I have no patience for such trivial matters as stupid questions.
Now, if you were to ask me if I know how to make a hot-fudge sundae, that would be a different story. I have a patent on a wondrous creation called
Now, if you were to ask me if I know how to make a hot-fudge sundae, that would be a different story. I have a patent on a wondrous creation called
Brad's Hot Fudge Sundae
While the exact ingredients are secret, the basic premise is this: if you order a hot-fudge sundae, the fudge should be hot. Yet, why do so many hot-fudge sundaes end up cold? The ice-cream, of course. My hot-fudge sundae differs in that something as inconsequential as the freezing point of ice-cream should not interfere with your hot-fudge experience. Ergo, I always serve my sundaes with pitchers of hot-fudge (top secret recipe) sitting on top of candle-powered ceramic warmers. You will find that as you pour in layers the hot-fudge sauce onto the vanilla* ice-cream (top secret recipe), you miss neither the whipped-cream (superfluous!) nor the maraschino cherry (potentially cancerous!)
Bon appetit, homo sapiens.
*If you want a different ice-cream flavor, find a different chef.
3 comments:
If you are referring to my history with the Pie in the Face Club, you should know that I have no idea about what you are talking. I have never heard of the guy in question, and I certainly had nothing to do with the creation of the whipped-cream pie.
ok. i've got a deal for you. you mail me a hot fudge sundae and i'll mail you some fresh tortillas. got it?
Sure! The laws of science are nothing when good cuisine is at stake.
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