Mittens Romulus

Continuing in our series of presidential nominees, I’d like to stop and take a moment to honor someone so wholesome, so robotic, so MONOGAMOUS, that clearly he’s going to win the republican nomination.  I’m looking at you, Mr. Willard Mitt Romney.  Mitt.  Ol’ Mittens.

What the hell are we doing right now?  We went from a series of Georges, Bill, and Ronald to presidential names like Newt, and Mitt.  Who is naming these children??  Was there a decade where people just randomly wrote nouns on their newborns’ birth certificates, like a gory and expensive game of Adlibs.  “In the neonatal ward right now, we’ve got an Alice, a Newt, a Mitt, a Lamp, and two Toasters (poor little devils, with their unoriginal parents).”

I know it’s totally allowed/encouraged to have stupid nicknames in college.  I once knew a guy whom everyone referred to as “Moosecock” because he had a seriously, universally impressive dongle.  But when he grew up and started accruing professional licensures, he had to go back to a slightly less fraternal name.  I should write him a letter and suggest that he run for president under the name “Moosecock.”  He’d get all of the votes in Florida, I’m sure of it.  He’d probably do really well with female voters, too.

Aside from having a profoundly inane name, and having crazy eyes, hiring illegal immigrants to mow his lawn, openly talking about how much he likes firing people who provide him services, having shady financial practices, and being a douchemobile with spinners on its wheels (rims? I don’t know.  I need to watch more MTV), he’s actually a pretty normal guy.

A pretty normal guy who believes, in his creaking, steel-plated heart and/or fusebox that $347,000 in speaking fees in a single year is “not very much.”

And that, my loves, is why I introduce you to an accessible, old-fashioned America meal that was inspired by a one Mitt “the toaster” Romney:

Looks like Newt Gingrich, sort of.

HA! Just kidding.  He’s not actually a robot, probably.  And if he were, he’d definitely have some kind of nuclear battery pack that self-recharged.

No, his meal looks a lot more like this:

Like Mitt would ever eat such a lowly denomination

Kidding again!  Mitt would never EAT money.  He prefers to use it as toilet paper.  And given the amount of residual cocaine on $1 bills, this dollar-booty contact is probably why he often looks like this:

Just a bit deeper! I’m starting to perk up!

Now I’ll be real.  The Romney.

A new spin on the classic, poor-man’s go-to meal, beef wellington.

Grass-fed, flax-finished local filet of beef tenderloin, seasoned liberally with truffle salt

Where else would you get beef?  Wal….mart?? Quelle Horror!

 Topped with a duxelle of mushrooms, shallots, parsley, and truffle oil, and then wrapped in puff pastry– the working man’s bread.

The “M” stands for “Mitt,” and the “$” stands for America

While it bakes, toss together a sauce of homemade beef demi-glace, butter, cracked pepper, parsley, heavy cream and some cheap whiskey

I call it my “cookin’ hooch”

No, I know that Mitt wouldn’t drink whiskey.  Especially not a 12 year single malt.  He’d definitely go for 18 year single malt.  And he’d make sure to simmer the sauce long enough to boil off the alcohol.  Or have the chefs do it.  Either or.

Drizzle the sauce over the golden brown pastry crust, truffle-scented mushrooms, and perfectly rare steak within.

Those aren’t green beans.  They’re HARICOT VERTS!

It’s bland.  It’s missing something.  Shit.

Oh yeah.  Mitt’s favorite seasoning.

Just another Tuesday night here at the Romney shanty

GOLD!!!!!!! 14k edible gold flakes really bring the flavor over the top.  It’s like Velveeta for not-poor people.

Please, don’t mock me for only using 14 karat gold.  On such a pittance of a non-interest income, how can he be expected to spring for platinum.  It’s called BUDGETING, and if we Americans could just get the hang of it, so many of us wouldn’t be standing on the street waiting for handouts like lazy weiners.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go eat some Romney (*shudder*) and then fire some people.  In honor of Romney’s favorite dessert–human tears.

Edited to add:  Do you know how hard it is to find edible gold in Parker?  Seriously, it took long enough that I reached the point where the only possible solution to my boredom was to text a picture of two frogs having sex to someone.  In the checkout line at the grocery store.  While the guy behind me was like “Are those two frogs having sex??”

–First world problems

Amphibious Sexin

I just want to take this opportunity to say how much I love politics.  It’s a thing that my family doesn’t feel as comfortable discussing, but I could discuss it all day.  Chris also likes talking politics, or listening to my political rants, so that works out well for both of us.

But this last 6 months, I have far surpassed my usual love for politics and transformed into something that I would call “giddy with joy.” So, with my love of culinary series (see the series on dictators or Asian food for white people or places the military tried to make me go), I think it’s probably a great idea to make an honorary dish for each of the candidates, along with some of the reasons I love them.

Except for Santorum.  Because nobody wants to eat frothy ass-juice, unless you’re talking about the kale shake I made yesterday.  Okay, I retroactively dedicate yesterday’s post to both Santorum AND Moss Man.  You can sharesies.

Today, I’d like to focus on my man, The Newt.  Part of the reason for this is that I purchased pork chops at the market, and I can’t think of anything that Newt looks more like than a pallid slab of pork with swaths of mashed potato hair and squinchy little caper-sized eyeballs that are busily eyeing up whatever juicy little female fly happens to accidentally land on his bachelilypad while his current Newt Wife is being diagnosed with and/or treated for a terminal illness.

And speaking of wives, The Newt also super-much likes porking things.  All things.  Especially things that look EXACTLY LIKE TREE FROGS.

A tree frog