Since I always start my posts with a warning, here goes: Don't read this if you have an aversion to Sarah Silverman or food that resembles body parts or if you worship the ground that Martha Stewart stencils.
I mean it. Move along now.
Okay, for those of you who can hack it, my assignment for this Halloween was to write again about scary food, this time with the political incorrectness on the side. (It turns out that political incorrectness is not only very high in calories, but it's also raised on corn in Burma and slaughtered by four-year-old orphans who have flies in their eyes and harelips and call out, "Angie! Angie!" during the two hours of sleep they get a night.)
Anyway, let's start with a definition.
Scary [skair-ee] Adjective, scarier, scariest 1. Ridiculous 2. Tacky 3. Of or pertaining to Martha Stewart
So, I just watched the Sarah Silverman Show last night, and these little numbers bring to mind a song she sang called "What happened to the white dog poop from the Seventies," which I thought raised a very legitimate question. (Attempts at answers located here, though I tend to think the most likely culprit is CORN and no one says so expressly. Get Michael Pollan on that immediately, dammit.)
Anyway, as usual, I digress. In short, Martha's Ghoulish Petit Fours made me thankful that poo doesn't smile at you. (But what if it did?) Then I realized that it's unclear if the lower dot on the Martha ghouls is supposed to be a mouth or a nose, which led me down the path of imagining some poor lackey at Martha HQ making these things and getting the face wrong the first time and getting strangled with the licorice "lace" that supposed to go around the base of the witches' hats.
(Note, never accuse Martha of not recycling a great idea, as with these Mashed Boo-tatoes.)
Moving on, let's take a look at I Scream Sandwiches. The salient quote? "For neat rounds of ice cream, snip away the carton with scissors, cut ice cream into 3/4-inch-thick slices, and make shapes with a 2 1/2-inch cookie cutter."
Shoot me now.
And now, the Martha piece de resistance:
Ladies' Fingers and Mens' Toes, which the site calls "ghoulishly good", a term that made me wonder just how much crack Martha's editors smoke to get through the day. At first I thought these atrocities were pastries of some sort, but they are in fact pretzels. Pretzels with almonds? Martha, c'mon.
The part I liked the most about this recipe was the implied part: Notice that the last ingredient listed is "fried rosemary (optional, for toes)". Not fingers, mind, just toes. Toe hair.
Before I wrap up Martha bashing, I did want to bring your attention to something else I found on Martha's site, which while not food that can be eaten, I hope still qualifies to be on BAB.
Who would do this to their child? Notice how it looks like either a) the lobster is pooping the child (so sorry, I'm channeling Sarah Silverman today), b) the lobster is giving birth to the child (at least it's not breach), or c) the lobster and the baby are inter-species conjoined twins and appear to share a rectum. And note the evidence, yet again, of Martha's editors smoking crack! "In the end, any costume you design will be memorable and guaranteed to be loved by your friends, family, and, of course, baby!" (My italics.) Since when do babies that age love anything but boob and Teletubbies?
Okay, I'm done with Martha, but lest you think I'm a horrid bundle of vitriol who deserves to be bound with licorice, gagged with hairy man's toe, and tarred and feathered with a hot glue gun, let me leave you with two videos of Halloween recipes that didn't make me want to slit my wrists.
Behold British mini-Martha, whose name is apparently Tilly. (Tilly! Tilly! And don't you just want to eat up her accent?) I played this three times just for the sheer joy of hearing the mysterious braceleted Tilly say "lolly sticks."
And now meet Pink of Perfection's pumpkin soup, which is easy and I bet scrumptious. Oh, and I like her dress. "Her" being Sarah McColl, winsome talent/Juliet Binoche lookalike behind Pink of Perfection, "the thrifty girl's guide to la dolce vita."
Something tells me Ms. McColl would be great fun to go lingerie shopping with, then afterwards you'd stop by some chic tiny little restaurant at 3pm and wind up there until 6:30 when people start coming in for their dinner reservations and you've drunk four glasses of Beaujolais and have a horrid case of the giggles and start laughing about your vibrators and the bartender -- who is very cute and you have been flirting with -- has to cut you off.