Tequila and tarantulas

This appeared on my social radar a while ago:

Deep-fried tequila shots.

You cut up angel food cake into cubes, soak them in tequila and then fry them in really hot oil. Pretty easy, as long as you’re not drinking the tequila concurrently with working with the hot oil. Blot them on paper towels and sprinkle some powdered sugar over them.

Apparently they’re not big enough to constitute a whole thing yet, but there’s one thing to be said for this. There’s finally a use for angel food cake, which otherwise is a complete waste of time and effort, because it’s like eating tasteless, spongified chemically-extruded substances that you really don’t want defined for you.

So the tequila would help a lot.

Rum would be good, too—not silver, gold. Or Myers.

But back to the cake. One of my favorite pieces of Raymond Chandler’s writing is his description of Moose Malloy in the opening paragraphs of Farewell, My Lovely.

“Slim quiet Negroes passed up and down the street and stared at him with darting side glances. He was worth looking at. He wore a shaggy borsalino hat, a rough gray sports coat with white golf balls on it for buttons, a brown shirt, a yellow tie, pleated gray flannel slacks and alligator shoes with white explosions on the toes. From his outer breast pocket cascaded a show handkerchief of the same brilliant yellow as his tie. There were a couple of colored feathers tucked into the band of his hat, but he didn’t really need them. Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.”

Moose would have taken his tequila straight, no cake, no powdered sugar.