In my continuing attempt to bring you all the weirdest products and gift ideas on the planet … may I introduce the raindrop cake?
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Imagine serving that at your next dinner party.
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My mind is apparently a very dark place, because when I first saw this picture? I didn’t think mountain climbing.
Nope. Not even close.
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I’ll say this just once. If you’re buying me a birthday gift? A Christmas gift? Or worse yet a wedding anniversary gift? It had better not be a box of vegetables.
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And if you do, this product might be coming your way shortly after.
My husband has a weakness for health food stores. Does he eat healthy? Not unless I force him, but he loves to stroll the weird item laden aisles all the same.
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Whipped cream or whipped rice? That’s a no brainer for me, but I suppose someone might buy that sorry excuse of a substitute.
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I really wanted to buy this bizarre looking fruit… But the husband balked at the price. Good grief, it’s named after a hand.
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If that isn’t worth a little extra scratch I don’t know what is.
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He’ll bitch about high prices but then go get a ridiculously small container of freshly churned peanut butter. Probably because he knows I won’t eat it.
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Worst waste of money that day? This cleverly marketed bag of dried fruit. I love kiwi, so I bought it.
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They weren’t lying, it’s ugly. And completely unpeeled. Who the hell wants to eat that!
Have you ever given any thought to spaghetti? It’s not my favorite dish, but the husband loves it so I have to cook it more often than I’d prefer.
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Now I can’t stop thinking about all that back and forth. Ridiculous, no?
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was cackling up a storm the other day. And no.. my windows are not normally that dirty, but the poor cat was positively drooling.
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That little red bitch is such a tease.
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The mere mention of Baby Shark has set that awful tune playing in my head again. If they’re going to roll out another equally as terrifying ear worm? We’re all doomed.
Legend has it that many years ago the tugboat Portland slowly wound its way up the nearby Cousins River. Its destination was Yarmouth, and its purpose was to provide a place for good food, drink, and hospitality. A harsh nor’easter besieged the boat at its mooring and strong winds grounded and overturned her. The restaurant is built on that site.
But wait…. as we were sipping our adult beverages something was spotted outside.
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Do you see it?
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My iPhone camera doesn’t do him justice, but that’s one very chill seal slowly floating by on a chunk of rapidly melting ice.
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Wedge salad and clam chowder later…
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He was still floating. Though he’d flipped over on his stomach and turned to face foward.
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Fried scallops and a stuffed haddock with sherry lobster cream sauce later? He was gone, and we were full. Just another average day on the Maine coast….
I live in Maine, Land of Lobster. We catch it, we eat it, we export it, we celebrate it with festivals. Hell, we’ve built an entire tourist industry around it.
The one thing we don’t do with it? Relieve menstrual cramps.
Yet someone, somewhere thought they should.
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Meet the Menstruation Crustacean.
Jesus wept.
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Lobsters are a lot of things…. long lived, bottom dwelling, quick swimming, and delicious in drawn butter.
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But cuddly?
Cuddly doesn’t make the top ten.
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Yes, this lobster abomination can hold tampons in its claws.
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Something I have to admit I’ve never seen ours do.
My girlfriend and I went shopping last week and were excited to discover a new Cajun seafood restaurant had opened in South Portland. Mouth watering for shrimp ettouffe or crawfish gumbo, we entered The Shaking Crab.
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Why was the crab shaking? I have no idea. But the place being nearly empty at the height of the lunch hour should have been our first clue something wasn’t quite right.
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Six dollar drinks went a long way to calm our suspicions…
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Though the Cajuns I’ve known wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a watermelon-tini.
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Giant plastic crabs were everywhere. As were plastic starfish and randomly placed hanging plastic water bubbles.
All the waitstaff were Asian. 9/10ths of the customers were Asian. The scent of the room was reminiscent of an Asian kitchen. The menu? Not an ettouffe, Boudin, or jambalaya in sight.
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Though you could order “coleslow” and “braccoli ”. (These appeared twice, spelled incorrectly both times.) I didn’t bother taking pictures of our meals, they were just typical fried seafood baskets as the only other choices were giant plates of steamed things in a plastic wrap bubble you had to crack, and we didn’t feel like making a mess. I did try to catch a shot of one being delivered to another table, but missed.
Imagine a giant Jiffy Pop balloon encircling a metal dish, only its clear plastic instead of foil. It was an absolutely bizarre presentation of what I’m assuming was meant to be a crawfish boil.
I lived down south. I had Cajun friends and neighbors. I’ve sucked heads. Whatever The Shaking Crab meant to be? It sure as hell wasn’t Cajun.
River's world..... 