The horse meat steak I had for lunch yesterday and wrote about on The Daily Beast this morning. 

Christopher Dickey ate horsemeat in Paris yesterday! He writes:

I explained to Desperrières that I was American and I’d never eaten horseflesh before, at least to the best of my knowledge. He eyed me with a shopkeeper’s suspicion, as if I were about to waste his time. I wanted to buy something tasty, I said. He warmed up a little.

The shop had several cuts on display. The andouillette, a sausage made from pork and horse tripes, did not strike me as especially appetizing.

The horse filet “tournedos style” wrapped in pork fat seemed more appealing, but maybe just a bit too much for lunch. There were flank steaks and entrecôtes and other choice morsels, just like you’d see in a beef butcher, but there was something instantly and obviously different about all of them: almost no visible fat. No marbling at all. And the color of the meat itself was a rich red verging on purple.

“How about one of these?” said the butcher, pointing to two freshly cut flank steaks on the board in front of him. Because they were so lean, they looked as if they might be tough. I asked how they should be cooked. “Saignant,” he said. “Rare.” “Ah,” I said, and put down my €2.41 ($3.15). The French hate to cook their meat, and over time I’ve acquired that taste. But, still, with horse?

As Desperrières wrapped the steak, I looked at the decorations put up more or less randomly on the white-tile walls, among them slick posters from the horsemeat association of France that try to make equine flesh seem trendy and even, God help us, sexy. In one, a gorgeous woman in a leather jacket is pictured above horsemeat tartare: “Share a raw moment,” it says.

Reblogged from Newsweek


ryanpanos: Amazing photos of vintage logging industry in the Redwood Forests of California via U of C

Reblogged from Tree Porn

another day another good jam. 


another day another good jam.



Your dad knew how to rage before you did and his friends are still afraid to give him whiskey because of it. At about half past tipsy, the quiet giant bear child awoke from his sober slumber and became a shit ripping, F5 party tornado. Blacked out and filled with mistakes, he went down in party history each night his alter ego was released. His actions became party folk lore, making him the Johnny Appleseed of getting gnar balls. 

So hipsters, next time you’re recanting a tale of intoxicated past and bragging about how awesome you were the previous night, remember this…

Your dad is the patron saint partying and the reason the term “that guy” exists. 

Today’s awesome dad photo submitted by kevinfergus of the tumblrverse. 

This is one of the classics that made its way into the book. There are tons of new photos and post in it too. Check it out. 


This might be my favorite one.



Your dad was an Apple Fanboy before you were and he’s attended the Keynotes to prove it. He was a Cupertino badass that repped the forbidden fruit logo harder than the Hell’s Angels repped their patch. The name “Bill Gates” was a curse word in his home and you’d get command key-stroke killed just for using it.  He only needed one button to graphically interface his world because he appreciated the simplicity and beauty Saint Jobs crafted into every microchip masterpiece. 

So hipsters, next time you’re rocking pants-granite over the newest iSomething or smugly sitting in a coffee shop looking down your screen at everyone tainting your Wi-Fi with their Dell, remember this…

Your dad can Command-E you out of existence if you ever step out of line or touch his iPad again. 

P.S. Why do hipsters think Steve Jobs is so cool? Because he’s underground. (Too soon?)



Paris, France via jver64

Reblogged from no limits

Taken with Instagram at Stone Canyon Ranch