Humor: I'm the long story before the recipe on this food blog and I don't like you either
You could just scroll but you've got to complain
Hey you! I see you scoffing at me, the large body of text on this food blog you’re reading. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.
Don’t pretend you weren’t deriding me a second ago, buddy. I’ve seen your kind before. You search for “muffins,” and an irresistible recipe appears below the search bar. You see the fantastic photos and excitedly click the link, believing you’re seconds away from tasty town. However, surprise! I’m right there, in your face, ready to entertain you for at least three minutes before you begin your culinary journey.
I take many forms. Maybe I’m an emotional story that leads to sublime sugar cookies. Or a poetic musing about the meaning of family that acts as a preamble to a recipe for fried chicken. Perhaps I’m a heartwarming tale of forgiveness only mildly connected to a 10-minute pasta dinner you could have on the table in less than ten minutes.
Or, as you rudely informed my writer in the comments, “By the time I read through the whole post, I could have made 12 of these.”
In other words, according to you and your ilk, I’m a rambling waste of time.
Well, I’ve got a message for you and those who complain about stories on food blogs. F*** you. You don’t deserve this recipe I’m leading you towards. Go to somewhere else, you ingrate.
You heard me. Get out of here! If you feel that you’re too good to listen to my ballad of redemption as it relates to really superb buttermilk biscuits, then go! GIT! There’s a whole internet to explore, and the back button is right there, my friend.
I’m no waste of time. Do you think it’s easy being me? My job is twofold. I have to connect with you readers (particularly ones who claim not to want a story yet demand free recipe testing from bloggers) on a visceral level. I got to bind your heart to the story behind the pie so you don’t just bake the pie. You feel what the pie means to the author.
Think about it. I have to make you laugh before the end of my retelling of an intense experience so you’re not too sad to begin deveining the shrimp for a breakup gumbo.
I also need to be original. You don’t think there are days when I want to say, “This recipe came from the back of a bag of chocolate chips. Enjoy.” I can’t, though. All you blog readers say you want authenticity, but what you actually want is something that feels like a human crafted it, not a recipe developer for a large corporation OR a successful food blog. Authenticity only sells if it’s what the people want to hear. This means you will hear about the author’s first fishing trip while learning to fry a catfish.
Oh, you think I’m basic? That’s the beef you have with me?
Weird. You know what I think is basic? Being older than twelve and not learning to use the freaking scroll button. With how tech-savvy babies are getting, I’m pretty sure they could see that “jump to recipe” link and be done with it. Instead, you go to social media to gather all the other like-minded souls who want something to complain about.”
Sorry, I guess that story of how I learned to cook my dead grandma’s meatballs triggered you. But since you can scroll through and “like” all those snarky comments agreeing with you, why not skip me? Oh, nothing to say now?
No, no, no, no. No. You don’t get to backtrack. Complimenting the quality of the photos that accompany my tales doesn’t make us all good. You started this war; I’m going to end it. Do you think that good pictures are all it takes to stand out? I look good, but thousands of other sites do, too. Good photos don’t sell ads or garner book deals.
Those words you so detest will help my author reach a wider audience so I can tell even more people about Aunt Emma’s pie crust and subsequent divorce from her cheating husband. Why would I do that? Because there are people who care even if you don’t.
So please, if you find me tiresome, then leave. People like you are not welcome on this blog. Go and write your cute 280 characters. It may get some likes. I won’t notice. I’ll be too busy with the 3000-word masterpieces that make the recipes you desperately need memorable. Hey, don’t be upset that you’re not food blog material. I hear Allrecipes is looking for more readers.
Writing dumb things to make you laugh