Everyone loves food. And most people can appreciate the artistry of cooking, regardless of whether or not they can even cook themselves. It doesn’t take a whole lot of effort to taste a perfectly cooked steak and be aware that effort was placed into it–that the grill was heated just so, that the steak was prepared in a way that kept it tender and juicy, that it came to your plate brown on the outside and wonderfully pinkish-red on the inside. Food is an art form for the masses, necessarily accessible and utilitarian. At the end of the day, the job of food is to taste good when it is eaten. And that’s pretty great.
Enter Dominique Ansel. He’s the guy that owns a bakery in New York that people line up for hours to get the privilege of ordering at. He’s the guy that appears on late night shows hocking his new recipes. He’s hip, he’s young, and he has exciting-looking, slick recipes. He’s also a pretentious shitbag whose recipes are pretty much the food equivalent of BuzzFeed.
Recently, Ansel has unveiled his new creation, the “waffogato”.
Looks pretty cool, right? Doesn’t everyone want ice cream shaped like a waffle that melts as soon as you pour hot coffee onto it, releasing soggy bits of belgian waffle and tapioca into your espresso?
Perhaps Ansel’s pioneering milk and cookie shooters are more your speed.
Have you ever wanted to do a shot of milk out of a soggy cookie thing? Have you ever wanted to bite into the soggy cookie thing and get a bunch of milk everywhere?
This is the problem with Dominique Ansel. His recipes and creations are slick, SEO-approved takes on things we all know and love. Waffles and ice cream are delicious, as are milk and cookies. It’s not a bad place to start. But think about what you get when you order a waffogato. It’s espresso with melted ice cream and also soggy waffle bits and tapioca. The milk and cookie shots ruin the concept of milk and cookies by assuming that the best part of milk and cookies is drinking milk. The ratios are all wrong.
This is food that is meant not to be eaten, but to be shared on Facebook and Instagram. It’s food that is meant to bring Ansel fame for reinventing things that don’t need reinventing.
I will grant that the cronut was a wonderful idea. There are many places around the country now where you can get one, and they are delicious. Maybe not wait-in-line-for-6-hours delicious, but that recipe, at least, is meant for eating. Though the goodwill Ansel gets from creating the cronut is immediately wiped out by the fact that he copyrighted the word. Can you imagine how much of a douchebag you have to be to, as a chef, create something and then say NO, IT’S MIIIIIINE to everyone who wants to put their own spin on it? In a parallel universe, ancient Sumerian Dominique Ansel has copyrighted the word “beer” and now, everyone else who wants to make is calling it “alcoholic hop juice”. Hell, the name isn’t even special enough to warrant copyrighting. It’s a combination of croissant and doughnut, for a pastry that is, well, a combination of the croissant and the doughnut.
Food is meant to be eaten, not looked at. Even super-expensive restaurants that charge 100+ dollars for a tiny plate take pride in the fact that the flavors are balanced, and the experience of eating even the small dish will be a fulfilling and exciting one. So fuck you, Dominique Ansel. You’re like Epic Meal Time, but without any of the things that make that show any good. And as you try to claw your way back to the fame that the cronut gave you, your culinary mashups have stopped making sense. This is you, Dominique Ansel. This is your stupid fucking waffogato.
In fact, I feel so bad for you, I’ll give you a recipe free of charge. Feel free to steal it, copyright it, and post it to your Instagram with a pristine white background. I call it the AnsHole. Start with a nice big batch of buttermilk biscuit dough. Roll it out and fold it over at least three times, rolling it flat. Repeat this process eight times. Using a cookie cutter, cut small holes in the dough and roll them into balls. Using a tipped piping bag, fill the balls with your own feces. Drop the balls in a deep-fryer and cook until golden brown. Ice the flaky AnsHoles with your semen while you congratulate yourself for your next culinary masterpiece. Charge $50 for a dozen. It’ll be a hit.
Oh, but before you do, maybe fix your fucking rat problem.