Who Wrote That Shit? A Retrospective on the First Month of 79 Food By #ChefKouz

How many words does it take to guess the author of 79food posts? We'll use a standard p-value of .05 for these decisions. Posts where the author is explicitly mentioned in the title are not analyzed.

JM Curley's

            "I saunter into the dim establishment, hands crammed into the pockets of my jacket..."

After two words here we're at 95% Gene, 1.25% each other dude being ironic. Dim pushes us to 99.99% and establishment seals it. My only question here is why didn't he describe his jacket in more detail? What kind of threads you rockin' there bro?

Verdict: 2 words

Finals Mix 2012

From the title alone we're at 85% Nick, 5% Gene (which would be pretty much only Gaslight Anthem and Polar Bear Club), 5% Elias (Jack Johnson and Skrillex), 5% Robby (indie-folk and Christmas dubstep).

            "Thank you so much for your support. Who knew that three (or so) weeks ago..."

Gene's eliminated by this point. I'm giving his 5% all to Nick, who we can declare the writer of the post with a p-value of 0.1. By the time we get to "rando facebook friends" Nick has crept up to 95%.

Verdict: 49 words

Oral Tradition, Shared Culture, and the Bash Bros Showdown

Jadler and Elias are immediately eliminated, since they were in the showdown. The title makes Gene a heavy favorite here – I'd put him at 85%, Robby at 10%, Nick at 5%.

            "Sometimes I like to think about situations I am in as if they were a movie or a TV show..."

Gene.

Verdict: 20 words

Iron Chef 79: The Battle of the Bash Bros

This might be the toughest one yet, but we can quickly eliminate three chefs to make it a two-horse race. It's definitely not going to be Josh or TrollFroFlo, and the fact that a 6-year-old could understand the entirety of the first sentence ("Tonight at 8, the battle for Bash Bro kitchen supremacy will be decided once and for all") eliminates Gene.  The rest of the first paragraph isn't too enlightening – I've got 65% Robby, 35% DH at the end of it. However, the matter is quickly settled.

            "Chef Profile: Joshua Robinson Adler"

Middle names is such a wobbly thing to do that the z-score for Robby here is off the charts. We're done here.

Verdict: 80 words

79 Chef Madden Rankings

I don't know what to say here besides this was obviously Jadler's idea. Honorable mention for Robby but Jadler is at least a 20-1 favorite here.

Verdict: 0 words

Fridge Conflicts Abound

This quickly becomes a toss-up between Robby and Jadler (Nick and Elias are mentioned in the first sentence, and Gene shortly thereafter). They've got similar blogging styles, so it's tough to  say. "Thing is, when you buy groceries, you have to then put those groceries away," has me leaning towards Robby, 55% to 45%. There's not much else to make me lean either way until Robby is mentioned by name. I guess this is Jadler's post then, and easily the toughest one yet.

Verdict: 118 words

Thanksgiving Fridge Clean

Not Elias, but this could be anyone else except Gene. There's not much to go on here and after reading the whole post I'm at 35% Jadler, 35% Nick, 30% Robby. Turns out it's Jadler

Verdict: 49 words

The Tortured Cry of a Boca Grande Enthusiast

This is Gene, and he's wrong.

Verdict: 0 words

Foodmaster: An Obituary

I'm hoping this is a guest post by Nino, since getting deals is his jam and there were few better places to get deals and/or food poisoning than good ol' Johnnie's. My money is on Robby until we hit "weird organic shit," which any good phun phriendly pharmer has to love (Gene is out here too, by virtue of writing and food styles. Nick becomes the favorite now – 50% –  with Jadler and Elias both at 25%. Elias doesn't seem as cheap as DH and Dingus, so soon we're at Nick 70%, Josh 30%. Nick is gaining for the rest of the post until we hit the Fox and the Hound reference. Now there's no doubt. Nino wrote this post. Dammit.

Verdict: 337 words

An Oral History of Putting The Goddamn Empty Ice Cube Tray Back In The Freezer

This post is way too long and uninteresting to actually read. A quick scan shows a conversation between Nick and Josh. So it's one of them. Turns out it's Nick.

Verdict: No contest

The Spice Rack

The vocabulary in the first paragraph whittles it down to Gene and Robby, and I've got Bob-O as a 2-to-1 favorite given his Maryland affiliations, and that's state's love for Old Bay, which is mentioned in the title of the post, contrasted with Gene's love of commas, of which there are many in this sentence. As soon as "real Iron Chef, none of that America crap" comes out we know it has to be 79's resident hipster snob Jose Xavier Ignatius Bartholomew Buonaccorsi.

Verdict: 68 words

Robby and Jadler Use Ingredients

Coin flip, especially given their aforementioned similar blogging styles. However Robby is mentioned by name so it's gotta be Joshua Robinson Adler.

Verdict: 51 words

Restaurant Review: JM Curley's

I saunter into the dim establishment, hands crammed into the pockets of my jacket, eyes darting towards the bar, painfully unaware of the burly older gentleman in the Nike sweatshirt asking for the details of my party. Luckily my associate, one R. Asa P-H, has taken the point on this one and as he bargains with the gatekeep I evaluate the scene. Couples with death grips on each others hands, cautiously conversing in low tones so as not to violate the tiny privacy barrier hovering in the 5 inches between their tables and the tables of the other couples. A strangely circular ballet. This writer wonders if a family style smorgasbord would not serve to entertain the diners further, but something tells me that the clean cut man in the blue polo wouldn't want to brush arms with the curly haired, atari t-shirted wonder plopped next to him. No matter, the logistics of this idea are complicated and, in fact, completely tangential to the meaning of this narrative.

P-H parts from his conversational counterpart and returns to discus with myself and our third, the final piece in the puzzle. This associate has transferred to a nameless state lately, preferring instead to be defined by one pink, pom-pomed winter hat and others' attempts to qualify the garment into a phrase or noise. I am too smart for that business and instead communicate directly, forgoing the naming conventions of the modern world. After all, who I am to judge his self-representation, a rose by any other name and such... but I digress. P-H has struck a bargain allowing us to be casually swept to the end of the bar for an hour whilst they ready a table. Drinks will be served with a smile and a glance to our shady demeanor, but we needn't accept either, the drinks will do just fine thanks.

A mere twenty minutes later and we're eyeing the chef's offerings like rabid hogs. Had we known that our journey would stall at the prospect of a horrible table to hungry mouth ratio we surely wouldn't have allowed starvation to drift into the afternoon. The plight of the restaurant industry is greatly exaggerated (or is it understated? I struggle to decide) but this Curley's carries a tone of steadiness. I pay my silent respect to JM himself and sip my gin and tonic modestly, suddenly hoping that the man I so rudely brushed off at my entrance is not the namesake. However, I will not bore you with my musings and instead will move to the food.

A corner table becomes available and my companions and I wander towards it, allowing P-H to again move first as he shoves a humbly bearded man to the side and steps one foot onto the booth stating, "here we shall dine, good sirs." The waiter, a simple man with a deep v-neck, seems unamused by our aplomb but concedes. We make quick with the menu -- brined cucumbers, dredged and dipped in oil, followed by finely chopped cow's meat patties, earnestly stocked between the two halves of a leavened bread ball. As we sit we converse amongst ourselves -- politics and love for the most part, each of us struggling to be the Casanova and the Castro of the crew concurrently. It all ends in a beautifully jumbled mess, not unlike the plates of food that are sat before our ravenous mouths. We hardly pause to thank the service before tucking in.

20 minutes later and the table is clear with only dabbles of grease remaining alongside the handful of curled potatoes that escaped the plate upon arrival. A small crowd of fellows has gathered to marvel at our gusto, but we pay them no mind, choosing instead to pick our teeth and praise the meal we have just consumed. The settling of the bill is meaningless and thus, I shall skip it, instead choosing to note the high ceilings of Mr. Curley's hall, both in physical and culinary terms. Eyes beady, I gazed upwards wondering what miracles of philosophy had escaped northwards from the mouths of the diners that night and eventually concluding that if my own party was any standard there was nothing but hot air to go around, and that was just fine for now. Upon our exit the portly doorfellow again approached us and this time I saw to our conversation with kindness, exchanging a cheerful farewell and expressing my desire to return. One quick round of fives between my companions and I outside the tavern and we were off into the Boston night.

Do and Don’ts of 79: An Outsider’s Guide to Cooking in 79’s Kitchen (brought to you by Eric Shaw)

            Temporary contributing writer Rickles here.  One of the few problems with the blog so far is the relevance it has to people who don’t actually live at 79; however, for anyone who has hooked-up with someone, passed out, or otherwise spent a lot of time at 79[1], cooking food in their kitchen is necessary.  You never know if you’re gonna need some mac n’ cheese or a Trader Joe’s frozen meal at two in the morning.  Below is an easy-to-read guide in Do and Don’t gimmick format

Don’t use their grill unless you like your food burnt.  That grill has two heat settings: High and holy-shitballs-did-we-just-transport-to-hell.  Not to mention the fact that it is a standing grease fire waiting to happen.  Seriously, only the most skilled of cooks and firemen should approach that metal fire hazard.

Do use their toaster and Panini maker.  These are the two most reliable appliances in their kitchen and consistently produce edible food in an easy-to-make manner.

Don’t steal Nick’s frozen Oreos[2].  He gets very, very mad (uncharacteristic I know). 

Do steal Elias’ Oreos.  He doesn’t eat them often and has been known to let them go stale.  You’re actually doing him a favor.

Don’t do dishes.  They will all just assume that Robby forgot to do them.

Do rinse out solo cups.  For your own health.  You never know what was in those cups or if you’ll have to drink out of them.

Don’t steal a piece of Jadler’s chicken parm calzone. (Editor's Note: Seriously. Don't do it)

Do nicely ask for a piece of Jadler’s chicken parm calzone.

Don’t eat your food on the kitchen table.  That table is for drinking purposes only and its cleanliness reflects that.

Do eat your food on the coffee table in the living room.  Oh wait, they got rid of that.  Pricks.  Just eat your food off the fucking floor like an animal[3] and leave all your goddamn dishes there too for people to knock over and spill.

Don’t use their aluminum foil or Nick will get unreasonably angry at you and Gene will agree with a yelling Nick for possible the first time in their storied relationship

Do use their paper towels or paper towel substitutes.  It’s not like they paid for it and Jesus Christ, you’re just trying to clean up a part of their house that you may or may not have thrown up on.

Don’t sleep on the couches.

Do sleep in Robby’s bed.  He likes to snuggle.

That’s what I have so far but I expect to be around these parts every once in a while so keep an eye out.  Whenever you hear someone throwing up in the second floor bathroom or a spilled drink on the living room floor, I’ll be there.

---

[1] I consider 79 a fourth home^A. My power rankings of my homes: 1. 40 Ossipee 2. My home home  3. The rez. 4. 79

A. Besides footnoting the footnote, the purpose of this footfoot note is to give you my qualifications.  I have spent most of my time drunk at college for the past year and a half at 79 as well as living there this past summer on the third floor.  The third floor kitchen is so small that even hobbits find it oppressive so I spent a lot of the summer cooking on the second floor.

[2] The only frozen dessert item that I think Nick likes more than these are Klondike bars and if you steal one of them he will actually kill you.

[3] Still cleaner than the kitchen table

79 EarFood: Finals Mix 2012

Dear 79 Food fans,
Thank you so much for your support. Who knew that three (or so) weeks ago when Jadler started this wee Blogger site, that it would evolve into the behemoth (ehhh sorta) that it is today? Given our number of viewers, we clearly have a lot of rando Facebook friends checking this site out, which I personally love. So to all you kids who I haven't spoken to in years, keep up the good work.

Anywho, onto the real point of this post. I got bored in the library and made a finals playlist. It can be found here. Go enjoy it.
--Nick