Why, a donut infused with homemade hard cider of course. We were nearing the end of last year’s batch of cider (made from only the choicest hand-picked apples, you may recall) when I stumbled across this recipe. A perfect, autumnal ending to a fine hooch.

We woke early yesterday for Halloween, which is also my son Andrew’s birthday, in order to have fresh donuts. My thinking was that there is no better way to start a day (much less a holiday or one’s birthday) than to be greeted by the enveloping smell of deep-frying dough. Or deep-frying anything, really.

So, the batter is made with the cider as is the glaze. You can certainly taste it, a bit like rum cake. One does wonder what it would have been like with some of the paint-thinning Applejack from last year. The 90-proof donut. Some key moments in the donut assembly line here.

The apple crop this year was pretty bad, so no cider in 2008. But the wild raspberries were many. We’re only a month away from bottling the brambleberry wine. Say, I wonder if there’s such a thing as Raspberryjack?

Continuing the finest set of post titles in years, I now give you The Goblin Cock. It is, perhaps — nay, back up — it is certainly the finest culinary concoction I have ever come across.

Some background. Thelovelywife and I pawned the midgets off on my parents in the ‘burbs, so we had a “free” night. Said wife had been hungover all day after sailing through the perfect storm of girl drunkeness the night before: lots of girlfriends sitting in a circle bitching about others where wine was plentiful. She was hurting 24 hours later and desperately wanted a burger. So my brother, who makes a career of going out and sampling what the city has to offer, informs us that the best burgers in the city are just a few blocks away at a bar called Kuma’s Corner.

The menu is a vegetarian’s nightmare. Consider only the Slayer: fries on top of a half-pound of beef with chili, cherry peppers, andouille sausage, onions, cheese, and anger. Presumably this last ingredient is actually a description of your digestive tract’s reaction to the dish.

All the burgers are named after heavy metal bands (death, nu, thrash … I’m not a student of the sub-genres). And this is all the bar plays, loudly. The waitstaff clearly loves it, though I’ll say now that it did not exactly help my wife’s pounding headache. Yet the promise of the food kept us there, despite the sonic assault.

So, back to The Goblin Cock. Read that chalkboard again. A half pound burger slapped together with a quarter pound hot dog (which is huge), pickles, peppers, cheese, bacon (!), pick de gallo, relish, onion, tomato and a side (in case you’re picky) of mustard. True to Chicago form, ketchup is not allowed since the monstrosity has a hot dog on it. (In fact, they can’t even spell ketchup correctly the thought of it on a hot dog is so troubling.) No Blister Nuts, alas, but if one were to suggest it to them I bet they’d not be averse.

Encased meat as a garnish. Does it get any better than that? Perhaps not, but I was not man enough and merely got a burger with a fried egg on it. Even now though, hours later as I wrestle with the consequences of such a gut bomb, The Goblin Cock beckons me back.

This bar is not for everyone. They have an angle and they grind it. An enveloping blanket of noise, no mass-produced beer (except PBR, bless their hearts), and food prepared angstfully. But the bartenders and waitstaff were very personable and attentive. Highly recommended.

I love cashews. Eat ’em daily. And, truthfully, I have never wondered why they are so much more expensive than other nuts. Nor have I ever wondered why you never see a cashew in its shell. But others have and it turns out the answers are related.

Botanically, the cashew fruit is related to poison ivy and the shell (though not the nut itself) contains a substance called cardol which is extremely caustic and will cause a nasty rash. This is why the cashew is also known as the blister nut. (Why god why does that not have an entry in Urban Dictionary?)

It is also why they cost so much since harvesting them is inherently dangerous and there is no good mechanical way of shelling them. Shucking is done by (presumably glove-wearing) manual laborers who have to deal both with the possibility of contact and the fact that the cashew fruit is just damn ugly, lewd even.

So you got two options if you really want to eat a cashew shell. The first is to say screw it, eat it, ulcerate your mouth and swell up. The second is to roast the hell out of the cashew. This boils off the poison, but be careful: apparently even the smoke can cause severe reactions.

But it isn’t all bad. Apparently the oil can be used as rocket lubricant. Oh, and I really enjoy saying blister nut. Blister nut. Blister nut. Try it, you’ll agree.

It is a damn good thing this little bit of trivia was not delivered to me earlier in the day. I’d have wasted even more time fascinated by it. (But thanks Juan!)