HULK’S MASH!

Inspired by The Avengers, a super awesome movie that I (and probably you) went out and saw and loved, these bright green mashed potatoes are enriched with the sweetness and vitaminity of peas! HULK SAYS YUM!

Hulk’s Mash is a simple and versatile recipe. For instance, you can use the novelty of green potatoes to sneak vegetables into children, simply by sticking to kid-friendly flavors. Or, as an alternative…

…you can add some subtle mint for a sophisticated, more adult appeal. HULK ENCOURAGES YOU TO RELAX.

Make these with mint, garlic, or cheese—DOESN’T MATTER! HULK SAYS DELICIOUS EITHER WAY!

Maybe too delicious. Hulk, it’s rude to eat with your hands! Get a fork!

“Sometimes, Hulk so clever, Hulk almost no can stand Hulk.”
—ToyFare magazine

Notes: The minted version of this recipe, below, is delicate and interesting and pairs nicely with a simple piece of grilled fish or meat. It’s also great as a cold side. If delicate and interesting isn’t quite what you’re looking for, leave out both the mint and lemon juice for a basic version of these mashed pea-tatoes that can be topped with cheese or bacon. (You can also replace the mint in the recipe with 3 cloves of fresh or roasted garlic for a more traditional garlic mash.)

 Hulk’s Mash

Makes about 6 servings

• 3 lbs potatoes (any kind is ok!)
• 3 cups frozen peas
• 3 Tbsp sour cream
• 3 sprigs mint
• 3 Tbsp salted butter
• Fresh lemon juice
• Milk (optional)

1. Peel the potatoes. Cut them into chunks. Boil until fork-tender and drain.
2. Thaw peas according to package directions.
3. Place sour cream and mint leaves into the bowl of a food processor and blend.
4. Add peas and blend until smooth.
5. Add potatoes one cup at a time, mixing until fully incorporated.
6. Cut butter into pieces and blend into potato mixture.
7. Mix in lemon juice to taste, one tablespoon at a time. If the mixture is too thick, add milk by the tablespoon until you like the consistency.
8. Salt and season as desired, and serve hot or cold.

“Exactly on December 21, our sun will be in the center of [The Great Dark Rift]. Also on that day there will be a galactic alignment of all the planets. These two astrological events only fall on the same day every 26,000 years.”

Every 26,000 years! Isn’t that interesting? Curiously, the author doesn’t make any mention of this year’s other cosmic coincidence, wherein Cinco de Mayo and the Kentucky Derby both fall on May 5.

I know what you’re going to say. “But Kristina! The Kentucky Derby isn’t a cosmic event! It’s scheduled! Somebody decided to have it on May 5!” You’re right, of course, but you’re missing the point big time.

THE POINT:

(Image sources available via my obsessive Pinterest board.)

That’s right. Two of the most fabulously festive, virtually pointless occasions known to the Western Hemisphere are coinciding for the first time in up to 26,000 years. We may only get one chance, so it’s up to all of us to amalgamate these two legends of outdoor revelry into one perfectly absurd patio-bound Saturday rife with mint margaritas (is that a thing?) and chili pepper racing (I’m almost positive that’s not a thing).

In case you stopped paying attention a minute ago when I said Cinco de Mayo and the Kentucky Derby are pointless, please try to focus. Maybe you’re more sophisticated about horse racing than I am, or less removed from the significance of the Battle of Puebla, but you’re missing the point again. Just try to forget I said it.

I need you to concentrate on what’s important: that there’s only one responsible way to spend this Saturday morning, and that is assembling the perfect hat.

I don’t want you to leave the house on Cinco de Mayo de Kentucky Derby with a naked head! Here are some prototypes I put together to inspire you. You’ll probably forget to be inspired because you’ll be busy laughing at me in my stupid hats BUT I AM COMPLETELY COOL WITH THAT.

The Churchill Down-brero: A big straw hat with stuff glued to it

While I was at the thrift store picking out a big straw hat, I spotted a variety of realistic styrofoam peppers and tomatillos on sale for $1.50. Such a steal! This was clearly a message of approval from the universe itself so I bought the hell out of it. Now my big straw hat has a tomatillo and a chili pepper on it, which I find delightfully absurd. And, in the end, rather subtle.

• Hat: $3
• Bouquet of faux flowers: $5 (and I had a lot left over)
• Tulle remnant: $.39
• Peppers: A fraction of $1.50 because I lucked out, but you could probably find something similar at the dollar store
• Total: About $10

This hat doesn’t need a tutorial, because all you have to do is arrange your stuff the way you like it and hot glue it to the hat. In my case, I placed my biggest flower first, then tied the tulle on before gluing everything else down. The toughest part is deciding where you want everything, so take your time moving it around before you glue!

Also, if you find yourself in a fabric store, consider checking the remnants for any leftover pieces of that weird trim with the pompoms that dangle down from it. My store didn’t have any, but it would be perfect for the brim of your hat, if a lot less subtle. Of course, if you’re feeling really bold, why not start with an actual sombrero instead of a plain straw hat?

The Excessively Caliente Fascinator: A headband with overwhelmingly ridiculous stuff glued to it

Maybe you’re not a big-straw-hat kind of person. You needn’t feel left out! Some derbygoers show up in extravagant fascinators with sky-high feathers and veils and miniature horses and pink flamingos and stuff. Follow your heart.

My heart told me the universe had given me those peppers for a reason.

• Headband: On hand, worth maybe $.50
• Peppers: A fraction of $1.50 (you could use real peppers if you wanted!)
• Tiny thrifted basket: literally $.14
• Tulle/netting remnants: about $1
• Feathers: $1.75
• Total: About $5

I probably should’ve taken more pictures, but trust me, this is easy. (Making one that doesn’t look ridiculous could be harder, but I think you could apply this basic dumbed-down technique.) Before I glued anything into the basket, I took a piece of thick cotton yarn, pulled it through the bottom of the basket, wrapped it around the headband, and then tied it tight in a double knot on the inside of the basket. That way, once the basket is filled, the knot is hidden. Plus it’s not permanent, which will be nice if I change my mind and want my headband back.

Then I arranged my peppers in the basket, hot glued them down, and started attaching my tulle, also with hot glue. That involved cutting the tulle into 8″ wide strips and gluing it around the bottom of the basket, pinching it into little gathers as I went. I gathered the black netting less, which is why it hangs down more, while the green netting sticks out almost in a flat ruffly circle from the basket. If you want to make a veil, you don’t need to gather the tulle very much at all, but if you want it to stand out like a tutu, gather like crazy!

Finally, I jammed two big red feathers down into the basket and put it on my head. Because that is what you do.

As with the straw hat, the most important part is to take your time arranging all the pieces so they’re just so when you’re ready to glue them down. And as for how much to put on it? The notion behind fascinators, as with margaritas and mint juleps, seems to be that as soon as you think you’ve reached the perfect amount, you should go ahead and double it. Then you’ve got a party.

That may not be the correct philosophy for the fascinator you wear to a Roaring 20s-themed wedding, but this is Cintucky der Mayo, a holiday that will probably go down in in the books as one of the tackiest in history. Don’t be timid!

I admit that when I finally laid eyes on my finished fascinator, I was struck with the sudden concern that it might be offensive on some level that I don’t understand. Maybe covering a tiny hat with references to spicy food and Carmen Miranda—who was Brazilian—is insulting to Mexican culture. I really hope it isn’t. For a moment, I also worried that it might be insulting to burlesque dancers and other fascinator enthusiasts. But you know something?

I may have been missing the point.

Devastatingly, Moss is no longer with us.

I even tried turning it off and on again.

I’m not good at plants.

However, despite being forgotten in his sad little plastic pot, Roy seems to have stuck it out on the windowsill. What a damn survivor.

A bowl of petunias wouldn't have been nearly so lucky.

Any plant that can survive a month in my care deserves a fighting chance, so I moved Roy to a terrarium. I read somewhere that plants are harder to kill when they’re in terrariums, which I presume is because of the protection they offer from ranged weapons. I also read that begonias in particular thrive in terrariums.

Plus I had this jar and nothing to put in it.

I’m really not good at plants. I cannot put too fine a point on that.

So I looked up tons of instructions and I followed them as closely as I could. I didn’t try anything fancy. I didn’t add plastic animals or ships or a tiny computer desk to the terrarium. I did not combine multiple species of plants into a miniature landscape. All I did was put a plant in a jar.

Fun fact: This was taken right before my upstairs neighbor dumped water on me.

According to Better Homes & Gardens and the elders of the Internet, this is how you make a terrarium.

I put a quarter inch of charcoal into the bottom of the jar (maybe more like half an inch) and couple of handfuls of gravel.

Maybe more like mouthfuls, am I right? HA!*

Then I added some soil and dug a well and stuck Roy’s roots in and pushed all the dirt back to the middle so he wouldn’t fall over.

Safe as houses.

Finally, I watered him a little. I think it was a little. Just a squirt. I don’t know how much is a lot to a begonia and he didn’t say when.

It’s been about an hour and I don’t think he’s dead yet.

Why is he standing up like that? Is he signaling for help?

Only after I finished did it occur to me that the thing plants probably like best, even more than the relative safety and confinement of a terrarium, is for me not to touch them. So I may have made a mistake.

But he looks so much nicer in the jar.

Needless to say, the plant on the bottom shelf is extremely fake.

Basically, all I want is for Roy to live forever with minimal attention from me.

I’ve had a lot of plants, and despite my arduous research and attempts at remembering to water them, what usually happens at this point in the process is that the plant begins to shrivel up and die of natural causes (except that one time when that fern got moldy and I dumped it out in the yard, and that other time when I found tiny orange bugs all over my herbs so I dug them up and chucked them off the balcony). Knuckle Salad is certainly not a clinic for my plant problems. However, if you can see anything I have obviously done wrong (terrible jar? not enough sunlight? too many zombies?), maybe you could let me know in the comments. I will be very grateful.

If he survives, that is, I’ll be grateful. If he doesn’t, I’ll secretly blame you in my heart for the advice you provided/withheld. So let’s all hope for the best and I’ll check in later with updates.

You know how, when you’re busy, time seems to pass by really quickly? I mean, obviously it doesn’t, because for that to be true, time would have to be linear, and we all know it isn’t, even if most of us have a better chance of understanding the comics of Stik than the actual shape of time or whether time is a shape at all.

But it feels pretty linear, and it feels pretty fast. Lately, I’ve been struggling to recall the order in which things have happened (supposing things had happened in an order and not all at once in a wobbly nonlinear…wibble). Fascinating stories of my adventures tend to sputter and stall, like, “I ran out of printer ink probably… two weekends ago? Three? It was the Friday after John got back from San Diego, I think, and—no, it had to be a Saturday, because I remember needing to leave early and somebody was getting sandwiches… wait, that’s wrong.” Even I stop listening to myself.

When I can’t remember anything, I miss out on telling you about potentially-interesting things. Worst still, you miss out on the not-particularly-interesting things that happen in between. Like today, I looked a dumpster. No, seriously. A dumpster.

So as you can see, I’ve renewed my effort to document life and lunch, this time with Instagram. About 80% of my Instagram photos focus on what I’m eating or what I’m making, craft-wise, as I travel about town, and it’s fun to look back on my growing collection. Trouble is, I’m lazy about typing on my phone—so lazy that I prefer to use the voice-recognition app to send texts, despite the fact that it only sometimes understands punctuation, resulting in texts like, “On my way period there was a line at the post office period don’t start without me exclamation point smiley”—so my Instagram captions are glib at best. Here are the things I couldn’t be bothered to write about last week’s photos.

1. Jenny bought an old $25,000 Pyramid game at a garage sale for 75 cents. It was surprisingly fun until we got to outdated topical categories, like “Recent Academy Award Winners.” At least most of the actors were still famous, but instead of effortlessly citing each actor’s recent award-winning films, the clues were like, “Um, I think…yeah, she was in The Devil Wears Prada, right?”
2. Our new friend Swati (not pictured), who recently moved to Atlanta from India, joined June, Kaz and me at Cupz & Cakes in Buckhead for our weekly cup-of-coffee-and-time-to-make-stuff. Because I am consumed with festival-related optimism, I spent the time preparing pieces for the Inman Park Festival. Afterwards, Swati got her first look at the Beehive and was smitten, because the Beehive is super cool. I felt inexplicably proud of myself for showing it to her.
3. It’s hard to beat a beautiful spring afternoon at Red Brick Brewing, even if the prices have nearly doubled since our last visit. The niceness of the weather has probably doubled, too, because we spent an amazing Saturday on their patio. Can you multiply weather like that? If so, is it legal to charge extra for it?
4. This craft project was a lousy failure. I thought it would be easy to selectively polish old pewter. It isn’t. I’ll try again, though. I don’t want anybody saying I gave in to a stupid teapot. If I find out you’ve been saying it, I will start a teapot-based rumor about you in return.
5. We stopped by for a few minutes to see guitarist Lance Price. He plays every other Thursday night at Suburban Tap in Marietta. He is very good and this chalkboard knows it. Somebody, then LANCE! Whoever, and then LANCE!
6. My mom and I took our first shopping trip down to Sweet Auburn Curb Market. We had our choice of farm stands and butchers’ counters. I chose almost all of them. Then I took a picture of my haul, as proud as if I had hunted or otherwise valiantly defeated these ears of corn, because I got all these fresh local goods for less than $20! Achievement unlocked!
7. I had two dinner dates with John in one week. We never do that. On the 11-year anniversary (if time were linear) of the day we met, we went out for pizza. On another random day, we had lovely sushi. We are so fancy. I’m going to start carrying opera glasses.

I shall continue to take photos this week as I prepare a new post in a day or two with proper pretty pictures. No MEAT COOK BOOK this week. I have a MEAT COOK BOOK recipe in my back pocket that’s going to knock your socks/gag reflex off, but I’m going to save it for later, because first, you deserve some pretty pictures. See you then.

Unless I absolutely have to.

In 1965, Better Homes & Gardens published a book by the rather spartan name of MEAT COOK BOOK—a title which, as a cursory glance reveals, is not a Cookie Monster-style declaration of meat’s long-overdue revenge on literature. Nope, it’s just a cookbook about meat, or more aptly, a cookbook just about meat. Meat on sticks, meat in spreadable rings, meat smothered in shredded Velveeta. Apparently, this thrilling work of culinary nonfiction was so successful that by 1967, it had reached its eighth printing.

Eight printings! In two years! This being Better Homes & Gardens, you can assume that these were very large printings, which were followed by still more printings, judging by this 1977 cover (left). Therefore, by my calculations, sales of this book are now climbing toward, or have indeed reached, infinity.

I’ve inspected MEAT COOK BOOK to exhaustion, gawking and saying things like, “Oh my god, this recipe calls for ‘fat’—not ‘oil’ or even ‘lard’ but it says the actual word ‘fat’ right here in the ingredients, look! ‘FAT!’” and I can tell you that it’s in remarkable condition, with nary a splatter or errant smear anywhere within its pages. That’s because presumably, the previous owner(s) received it as a gift (“What do you get the girl who has everything and loves ground meat mixed with mayo?”) and never took it anywhere near the kitchen.

Or maybe the previous owner(s) loved it so much that they bought two copies, one to use and one to cherish. For every book like mine, there could be another out there in which “Liver Loaf,” “Bologna Bake” and other alliterative atrocities are dog-eared and stained with decades of liver and memories.

If that second theory seems like a stretch, consider how unlikely it is that an unpopular book, purchased only as a disappointing gift, could’ve remained in print for at least 12 years. Seems improbable, right? So is MEAT COOK BOOK, as it appears, the worst cookbook ever assembled, or is it an important and beloved building block in the history of American cuisine? Part of me (the part that abandons metaphors) wants to know for sure.

That’s why I’ve decided to use MEAT COOK BOOK. I’m going to make these recipes. I might be the first, or it may be a well-traveled road, but I intend to select some objectionable dishes and test them one by one to find out if the home cook of 1967 really had it as tough as it looks. Perhaps she gripped the laminate countertop for support as visions closed in on her of sliced cow’s tongue bubbling beneath a cookie-and-raisin sauce (page 65, I’m not even kidding). Or perhaps the recipes I now turn my nose up at—anything involving meat jello, for instance—are fabulous delicacies that have simply fallen out of fashion. Looking ahead, I think my biggest challenge may be finding a market that will sell me a can with an entire ham in it. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to taste 1967. And you’re coming with me.

Are you ready to see some “franks go fancy?” Because, you guys, they are about to go SO FANCY.

"Franks go fancy—in creole sauce or toasty jackets"

There they are. Wiener Winks, peeking out from the upper right corner. Look how fancy they’ve gone in their toasty jackets! We don’t need to talk about the nightmare-red “creole” skillet, or whether the part that’s “sour” is the pineapple juice or the green pepper, because we are not in fact going to drown anything in ketchup-sauce today. But we are going to send some franks very, very fancy. (Fun 1967 fact: “toasty jacket” appears to be another way of saying “piece of toast.” Let’s bring it back.)

I’ve selected this as my starting point because, while the presentation is whimsical and absurd enough to be considered almost deranged, Wiener Winks are still basically made of foods I can imagine eating together. Okay, maybe not the Parmesan cheese. But mainly. So this is how we’ll get our feet wet, because I don’t think we’re quite ready for “Ground Beef in Sour Cream” (page 117). Not yet.

Wiener Winks call for butter, but butter is absent from the list of ingredients, as if it were as common as water. It’s assumed that the home cook of 1967 has a stick of butter in at least one of her hands at all times. I’m surprised the recipe doesn’t instead specify when it wants you to refrain from buttering something. “Butter only one side of bread. Dip buttered side in not-yet-buttered cheese. Combine onion with mustard and no butter; spread on unbuttered side of bread and place a butterless frankfurter diagonally across each slice.” That’s probably the only way to be sure. Because, let me remind you, the ingredient “fat” does make it onto the ingredient lists of several of these recipes. But butter? Well, obviously you’ll be using butter. You’re cooking, aren’t you?

Wiener Winks

Makes 8 

• 8 frankfurters
• 8 thin slices bread, crusts removed
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 3 Tablespoons finely chopped onion
• 3 Tablespoons prepared mustard
• 8 stuffed green olives

1. Place frankfurters in boiling water; cover, reduce heat, simmer 5 to 8 minutes; drain.
2. Butter bread. Dip buttered side in cheese. Combine onion and mustard; spread on unbuttered side of bread and place a frankfurter diagonally across each slice. Fasten 2 opposite corners of slice with toothpick. Place bread side down on broiler pan; broil 3 inches from heat 2 or 3 minutes on each side to toast. Perch olives on toothpicks.

This recipe gets major points for ease of preparation, a respite for which I’m sure the home cook of 1967 was grateful after weeks of directions that casually began with phrases like, “Remove skin from picnic” (page 46). Not today, little lady! Chop up some onions, butter some bread, and boy howdy, you’re halfway home! I can almost smell those Wiener Winks already.

Despite its simplicity, I was challenged by this recipe in three distinct places. For one thing, I tried to stick the toothpick in laterally, parallel to the floor, rather than overlapping the two corners of the bread and jabbing down through the hot dog. That did not work. And then I burned everything, presumably because MEAT COOK BOOK intended for the food to be three inches from the fire, not the oven rack. Looking back, that seems kind of obvious.

Oh, and the third challenge. The third challenge was that I forgot to cut the crusts off the bread. It was days before I realized that. Had I remembered, I’m not sure there would’ve been enough bread left to close with the toothpick, because it was a pretty tight fit already. Hot dogs, like hippies and neckties, must’ve been a lot skinnier in the ’60s.

Here’s a short video of John and me trying our Wiener Winks for the first time. My only regret is that I forgot to bring napkins.

As we all suspected (didn’t we?), the ol’ Winks weren’t all that bad. I mean, as long as you don’t eat the olive. Or you like olives. And butter. Really like butter. A lot. Because basically, these are nothing more than confused hot dogs with periscopes, riding around in buttery makeshift buns with a hint of Parmesan for absolutely no reason. A weird and unnecessary recipe, sure, but repugnant? No, not in the way that future recipes promise to be.

The question is, though, whether this is a point for or against MEAT COOK BOOK. I have no idea whose side I’m on.

Well played, 1967. Until we meet—or, indeed, meat (sadtrombone)—again.

This potato salad is easy and makes a luxurious cold side dish, although when I decided to make it, I was a lot more concerned with the former. Because I’m lazy. Especially when I’m by myself.

John left town for a week, during which time I learned I’d been accepted into the upcoming Inman Park Festival, a bigger festival than I’ve ever done. I then spent countless hours toiling over new jewelry for the show. For company, I watched rerun after rerun of You Have Been Watching, 10 O’Clock Live, and Would I Lie to You, and by the end of the week I felt less like a delusional shut-in and more like a socially normal individual who had been hanging out with my friends Charlie and David. That was creepy of me. So I invited some friends over. Some actual friends. Who are real.

I invited them for dinner. There was time to shop, but I have a personality defect that makes it seem silly to go out if I already have something on hand that can suffice. Of course, the things I had on hand were extremely miscellaneous, because as soon as John’s plane had left the gate, I lost all sense of what time dinner was supposed to be and whether nachos counted, and it was four days before I actually prepared a meal rather than waiting until I was too hungry to cook and subsisting instead on occasional handfuls of trail mix. Trail mix wouldn’t do for a dinner party.

But I did have some potatoes to my name. Assorted potatoes. And a lemon.

I roasted a chicken breast, tossed some asparagus into the pan for the last 10 minutes, and served this roasted potato salad, which I’d made earlier in the day while tidying. After a week without supervision, the apartment had needed serious seeing to—I had literally turned every surface into a separate activity station, including the six-inch-deep railing around our patio—so in the morning, I chopped some potatoes and put them in the oven, and by the time I’d cleared the coffee table, it was time to mix up the dressing and stick the whole thing in the fridge.

It was perfect. The multitasking had made me feel like a clever cheat, but the potatoes were a hit and my friends seemed to regard dinner as somewhat fancy and special, which is important.

When John came home, he couldn’t tell I had cleaned up, which isn’t such a bad thing because restoring the apartment to Tidy Base Zero was no small feat itself, sloppy as that may still be. He helped me eat the leftover potato salad (all three bites) and I tried to think of something interesting to tell him that wasn’t about jewelry supplies or the scandalously weird cost-cutting measures proposed in Great Britain over the past couple of months (privatized motorways! granny tax! VAT on hot pasties, which doesn’t really sound like such a bad idea even if it is curiously specific!), which is to say, there’s been ample peace and quiet since his return. But I’m very glad he’s back.

Notes: I based this recipe—key aspects of it, at least—on Miss in the Kitchen’s Red Onion One Potato Two Potato Roasted Potato Salad, via Kitchen PLAY, a site with monthly menus that feature individual ingredients. The March/April ingredient sponsor is potatoes! Hooray potatoes! If potatoes ever run for public office, I should not be allowed to vote. I’m telling you now so that if it happens and you do nothing to stop it, you’ll know you’re equally to blame.

Roasted Garlic and Potato Salad

• Roughly 2 lbs red potatoes
• One large Idaho baking potato
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• Salt and pepper (black, cayenne, or both—your call)
• One entire bulb of garlic
• 1 Tbsp coarse mustard
• 1 Tbsp mayonnaise
• A squeeze of fresh lemon juice
• Fresh chives (like… a handful. like… a dozen chives, let’s say. or substitute a Tbsp dried chives.)
• Fresh cilantro, to taste (a few sprigs will do)

1. Preheat oven to 400F.
2. Scrub up your potatoes and cut them into one-inch bite-size chunks. Drizzle a couple teaspoons of olive oil over them and toss with salt and pepper. Spread them out on a shallow baking pan, lined with aluminum foil or silicone sheet for easy cleanup. Slice the top off the head of garlic, drizzle this with olive oil as well, and add to the pan with the potatoes. Roast for 25–30 minutes or until potatoes are fork-tender. Remove from oven and allow to cool.
3. Make the dressing. In a food processor, combine remaining olive oil, mustard, mayonnaise, and lemon juice. Carefully peel roasted garlic (it’ll be mushy, but you can snap part of the peel off, clove by clove, and squeeze out the garlic) and add all of it to the dressing. Pulse until completely smooth, then add chives and cilantro and process until coarsely chopped and blended throughout. Taste the dressing and add salt, pepper, and/or more lemon juice as desired.
4. Toss potatoes with dressing in a large bowl. Cover and chill. Serve cold.

You readers have been voting on your favorite snacks for a whole week, as we narrowed the field from 48 snacks to 32 in the Preliminary Elimination, 32 to 16 in the Round of 32, from a Sweet 16 to an Elite 8 to a Final Four, and then finally, down to just one King of Snacks. In a tough final round of 54—40, I’m pleased to announce that the title has been handed unequivocally to Nachos!

Nachos took the gold with its strength, its guile, and most of all, its cheesy, cheesy sauce.

I’m sure the entire Salty division, from Potato Chips to Chex Mix, is terribly proud today. Our delegates from Texas predicted this victory from the outset, back when 32 contenders had an equal chance at the crown. I believe traffic reporter Gloria Chapa summed it up best when she said, “Naaachooos!”

Of course, having fought its way through the bracket all the way to the final round, the second place winner is not a snack to take lightly. In essence, the Ice Cream Sandwich in all its many forms is your collective second favorite snack. Like, if there were no Nachos left, you’d still be pretty happy if somebody handed you an Ice Cream Sandwich. Congratulations, Ice Cream Sandwich!

Our featured runner-up, having bumped crowd favorite Brownies out of the competition in the Elite Eight, is the beloved Chocolate Chip Cookie. Thanks for everything, Chocolate Chip Cookie. We’ll see you around.

How do you feel about the way Munch Madness has turned out? Were your favorites knocked out early, or are you satisfied with the outcome?

To everyone who voted throughout the week, thank you. Munch Madness was a super fun success, and you can bet it’ll be back next year with a whole new series of snacks to support.

Although we might bring Nachos back as an advisor.

America, over the past week, you have declared unequivocally that Ice Cream Sandwiches are Nachos are the best snacks of all. Now it’s time to decide which one of them is the 2012 King of Snacks.

Do you know everything you need to know in order to make an informed decision? If you haven’t read yesterday’s Final Four interviews, Friday’s rundown of the Elite Eight matchups, or Wednesday’s regional favorites, they may help you decide. The King of Snacks will be announced on Tuesday morning.

The vote starts now and ends at 9 p.m. EDT on Monday, March 26. Be sure to campaign for your favorite and cast your vote on Knuckle Salad’s Facebook page! [Voting has now closed. Continue to find out which snack is crowned Munch Madness 2012 King of Snacks!]

With just two rounds of voting to go, Munch Madness draws ever nearer to crowning the 2012 King of Snacks. Just one snack from each division remains, and currently, your votes are determining which pair of snacks will advance to the final. On behalf of Knuckle Salad, your Munch Madness news source, I spoke with the remaining competitors (yeah, you heard me) to get a glimpse into each snack’s unique style and strategy.

The Sweet Division: Ice Cream Sandwich

The Ice Cream Sandwich has been called a lot of names, some more friendly than others. “I didn’t mind when parts of Britain called me a slider,” it recalls. “I’ve never forgiven Australia for ‘cream between,’ though. That’s rude. I like ‘Ice Cream Sandwich’ just fine.”

This humble confection has come a long way from the beginning of the Munch Madness tournament, where it started with a fifty-fifty shot at a No. 5 seed. Today, the Ice Cream Sandwich joins the Final Four, representing the entire Sweet division, a success for which it thanks its own upbringing. “I was taught to be well-rounded, so I have a lot of variety in my arsenal. When I travel the United States, I like to do it up—chocolate wafers, waffle cones, Neapolitan ice cream. But you should see me when I visit other parts of the world. Like Asia. You wouldn’t believe what I can do with some yam ice cream. It’ll blow your mind.”

In spite of this spirit of change and evolution, one thing seems to have remained the same throughout its long history in America. “Every year, some new publicist comes around and pitches a plastic wrapper for my chocolate wafer version, and I’m like, ‘Dude, how many times am I going to have to say no to this?’” The paper wrapping, it feels, is essential to protecting its rectangular shape. “Plus, everyone likes peeling that thing off. It’s a pain in the neck but it’s nostalgic.”

The Ice Cream Sandwich is confident about the next round, but it knows that anything can happen in Munch Madness. ”It’s weird going up against the Chocolate Chip Cookie, because sometimes, I’m made of chocolate chip cookies.” But that isn’t going to stop the ice cream sandwich from giving this tournament all it’s got. “If anything,” it points out, “that’s probably an advantage.”

The Chocolate Division: Chocolate Chip Cookie

“It feels great to have made it this far. I’m just really blessed.” I’m chatting with a Chocolate Chip Cookie in front of an elementary school. Despite its busy Munch Madness training schedule, the cookie has come here today to help out with the annual fundraiser, a bake sale put on by the PTA. The Chocolate Chip Cookie’s schedule is crammed with events like this throughout the year and no matter what, it tells me proudly, it has never missed a single one.

It may seem like a tough cookie, but it’s nothing if not sentimental. “Did you know there really was a Toll House Inn in Massachusetts? I was born there!” It pulls up pictures on its phone: the Toll House Inn, the Nabisco factory, and a smiley fellow named Wally Amos.

I begin to wonder if this softer side of the Chocolate Chip Cookie might get in the way of a Munch Madness victory. ”No way! I’m going to take my A game to the Final Four. I might even see if the judges will allow me to bring some M&Ms.”

Yet there’s something in the cookie’s demeanor that seems almost as though it would rather be home with the family, and that could interfere with its performance. “There will be plenty of time for a glass of milk with the kids after this is over,” it assures me. “Besides, they’ve always treated me like the King of Snacks around here. I know how much it’ll mean to them when I come home with the trophy.”

The Natural Division: Cheese

As I draw near the dairy farm where Cheese has asked to meet, I can see its lone square figure in an empty field, silhouetted against the rising sun. Cheese has been training here for months, and this is where it spends its mornings, alone with its thoughts.

It doesn’t have much to say about the competition. “There is only to win,” it tells me before returning its attention to the training grounds, which are strewn with artifacts that date back to ancient Greece. Presumably, Cheese collected these artifacts itself, during its own long history, but its concentration is such that I’m unable to confirm this. It’s no coincidence that this peaceful warrior has entered the Final Four as a No. 1 seed.

I leave Cheese to its training, which today consists of sitting in the shade and doing something it has described to me only as “affinage.” I make a note to look it up when I get home, because Cheese is clearly too intent on its training to shoot the breeze with me today.

The Salty Division: Nachos

Walking up to the patio in front of my neighborhood sports bar, I’m surprised to find Nachos sitting at a small table with two pints of beer. When I ask if this is an indication that Nachos isn’t taking the competition seriously, it laughs at me. “Au contraire, my brother—this is where I’m at my best.” (I bristle at first, but notice that Nachos addresses our waitress as “my brother,” too.)

“To be honest, I almost felt a little bad about a few of them. Cheese Puffs? Come on,” Nachos says, remembering the way it swept its Munch Madness division. “I had to pull it out against Potato Chips, though. Those suckers are tough as nails. Personally, I think it’s the salt and vinegar advantage, but I brought the heat for sure.”

At the mention of the other contenders, I remind Nachos of the fans’ concern that Cheese, a fellow finalist, is in fact one of its own essential ingredients. But if Nachos is worried about taking on so close a competitor, it doesn’t show. “Y’all are probably thinking we’re closer than we are. But we did come up together, so I know Cheese’s weak points. I didn’t come here to make friends.”

Do you know which snacks deserve to make it to the final? Vote by 9 p.m. EDT! [Voting in this round has now closed. Continue to the Munch Madness 2012 National Championship Showdown.]

Once again, your votes have been counted in the night (by elves, probably). We now have an Elite Eight! By this time tomorrow, I’ll be announcing the Final Four, so in today’s vote, only one snack from each division can advance. As a result, we’re seeing some super tough match-ups. Here they are:

The Sweet Division: Donut vs. Ice Cream Sandwich

These snacks are difficult to compare (do you give more points to the snack that’s colder, or the snack that’s better for breakfast?), so in the end, it’s probably going to come to personal favorites and snack loyalty. There are as many varieties of ice cream sandwich (wafer, chocolate chip cookie, waffle, pretzel, etc.) as there are types of donut (glazed, cruller, cream-filled, jelly, and so on).

One time, my friend Li’l Tony sliced donuts in half and made them into ice cream sandwiches. That was probably the ultimate sweet snack. The question is whether to count it as more of a donut or more of an ice cream sandwich, and I’ll leave that up to you. Also, try it. But also, don’t try it—officially, Knuckle Salad is telling you not to eat that because you’re going to kill yourself. It’s right here in writing.

The Chocolate Division: Brownies vs. Chocolate Chip Cookies

What a classic match-up! You could ask virtually anyone in America for input on this, regardless of age or level of culinary sophistication, and they would be able to offer input. So if you’re having trouble making up your mind (and I know you must be), maybe you should consider asking a first-grader.

The Natural Division: Cheese vs. Trail Mix

Trail mix has its work cut out for it, coming all the way from the preliminaries to battle the No. 1 seed for its spot in the Elite Eight. But where cheese is only cheese, trail mix can be nuts, dried fruit, chocolate, cereal—any number of things, all combined. Will that be enough to give it an edge?

The Salty Division: Nachos vs. Potato Chips [scenario 1]

Since I failed to successfully post the Potato Chips vs. Cool Ranch Doritos vote yesterday, today’s polls will include a make-up vote for that, as well as two versions of the Salty Division vote for today, pitting nachos against both possible competitors. Whichever chip makes it into the Elite Eight will determine which of the other votes we’ll—you know what? This sounds more complicated than it is. Just vote and tomorrow I’ll tell you what you decided. Either way, one of those three snacks is going to make the Final four.

Will it be nachos? Could be, if early predictions from Texas are any indication. Nachos are certainly the more elaborate snack. But potato chips have a certain can’t-stop quality about them that few other snacks can claim. They come in flavors, too, which many people find difficult to refuse, like salt and vinegar, BBQ, and jalapeno. Oh, and some of them have ridges! That probably counts for something. I guess we’ll find out.

The Salty Division: Nachos vs. Cool Ranch Doritos [scenario 2]

If Cool Ranch Doritos lands in the Elite Eight, this will be a curious pairing. Which do people prefer, warm tortilla chips covered in hot cheese, or convenient tortilla chips covered in flavored powder? Let’s look to the polls!

As always, voting is open to everyone, via Knuckle Salad’s Facebook page, from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. EDT today. Be sure to vote your favorite snack into the Final Four! [Voting in this round is now closed. Read about the Final Four here.]