Quarantine Day 20: I Made Hummus

I can only watch so many movies, play so many board games, eat so many weed gummies, do so many half-hearted pushups, and shake so many body parts in my girlfriend’s face before I (and her, long ago) go insane. At a certain point, quarantine just flat-out sucks.

I imagine Goldmember has a jar like this, too.
"That's a keeper!"

So I decided, amid the chaos and stagnation, to do something about it. My first thought? Impulse buy an Xbox, which I did (please God don’t let me get addicted). My second thought? Pick up the yo-yo again, which I did (back to watching poorly shot tutorial videos of men in cargo shorts with neck beards and graphic tees!). My third and most productive thought? Make hummus. Prove to myself that I could, in fact, make a decent version of the dip I’ve critiqued for so long. Could I live up to my own expectations, or would I fall flat on my face and let my ~15 consistent readers down? High stakes, I know...

The first step in making hummus is peeling the chickpeas. Unless you want a chunky, inconsistent texture, it’s important not to skip this—but it takes FOREVER. I listened to the entire Sergeant Pepper’s album in the time it took to peel two fu**** cans of garbanzo beans. It’s a humdrum task, but luckily I had help from my hummistress, Jamie (not pictured since she does not want to be associated with me in any way, shape, or form).

Bet you wish you had Smell-O-Vision

After peeling, it was time for the other main ingredients. We poured tahini, lemon juice, cumin, and salt in the food processor—a truly annoying and traumatic machine (I feel like a dog around a vacuum every time it’s on)—and whipped it baby, whipped it good to a smooth and fluffy texture. Next, we added the chickpeas little by little to combine them.

Now, all this time I had a little trick up my sleeves. Nope, it’s not a rabbit in a hat (sorry!), but it’s a little something to keep things interesting. While my hummistress was busy blending (I leave the dirty work to my assistants), I roasted about 7 cloves of garlic and half a bell pepper at high heat. The smell fresh out of the oven was nothing short of heavenly. The slight char with just a hint of olive oil and sea salt sent my nose spinning with aromas. Do I sound like a pretentious asshole yet? Perfect.

Since there was no way I was going near the food processor, I cowered in the bathroom with earplugs while I waited for Jamie to add the goods. Once that was blended, we were almost hum sweet hum—a little water for texture, some paprika for spice, and a drizzle of olive oil to top things off.

One of Ted Bundy's favorite expressions

Most people would stop here and call it a day, but I’m not a quitter (only when it comes to guitar, piano, football, basketball, baseball, soccer, most books, every diet, skateboard camp in freshman year of high school, Spanish class because my teacher was a total dick, etc.). To do this glorious dip justice, I needed an equally glorious dipper.

I took to the pantry, found some yeast and flour, and set out on a mission to make my own pita bread. A couple hours of rising, kneading, and grilling later, I'd done it. The perfect one-two punch: hummus and pita bread, pita bread and hummus.

THE VERDICT:

I probably sound eerily similar to our president, but overall I'd give myself 5/5 chickpeas through this whole experience. The texture, flavor, and balance of the hummus was perfect, and the addition of the garlic and peppers took it over the top. 

If you have any questions on the process, the recipe, or you just want to chat, drop me a line! I don't have anything better to do, seriously. Until next time...

A few more pics from my historic day:

SOMEONE PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO FORMAT!!!

Buffalo Hummus: The Only Thing More Disappointing Than Buffalo Bills

Buffalo wings are one of the few things Buffalo, New York is good for. (As of yesterday, clearly football is not one of them. Sorry Bills fans.) They're tangy, zesty, and all-around delicious. So when I saw Trader Joe's new Buffalo Style Hummus hit the shelves, I was pretty excited to give it a try... but boy was I blindsided.

Tub size: 8 oz
Price: $3.99
Dippers: Stacy's Garlic and Parmesan Pita Chips, Crazy Hot Pop Chips, baby carrots

From my very first interaction with this hummus, I was lied to. The label makes a lofty claim it's "smooth and creamy." False. More like "lumpy and runny." The texture falls somewhere between baby food and low-fat cottage cheese, which is as unappetizing as it is difficult to scoop.

Whatchu gon do with all those
 lumps inside yo hump?

The taste left just as much to be desired. Despite being made from organic ingredients, Buffalo "Style" Hummus has a notably fake taste, like cough syrup or an energy drink—which is fitting, because I could have used a burst of energy and an aspirin after just a few bites. There's also a weird cheesy quality to the dip. Maybe it's because I'm used to dipping Buffalo wings in blue cheese, or because it's bright orange. Whatever the case, it threw me off.

The worst part? I brought some serious firepower with my dippers. Stacy's garlic and parm pita chips and Crazy Hot Pop Chips are upper-tier snacks, but dipping them into such a mess was like wearing Gucci shoes with Old Navy jeans. It just doesn't work (not that I'd ever be caught dead wearing Old Navy).

Bills QB Josh Allen after his first bite

Through it all, I've realized two things.

First: Buffalo sauce is not a good enough flavor on its own. Unless you're slathering it onto a wing while watching football, it's gonna let you down.

Second: The Buffalo Bills will always let you down, especially when you're betting on them. Thanks for nothing.

Overall, this pretender of a hummus gets a dismal 1.5 chickpeas out of 5. Better luck next year, champ.

Boar's Head Dark Chocolate Dessert Hummus Review

The legend of chocolate hummus was brought to my attention from faraway lands. I'd heard tales on the cobblestone side streets of Yemen, stories from the shamans of Lebanon, and fables from fisherman across the salty waters of the Red Sea. Of course, as one would with any hummus made by a company with a giant, hairy pig for a mascot, I proceeded with caution—but even with its mystical aura, nothing could have prepared me for such a wonderful, unique treat...


Tub size: 8 oz
Price: $4.99
Dippers: Pretzels, bananas, left pinkie

Like taking off your boxers after a sweaty, uphill walk to your apartment (every. single. damn. day), or taking off your bra after a long day at work (I think?), removing the lid from any new hummus tub is incredibly satisfying. With this one in particular, I didn't know what to expect. As soon as I pulled the seal, I was reminded of my everyday school lunches: sandwich, apple, chips, and of course, like any spoiled white boy, chocolate pudding.

"Mount Chocolate Nipple" in all its glory

The scent conjured up repressed memories of my Chubby Middle School Days, when PE class was a nerve-racking affair, and chocolate goop inside really any container was fair game. Those were dark days. This is dark . . . chocolate hummus. And since that's as good a segue as any, let's move on to the taste.

Taste-wise, the hummus doesn't really taste like hummus at all. If you really think about it, you can taste garbanzo beans, but it's much closer to mousse or some kind of dessert filling—which also makes you feel a little guilty about eating a lot of it. Each successive bite I felt more and more like a baby who wasn't satisfied with anything mommy made. Like this was the only thing that wouldn't make me throw a tantrum. (Did I mention I was a terrible child?)

Thicc AF

All that said, the flavor was all there. I wouldn't recommend anybody eat it too often, but it makes a great afternoon snack or post-dinner treat. However, a word of caution to all who try it: it's sort of a weird feeling dipping anything into a pile of thick brown slop, over and over again. But once you get over it, you'll find this tasty dip one for the ages. I give the Boar's Head Dark Chocolate Dessert Hummus a 3.9/5 chickpeas.

A Spicy Start to 2018: The Flamin’ Hot Hummus Challenge

A few days ago, I realized I hadn't posted on this blog for nearly a year. I couldn't really tell you why, or how, but I can say that a lot in my life has changed since then. I moved to the countryside, I built a ranch house, I started a family. And while absolutely none of that is true, what is true is that I'm still an idiot. Here's why:

Name a more iconic duo. I'll wait. 

Last MLK Day, I celebrated by consuming an entire tub of Trader Joe's Beet Hummus in one sitting. After that horrific experience, I told myself I'd never do something like it again. Well, against my better judgement, this MLK Day I attempted another, even bolder feat to test my hummerit. I know you're thinking, "Alex, how could you possibly outdo yourself after last time?" In fact, loyal HummustSee reader, this MLK day, I celebrated by consuming an entire 10-ounce tub of Sabra Supremely Spicy Hummus, in one sitting, using only Flaming Hot Cheetos as a dipper.

Lucifer's oblong and mangled areola

When I bought the ingredients, I truly believed I could handle this with relative ease. But the closer it got, the more fear I felt. Opening the tub was like looking at what I imagine to be Satan's nipple. A monstrous blob of bright-red chilis stared me dead in the eyes—and it reeked of spice. Then I opened the chips, which, if you've ever opened a fresh bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, the scent is overwhelming. It's kind of like if a salsa factory farted directly in your face. But, more of a funny fart. Like if your friend toots just a little, and you have a chuckle. No fanning necessary. It's not a room-clearing
blast. Get it? No? Just play along.

The first bite proved delicious. The combination of crunchiness from the Cheetos and smoothness from the dip worked harmoniously. It was spicy, sure, but I felt I could handle it. The other thing about Flaming Hot Cheetos: They grow spicier the more you eat. Unless you take a break with a beverage, you have to keep eating them to soothe your tastebuds, or else they take over.

This dawned on me about midway through the tub. My nose started running, and, even with water, the spice was getting to me. So, just like last time, I reached for a Diet Coke to help me through the second half. What hummentum I had getting through the first 5 ounces was all but gone. I'd reached the point of gagging and plugging my nose. To my senses, the tub had become a baby's diaper, and I, the helpless father, clueless as to how to avoid my son's genitals, all the while wiping away excrement like I knew what I was doing all along (this is a perfect analogy).

Once I got down to the last bit, I attempted to spoon it in large bites. Not a good idea. I almost threw up (twice), but I hummustered enough strength to terminate the tub, finishing the job in under an hour.

I enjoy funny hats

Great, it's all done, right? Wrong. The entire rest of the day—I finished at about 11 a.m.—I needed a toilet within 100 feet. It got to a point where I literally didn't think I had anything left inside. Wrong again (seems to be a theme here). The worst part is, it burns even worse on the way out than it does on the way in. Without getting into too much detail, a whopping 8 HOURS later I had to excuse myself from a fancy dinner with my mom to relieve myself. She knew what I was going through (she understood the pain, but obviously had not experienced this herself), and God bless her she cheered me on like the proud mother she is (SHE WAS NOT PHYSICALLY IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME CHEERING ME ON).

The fact is, when you eat this much of anything, it starts to get gross. I don't care how tough you think you are, but 2/3 of a pound of hummus is quite a lot—let alone that much incredibly spicy hummus. In the past few days I've heard a few people tell me, "I feel like I could do that." If you mean that, I would really love to see you try. Luckily, there's a guy out there who's just thick enough to actually go through with it. At least he's not all bark and no bite.

Happy new year, everybody! Looking forward to doing more of these in 2018!

Trader Joe's Beet Hummus Review/Bathroom Experiment

By "perishable," they mean you
may perish when eating it

On Monday, January 16th, I celebrated Martin Luther King Jr. Day the only way I knew how: by eating an entire tub of Trader Joe's Beet Hummus in one sitting. I did this both as an experiment to entertain you savages, and also to see what would happen to my urine—and of course, to my stool. Before the results I'd like to say that before eating them, I consider all hummi to be equal. I'd also state that this was one of the most grueling experiences I've been through in my incredibly white-privileged young life. Okay . . . on to the experiment.

From afar, Trader Joe's Beet Hummus has a seductive quality (yes, I'm sexually attracted to hummus). It's not in a can. It's not sliced up in a mediocre salad. It's in its purest form achievable: a deep purple blend of chickpeas in a tight round disc. But once you open the packaging and get a whiff of that violet vomit dip, you realize why people don't typically eat beets. Because they're terrible. That being said, I knew immediately that I needed to test myself to see how much of this mysterious vegetable I could take.

Why did I do this to myself?

The first few bites really weren't bad. Its got a noticeably beety taste, but it wasn't overwhelming (yet). After killing a third of the container I started to loathe the taste—to the point of gagging. The bright purple color, combined with the deer pellet-esque mini beet nuggets scattered throughout, really started to freak me out. I paused to collect myself, then grabbed a spoon to power through. Halfway through I realized I may not be able to physically consume the whole half-pound tub. My roommate suggested a chaser. After much deliberation, I grabbed a Diet Coke and started aggressively spooning the hummus to the back of my throat—not unlike Joey Chestnut or Kobayashi. This was quickly followed with a chug of soda, creating a sweet, carbonated beet taste that was honestly one of the worst of all time. I've eaten dog food before . . . Finishing the tub can only be described in one word: relief. But now commenced a dreadful waiting game.

I waited an entire day to see if my pee would turn red, and nothing. I have never yearned to pee a different color in my life, yet the thought of it not happening was devastating. I didn't even get so

Shout out to my fuzzy navel

much as a musky odor in my urine for an entire day. Tuesday morning, however, proved to be a different story. I sat down on the toilet (at work, mind you) and let go of what felt like a 6-month-old baby. Sort of oblong and misshapen. I stood up like a boy who had just defecated without a diaper for the first time and looked down to admire my creation. Without getting too detailed, let's just say it looked something like Van Gogh's "Starry Night," only bright red and purple. It was absolutely gorgeous. SWEET. BEET. VICTORY.

Now, while this experience certainly taught me a lot, I'll never repeat it, especially with a vegetable I don't enjoy. That being said, I'm impressed at my own willpower and perseverance given how terrible this was to do first thing in the morning on my day off. Trader Joe's Beet Hummus drops a number 2 and goes for a hummiserable 1 out of 5 chickpeas.

Yamba Lemon Garlic Hummus Review

When I think of Whole Foods I think of rich white people who won't settle for anything less than wild salmon at $30 a pound. Of dads in faded jeans and mandals picking up a specialty blend of quinoa and couscous for dinner. Of gluten-free, super food-loving, yoga pants-wearing, soy latte-drinking assholes. And today I joined them.

Just about everything in the hummus section of Whole Foods is organic, vegan, or gluten-free. So I picked up a tub of vegan and gluten-free Yamba Lemon Garlic Hummus to see what the hype was all about. To top it off, I paired the hummus with a bag of "Glutino" (sounds like a disease) gluten-free crackers to really try and understand the mentality of these extraterrestrial eaters.

Tub size: 10 oz
Price: $4.29
Dippers: Glutino Gluten-Free Bagel Chips, carrots, pinkie finger (tip)

Operation Desert Storm

Removing the top of the Yamba tub revealed a curious sight of seeds, herbs, spices, and a dirt-like powder—as if a Mediterranean child farted dust directly on top of it. But this weird assembly of ingredients proved to be the best part of the mediocre hummus. Without it, it falls flat on its face.

The lower layers are incredibly boring. Remember that kid in elementary school who quietly munched on his glue stick in the corner? The one who didn't talk much except to alert everyone he needed to pee. This is the hummus for him. It's got absolutely nothing going for it. The lemon and garlic flavors try desperately to reach the tastebuds, but they never quite make it.

My fish in the background just passed away. He wasn't
 much fun anyways. Not my fault he wouldn't eat #RIP

The consistency leaves much to be desired, too. When it's not fresh out of the fridge, it's got a creepy little jiggle to it. Sort of like when you poke a dead animal, with that little bit of resistance that makes you to think it may have some life left in the tank. Then you realize you're making excuses for the little guy and move on. Like that.

Another thing that bothered me is that the label states "Authentic Israeli Recipe." If you're gonna make a hummus that tastes like an armpit smells, don't slap an entire country's name on it. Hummbelievable disrespect.

Overall, this hummus is pretty bad. It's got the three Bs. Bland, boring, and bigoted. I don't see myself going back to Yamba anytime soon. Both the hummus and the Glutino crackers tasted like they were missing something. Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure I know what that special something is . . .  it's called gluten. And it's one of my favorite things in the world. The Yamba goes for a lousy 2 chickpeas out of 5. Sorry Israel.

Tribe Swirl: Fiery Sriracha Review

You're getting verrrrrry sleeeeepppyyy

Tub size: 16 oz
Price: $6.99
Dippers: Corn tortilla chips, carrots, finger

Tribe's new series of "Swirl" hummi is unmistakable in the grocery aisle. Looking at the tub from above was like looking into a time warp of swirled flavor. I felt like the hummus was trying to seduce me. If someone had stood there and started spinning it, I may have fallen into that creamy beige dream world and never returned.

When I came back to reality, standing there staring at the orange swirl of "Sriracha"(sorry, but Sriracha is not orange), I grabbed it, deciding in an instant to embrace the gimmick and try it out for myself.

Immediately after cracking off the top of the tub I felt a shiver in my nipples that sent my mind racing back to the days of old. The days when Gogurt, Teddy Graham's, Gushers, and Lunchables occupied the lunch box of every kid in America. That fake, processed feeling that so many companies try to avoid was renewed while taking in the sight before me. Getting past the feeling that this was probably the dumbest hummus I'd ever laid eyes on, I went in with an aggressive chip-to-dip jab, making sure to scoop both hummus and fiery Sriracha.

It doesn't even look like the bottle of Sriracha... 

Wow, not bad. Not bad at all. While it's nothing close to "fiery," it packs enough punch to keep things interesting. As for texture, it's neither too thick nor too thin, sort of like bean dip. But not like a fancy bean dip at a restaurant. More like that really shitty (but amazing) bean dip that sits right in front of the Frito's in the chip aisle. The kind you only buy when you got a little too high and had to make a trip to Safeway because it's the only thing open on a Wednesday night at 2:00 am, that kind of bean dip...

Eating from the swirl was like a mini game. Trying to maintain a good ratio of Sriracha to hummus is an art in itself. There are actually deeper pockets of swirl the further down you go. Sometime's it can be difficult to circhumnavigate, but it adds to the fun. Overall I give the Tribe Swirl: Fiery Sriracha hummus a 3.8 out of 5 chickpeas. Once you get past its kitschy look, you really start to enjoy its deeper humplexities.