Taco Cat Opens In Minneapolis
We are Taco Cat, a bike-only taco delivery service in Minneapolis, MN.
Call 612-270-8007 to place an order. We take cash, credit, or barter.
I need to find some southsiders to hang out with and order some of these. Oh, and I love the FAQ’s part of their website…
Q: I’m drunk and what is this?
A: Taco Cat is a late-night, bike-only, taco delivery service in Minneapolis, MN.
Q: Why is Taco Cat delivery only?
A: It’s easier and cheaper for us to operate this way.
Q: Can I pick up my order instead?
Q: Do you only deliver on bike?
A: Yes. We should make up some bullshit about sustainability or something, but we just like to bike.
Q: How did Taco Cat start?
A: No one delivered tacos. We stepped up.
Q: Where can I get a Taco Cat shirt/merch?
A: You can add one to your order or pick one up at The Alt bike shop.
Q: Is it Tacocat or Taco Cat?
A: We don’t really know. It’s both.
Q: Did you know that Taco Cat is a palindrome?
Q: Are your tacos made from cats?
A: No and you aren’t funny.
Q: Are you hiring?
A: Probably not.
Q: Are you a legally licensed business?
A: Who the fuck are you? You want tacos or what?
It’s been years since I’ve been to the 5-8 Club, and to be honest…I’m a Matt’s guy all the way.
What if every major league team had a food-related baseball cap? via Crawfish Boxes
I would totally rock a Minnesota Twins Juicy Lucy hat.
Senator Walter Mondale participates in a turnover taste test while visiting the headquarters of the Pillsbury Company in Minneapolis, Minnesota. (1965) via Minnesota Historical Society
The Great American Menu: Foods Of The States, Ranked And Mapped
What are the United States’ best regional foodstuffs? Its worst? These are the questions that bedevil the mind of man—but no longer! For here, we have ranked them. Rigorously scientific (not), ardently researched (nope), and scrupulously fair (not even a little bit): this is the Great American Menu!
40. Hotdish (Minnesota)
This is basically the same thing as Kansas’s hamburger casserole—some meat, some starch, some mushy overcooked vegetables, and some canned soup, dumped into a deep pan and baked for a while—only with a name that makes it sound like Rod Stewart should be humping its leg in a London disco in 1974.
Here’s how the rest of our Upper Midwest neighbors “ranked”:
29. Corndog (Iowa)
Who doesn’t love a corndog? Nobody, that’s who, and also idiots. On the other hand, when a region’s entire concept of cuisine is to take ordinary foodstuffs (hot dogs, brownies, fucking honey), dunk them in batter, mount them on a stick, and deep-fry them, the successes (corndogs) tend to be shadowed somewhat by the excesses (deep-fried Snickers bars), the horrors (chocolate-covered deep-fried cheesecake), the oh-fuck-this-has-to-be-some-kind-of-goofy-Iowa-troll-job jobs (fucking deep-fried honey), and the lingering suspicion that Midwesterners suffer from a congenital lack of tastebuds.
33. Bratwurst (Wisconsin)
The bratwurst is among the more boring and dumb tube meats, even before you penalize it for being a pillar of the beers, brats, and bros! triad of meathead tailgating culture. The authentic-replica-Bryan-Bulaga-jersey set like bratwurst because they’re less interested in tasty food than in a large meat comma they can use to divide alcohol-abuse clauses. Be honest: Would you rather have another boring bratwurst, or a hot Italian sausage with sautéed peppers and onions? Or a grilled kielbasa with a pickle spear, sauerkraut, and grainy mustard? Exactly. Shut up.
42. Chislic (South Dakota)
Picture a kebab. Can you picture a kebab? Meat, veggies, skewer, maybe some cucumber dressing and tasty pita bread or naan on the side? Fresh and flavorful and varied and exciting? Got it? OK. Now, eradicate that appetizing image from your mind, and replace it with a bunch of small cubes of greasy, chewy beef on toothpicks, sitting on a sad plate next to some plastic-wrapped packets of saltines. Congratulations. You have now pictured chislic, as well as everything you need to know about the culture of the upper Midwest.
44. Lutefisk (North Dakota)
Lutefisk (Norwegian for “lye-fish”) is a traditional Nordic preparation whereby dried whitefish is soaked in fucking oven cleaner for no goddamn reason for a long time until it is no longer dry, salty, and disgusting, but gelatinous and pungent and five trillion times as disgusting. There is no reason to eat it ever. There is no reason for it to exist. What the fuck is wrong with Nordic people.
Local brewer launches mini donut beer for MN State Fair
Lift Bridge Brewing Co. is launching a mini donut-flavored beer for the Minnesota State Fair.
The Stillwater brewery teamed up with Dan and David Thiesen, co-owners of the fair’s Ball Park Café, to create the beer. It will have a warm tan color, like the exterior of a mini donut, and a sweet, malty taste. As an added touch, it will be served in a glass with cinnamon and sugar on the rim.
“We did several test batches to develop a mini donut beer recipe that would give taste buds the ultimate state fair experience,” Lift Bridge CEO and co-owner Dan Schwarz said in a statement. “We are feeling great about the final recipe and hope it is a home run with fair goers.”
Lift Bridge Mini Donut Beer will be sold at Ball Park Café, alongside numerous other craft beers, including Lift Bridge’s Farm Girl Saison and Hop Dish IPA. Ball Park Café is located on Underwood Street outside The Garden.
The Minnesota State Fair runs Aug. 22 through Sept. 2.
Minnesota Vikings’ Adrian Peterson on Wheaties box
Adrian Peterson topped the 2,000-yard milestone. He won the NFL MVP award. Now he has attained the holy grail of breakfasthood.
Superfoods: a Galactic pizza deliveryman is on the go in Minneapolis.
Galactic pizza vous conte une histoire de cape et de pâte.
Photo by / de John Cullen.
See more from our July 2013 issue.
Découvrez le reste de notre numéro de juillet 2013.
America’s Best Cities for Ice Cream
No. 18 Minneapolis/St. Paul
The long winters may chill some appetites for ice cream, but the Twin Cities still slid into the top 20, thanks perhaps to being the No. 1 city for summer. Three of the area’s best ice cream spots are found in St. Paul: the summer-only Conny’s Creamy Cone, with 24 soft-serve flavors; Grand Ole Creamery, where you’ll find a malted milk ball at the bottom of each homemade waffle cone; and relative newcomer Izzy’s—about to set up shop on Minneapolis’s riverfront with grown-up flavors like Norwegian chai, Irish Moxie (with Jameson whiskey), and dark chocolate Zin. You can work it off hiking through the city’s highly ranked parks.
Still Life by Paul Nelson