When your coffee gets dipped.


Nothing says super Guinea like biscotti and holy dicks is it one of the best cookies ever.  Like I’ve said before you can keep them Tollhouse roll ‘o dough pieces of shit.  Anything with anise gots me drooling on my tulle.  But the thing with all that biscotti you buy in the stores, like Starbucks thinking’ they’re all venti mocha chai hip and shit with their coffee training and they ain’t nothing but I don’t even know what venti means douchy.  If I do end up in that crappy store I always make sure to order the twenty size and watch their faces get all pug-like.  But that store-bought shit, it’s like taking a bite out of concrete and it’s all dipped in chocolate or whatever.  Fuck you.  Biscotti is the best when it tastes like itself.  It don’t need a jacket or nothing.

So when I make mine I make it soft so you don’t go chipping your teeth on it.  That usually entails more eggs and oil than what the cement mixers would like to use.  How much more?  I ain’t telling you that.  Because like my anginetti my biscotti’s proprietary.  That means fuck off my recipe.  It’s mine and you ain’t getting it.  But if you’re nice I’ll send you some for Christmas and you’ll thank me for that because my biscotti gets everyone’s eyes rolling into the backs of their heads.  Orgasmic.  Just not in my living room.  I’ll throw your ass out the front door mid-scream.

Just to taunt you a second time here’s a photo of my wonderful creation.  Pretty, ain’t they?  And they don’t taste like stale pieces of brick either.



You can find all our recipes on that Pinterest site.  What the hell is it for?  I have no idea.  All I know is it keeps me from killing trees for the sake of recipe cards.


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