Yemi's Sage Advice


"I do try to help. Now sit down, relax and have a cup of tea and some of my marvellous 'chocolate eclair', you fool!!"
-Yemi



Well, you've read about me, and now you know just what a terrific maker of apple strudel I am...."But", you ask, "can he help me, or is he 'all talk' and no 'delicious plum-jam filling'?!" Well, wonder no more, friends; read on and have the sage words of a humble European pastry chef heal your fragile soul....




We have the same name

- Yemi, Ohio

Due to a bizarre birth defect, I can only answer questions if they are SET OUT IN THE FORM OF A QUESTION!!!! A few of you have failed to recognise this, and as such I am issuing a final warning. The next one of you to ask me a question that isn't actually a question will be tracked down by me and my crack team of researchers. We will find out a group you belong to (e.g. the Ohio Comic Inker's Fan Club Guild) and then report that group to the nearest authority as a terrorist cell that must be disbanded immediately. Think of all the questions you'll suddenly be asking when on your fifth day of 'nil-by-mouth' in Camp X-Ray! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Ahem, but anyway, congratulations on your name, Yemi. You are undoubtedly a hit with the ladies, and I hope that you use the notoriety-by-association generated by my global fame to forge your own career and actualise your own dreams with the shimmering sparkle of diamonds.

But I swear to God, you ask me another questionless question, and I'll...

- Love, Yemi xxxooo


yemi i need help...real help...i like..well trying to put condoms on my head and going out in public...i also spit in people food at work,..what can i do short of killing myself

- casswa, wollongong

Yours is a dilemma indicative of the growing stresses placed on individuals in the current world climate of terror and a shortage of pastry shortening. Complex beasts such as humans react to frightening realities and pastry shortening crises in varying ways. The stoic, stiff-upper-lipped Alpha personality will take the world's weight upon is or her shoulders and then shrug it off with an unwavering defiance. Others will attempt to more pragmatically rationalise and order events before solving them with an inherent, calculated method. A third general group - in which you find yourself in - will irrationally behave, adopting anarchy and increasingly disturbing displays of civil disobedience as substitutes for anything useful or redeeming. You and your looney friends are known to we in the field as 'psycho crybabies'.

There's nothing entirely wrong with you. Indeed, your fits of ridiculous and potentially harmful behaviour serve a much needed purpose: making the rest of us feel better about ourselves. For this you should give yourself a pat on the back (next to the scars from your self-immolation 'accident') and console yourself with these loving words from your friend and idol, Yemi: Don't kill yourself - at least not until I have had the chance to bed you.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo


My nuts are enormous.

- Vexor, born near Brussels

It's not a question, but I thought printing it here might liven things up.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo

P.S. Can you send me a photo? I am curious.


Why hasn't Nick updated his el-fantastico page in soooo long? I wnat to know if the sexual tension between Sponty and Monroe is ever resolved? It's distracting me from my studies.

- Kath, flannie-land

To the best of my understanding (since Mr Marland and I have not spoken since a contractual disagreement in early 2000), Nick has been somehow fooled by overly supportive friends into believing he has a place in the world away from his computer. I have had the displeasure of meeting the soiled, disgusting humanoid myself and can't for the life of me see where that place would exist. Medical exhibit, perhaps? Unless he has had a shower since early 2000, then I somewhat doubt people would wish to stand near him, let alone bathe (no pun intended) in the reflected glory of his talents.

Thankfully Nick's agent has seen sense and starting ridiculing him on a three-times-a-day basis. This intensive programme of vitriol, hatred and jokes about his genitalia have begun to fuel Nick on a reborn quest to new heights of comedy. Hopefully, when he fails to scale those heights, he'll see his future lies in quantity surveying.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo


Help!

I am trying to make a buttery tasting and flaky danish dough that still tastes just as good 6 hours after baking. I have used a combination of butter, blend, sweetex, and flake mor. Which of these really gives it the flakiness, the vegetable shortening? I have a real tough crowd to please here and I need to understand better how exactly do each of these fats affect a dough. I appreciate any information you might give me. Thank you!

- jenna, ny [Yemi: New York, for all you inarticulate fools]

Jenna, my love, I thank you for your question. I get many, many emails in my Inbox everyday asking about everything from savoury antipasto pastry slices to sordid affairs with High School science teachers and everything in between. It is wonderful to finally to get back to one of my true life's loves (besides myself): danish.

Danish is surely the Queen of all pastry confectionaries. It's sweet but not saccharine, at times also savoury - but not dry or bland. Prepared correctly, it is truly jouissancé; its like a glorious, rosy-fingered sundown over the Siénne - or a movie where Kate Winslet takes her clothes off (pretty much every film she's in, incidentally. Not that I would know).

You have a tough crowd to please: so what?! They're just people. Yemi knows all about tough crowds - like the time that American television network NBC gave me my own sitcom named Yemi. I played a quirky private eye who waxed philosophical and ran a cosy pastry boutique by day. I thought it was one of my best performances; somehow though, I don't think critics - or the network - agreed with me*. And yet, here I am today: stronger and more Yemi than ever. How do I conquer such soul-crushing adversity? Simple: I don't. I bottle it up - hunching all the failures and criticism, all the soggy apple turnovers, all the burnt gourmét pie crusts, down inside my bile duct and forgetting about it all until, every few years or so, I have a complete emotional breakdown and spend several weeks in solitary care at a undisclosed rural retreat. I recommend that, success or failure, you do the same. It gives you the same detached coolness that I have. Plus people send you cards.

Trust your instincts and nevermind your 'tough crowd': if you can make yourself happy, then you won't care what they thought of your danish. And remember something else: danish can never taste bad!**

And if it tastes terrible, you didn't add enough syrup glaze. Moron.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo

* - It was only the third program ever to be cancelled 5 minutes into the debut episode. Tom Shales of the Washington Post was scornful, calling it "lé debacle" and suggesting I never be permitted entry to the United States again.

** - Unless you forget the secret ingredient: love. Or just if its prepared exclusively by farm animals - They know little or nothing of danish.


Whatever happened to Bobcat Goldthwait?
- Mahoney, Goulburn

Your question is certainly one of the more interesting to cross my 'cyber-desk' in recent times - well, at least in the last week. That may have something to do with the fact that I haven't received any other questions in the last week, but I'm sure that's merely coincidence.
Bobcat Goldthwait, for those not initiated, was a nervous, gravel-voiced comedian of the 80s and early 90s. He is remembered for roles in the Police Academy series, but thankfully he left the franchise after the 19th installement (Police Academy XIX: I'm Tired And Want To Go Home), and in so doing avoided the ridiculous final seven films: full of flimsy plots and none of the artistic flair of the first 19 films. He went on to a movie called Something the Clown (not its actual title, but the title definitely had the word 'clown' in there), only to lapse into obscurity.

As for the "where is he now?" question... aaah... I only deal in superlative pastry - not missing, lame comedians. But good luck in finding him. I'm sure his mother (Mrs. Utility-Truck Goldthwait) will be relieved to learn of his whereabouts.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo

Addendum: I believe the movie was Shakes The Clown, for what its worth. The title suddenly came to me in a hallucination - thanks for your divine guidance, God.


Two things Yemi...actually three...Firstly, I doubt your existence, and think that Nick makes up the questions, so if this is answered I will be reassured. Secondly, I need a destination for a summer adventure and thirdly...I know I had a thirdly, damn TV no attention span, why am I still typing?

- Kirstin, Uni

I am shocked and offended, 'Kirstin' (an alias, no doubt), that you would suggest such chicanery. I very much exist, and I have several court restraining orders against me to prove it.

I am somewhat chagrined that you would be brazen enough to think me brazen enough to brazenly make up the questions. I assure you, people mail me questions every week from all corners of the world (but mainly Australia), asking me about anything from cricket batting techniques, to their sex life, to what Chairman Mao Zedong's dying words were, and even the occassional question about Inflammed Cirrohsis of the Liver (ICL)*.

You ask me for a suggested summery destination. Well, with all your quite offensive questions (the pastry community would be outraged to hear that someone did not know the name 'Yemi'), I feel almost reviled to answering you. However, you had correct spelling and relatively correct grammar in your message (as opposed to most mail I get, which is usually semi-legible at best) so I will help you out. Both questions that I have answered today (yours and the one below) have taken me back to my beloved homeland of France. France, what a splendrous place: a place where people call me 'Monsenior' and not 'bearded creep'... a place where it's OK not to wash every month. A place where they have long ago forgotten what it is to beat Germany in battle (but have become extremely adept at what we in the homeland called the '10 minute quickie surrender'). My beloved France...

Nah, go to Goulbourn. They have a wonderful pie shop there, and pastry will always be my first love. Alternately, instead of going somewhere, you could just come to me, my delicate crumpet. Let Yemi take you to the boudoir for a little 'rumpy-pumpy'**, and show you that real men do, indeed, eat quiche - if you get my drift.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo

* - Page averages 1,458 liver or liver-related questions a month.

** - Phrase a registered trademark of Yemicorp. Not to be used without permission.


my friend has been trying to make me gamble my lunch on my AD&D games at school and I have been beaten up many times over the fact that no-one likes mushrooms or celery. I was just wondering how I stop my gambling problem because I am starting to like the beatings and the fact that I am thinking of beating [sic - I hope] the only pair of "sandle" socks I have left. Also how do I confront my friend about doing this to me, she says its for my own good

- Alix Nulsen, I forgot..but is this really nessasary?

Your friend is right, it is for your own good. Let me tell you a little story - a valuable piece of life experience that I once learnt the hard way.

I - yes, it pains me to say it, but I must - I was once also addicted to the cold-hearted bitch-vixen that is Dungeons & Dragons. Back in the days when I was still in Chef's college, struggling to pay my way, I wanted to see the world. I was not to know, of course, of my high-profile pastry wundërkind status later and life - and that this fame would take me all around the world anyway (oh, the irony, as delicious as a strawberry torté!). Making my way from the city now known as Dhaka to the South Pacific, I hopped on a cargo ship from Genoa bound for the Baltic. I hastily made my way to the ship's hold (so as not to be caught by Captain or crew) only to find myself in the company of ten to twelve rabid AD&D nerds.

Such terror I have never felt before in all my existence. Their banal game had me pining for the French countryside again, with its unshaven women and cheese-like odour.

In the early days of our slow, trundling voyage across the seas, I was easily able to resist their insistences that I play their insipid game - this was no challenge for me. However, it was when we passed to the south of Indonesia and in the Timor sea that the trouble began. The Australian Navy came to meet our ship and ordered that we refugees turn around. The Captain had not a bar of it, dropping anchor - hence, a stalemate began. Needless to say, I was eventually seduced by the AD&D temptress, with her womanly curves and her devilishly involving and engaging elfin wizardry. Four months went by before the impasse was broken and we were given the right to sail on. Four fellow stowaways were dead (murdered - I plead innocence to this day), I had a full beard and AD&D had nearly ruined me.

Don't be fooled, 'Alix' (are you from New Zealand?): AD&D, 'Magic', Harry Potter novels and Doritos© corn chips will all gradually sap you of your life force. They are all hideous Devil-tools and are not to be trifled with. Listen to your friend.

...But gambling's fine. It helps State revenue, and improves your mathematical skills.

- Love, Yemi xxxooo


O Great and Wise One!!! I need your help o great Yemi. My friend has become obsessed with playing AD&D games with all these creepy daggy people in the library.please tell me what i can do to release her from these evil peoples clutches before its too late. i dont think i can take any more of her yakking on about magic the card game. What should i do?? everything else has failed.

- Pete Thomas, the dark and mossy side of Jody

You ask a very desperate question, Pete, and I am only too happy to give you my belated reply. My apologies for that - I just spent the last four months in Burma, looking for inspiration for a new, unique pastry treat I hope to unveil sometime in the next few months. They're called "Sweaty Tropical Weather Is Driving Me Freakin' Insane" Tartlets, and I can't wait to get the taste of these salty, soggy delicacies into people's homes as soon as possible.

To your question: yes, nerds are very hard to help. Sometimes they're even beyond help - at least from humans. Whilst fellow men and women can't get them to snap out of their obsessive, antisocial ways, usually a Klingon, a Knight, Agent Mulder or any other of the multitude of sci-fi related characters will be able to help. Unfortunately, these things are all fictional (except for Klingons) and, as such, it proves majorly difficult to get through to our poor, nerdly friends.

Nerds are stubborn and lovably pathetic in their ways - trust me, I work with one daily. Nick has his heart in the right place (well, not literally - due to a birth defect his heart is lodged between his liver and pancreas) but he is a real loser... and I'm not talking your school playground variety 'loser'. I'm talking 'He smells like asparagus'-type loser. We want to help these poor souls, but what can we do (besides just putting them out of their misery)?

The answer, in you case, is this: your friend is addicted to Dungeons and Dragons, yes? Well, quite simply, use the tactic that has driven millions, if not billions, of others to desperation and ruin: surreptiously introduce gambling into their little games. In the beginning, she's betting her milk or her baloney and salmon sandwich on D&D; before you know it, your friend is taking out a fifth mortgage on her parent's house, losing the lot in a high-stakes game of Magic: The Quickening and then she will turn to you to save her. It may sound cruel in the short term, but it's the only way she'll learn.

Good luck!

- Love, Yemi xxxooo

Disclaimer: Despite what is said above, Yemi does not condone the use of gambling in freeing the world of nerds. Although give it a try, it can't hurt.

Dear Yemi, is Dark Vader [sic] really my dad?

- Luke, Jedi School

Hello Luke... You know, it's funny: I'm a man who loves to cook. Let's face it, I do it for a profession. But cooking is so much more than that to me - it's in my blood, in the little cells that flow in my blood, in the little platelets that stem the bleeding when I accidentally cut myself with a filleting knife (not that I often use on as a Pastry Chef - perhaps that explains why I cut myself). Basically, cooking is essential to my existence.

But a clarification: I cook food, not lies. You mail me, attempting to be a fictional character (who, even if he does exist in a galaxy far, far, away, has too little time on his hands fighting dark empires to look at Nick's crappy website). You lift the lid of your simmering 'pot of deceit' and add in oregano, bay leaves and a healthy nip of 'Fraud Juice'. I cannot help foul liars such as yourself, Luke (if that is you real name) and as such will not devote any time to doing so.

And for Christ's sake, you spelt your own 'father's' name wrong.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to lie down. Good luck finding your father*

Love Yemi xxxooo

* - Watch Empire Strikes Back, you boob.


Dear Yemi,
I seem to be having a problem with a contraceptive method that my partners and I have chosen to partake in. This method is The Billings Method, it involves checking the mucus at the entry of the vagina everyday to see wether you are fertile or not depending on the feel of the mucus wether it be sticky wet or slippery. This is where the problem begins. I can't bear to touch myself in that manor. I feel ill even talking about it. Do you have any sujestions to how I can do this without having to touch myself?

- fugly pog, I am from a land far far away

I am absolutely, inexorably and totally disgusted.

Your spelling is atrocious! '[S]ujestions'?! '[W]ether'?!! '[M]ucus'?!!!

I'm afraid you can't be helped, my dear. Yemi has no time for poor language skills.

As for your other problem, try to think of your 'special place' as an apple strudel, fresh out of the oven. If that fails to work I know (of) several registered sex offenders who would be only too happy to help you.

I hope that helps... and please: never visit this place again. No-one needs to hear about your mucous-coated vagina - thank God you at least spelt that right.

Love Yemi xxxooo


Yemi, I'm in love with the garbologist that i currently work with and I cherish the routes we go through every friday morning where i "scan his cans". I wanted to express my interest in his manly and sensual pecks however remarks such as "those homos in the Mardi Gras should get their pussy arse soft cocks kicked in" upset me. What should I do to proclaim my love without disappearing the next morning?

- Declan

The question you pose is a difficult one, and I will attempt to answer it in all my icing sugar-covered wisdom. You, in fact, have posed multiple questions: 1) How do you go about wooing your homophobic co-worker into raucous anal sex, and; 2) Can garbage collectors ever truly find love when they smell like a particularly stale combination of cabbage, grass clippings and the faintest perfume of horse manure? Definitely both worth asking.

Being a chef - and more specifically, a pastry chef - I occassionally have had contact with garbagemen (or garbologists, as you seem to refer in a desperate plea for respect) and they have all seemed to me to be completely affable, liberal-minded chaps. In fact, they were anything but homophobic, and I often received a vibe - particularly when behind the 'Brulené Truffle' Restaurant in Paris - that at any moment the alleyway we stood in would erupt into a hotbed of amoré anal. Of course, I would never suggest such a thing, particularly after the first few court orders were served against me by nervous garbagemen. Apparently they frown upon that kind of thing.

You are in a very difficult position here, Declan my friend. You love/are just animalistically attracted to this man, yet his constitution is to oppose this very sort of 'forbidden passion'. What can you do? Here's what ol' Yemi suggests:

The next time you're on an early morning collection run, make sure that you're down on the ground level and that your 'friend' is riding up on the truck. Calmly slip different items into the bins that will attract his attention - such as love letters, pearls, other jewellery or ribbed self-gratification devices smeared with honey (ie. honey dildos). If these subtle hints fail to work for you, then try plan B: when banging garbage bins and waking people up as you do of an early morning, use this cacophony as a shield of noise to mask your bold attempts in sexual conquest. Remember: over the sound of a garbage truck's squeaking hydraulics, no-one will hear him moaning. Or, forthat matter, screaming.

Good luck, my friend... and remember, don't ever let anyone judge you for your lifestyle. If you like to pick up refuse, that's your choice.

- Love Yemi xxxooo


i couldnt be screwed trying to fin the correct recipie for my beer bie so i have created to ultimeate alternative. The mincebeer shake. all u simply do is add 1 very cold tooheys new tallie (or vb, but its not quite as good) and i meat pie to your blender. Blend for 30 seconds and you have the ultimate in cuisine that tastes bloody unreal. For all you rich executives you can substitute the tooheys new for crown lager or toohys extra dry. Cheers all

Steve Leary, Gold Coast

...And let me guess: you were drunk when you wrote this, right?

- Love Yemi xxxooo


What would be the best recipe for banana and Marijuana cake cause it doesnt seem to matter what recipe i follow they always seem to burn.

Sammie, Melbourne

Sammie, I want to help you - I really do - but I must point out at this stage that the aformentioned activities you describe are illegal in all Australian States, your's included. Having said that, I can't bring myself to turn you down - mainly because your grammar and your use of capitals makes me think you are either developmentally challenged or you were just stoned when you typed that question.

Either way, I think I should help. I think I'll do my best by suggesting an alternate recipe and then letting you make up your mind how you want to 'adapt' it. This way I avoid both implicating myself/aiding you in your illegality and provide you with the perfect reason to give me some of the finished product.

Firstly, an idea would be to make a simple banana sponge cake and then add your mint leaves* in just before baking. This is a simple recipe involving flour, sugar, eggs, butter, bananas, mint leaves* and possibly your choice of icing. Make the cake as you would a sponge; that is: add beaten eggs and sugar to self-raising flour, stir, add diced banana and mint leaves*, then bake at around 200 degrees Celsius.

If you still have problems with the cake burning, ask the giant gila lizard watching television in your living room to come in and sprinkle magical fairy dust on it, you dirty pot-smoking hippy.


- Love Yemi xxxooo

* - This is code. Duh.


Are you gonna wish me happy birthday?
Kath, Sydney

Ok.

- Love Yemi xxxooo


Yemi, I am trying to perfect my recipe for the ultimate Aussie gourmet dish, the beer pie. I have spent hours trying to get the right flavour without reducing the alcohol percentage below 5% and making it taste like a bottle of warm XXXX (which tastes like shit). Yemi, please help me.

Steve Leary, Gold Coast

Aaah, yes, an Australian dish if ever I've seen one. You know, Steven, ever since arriving here from France via a Peruvian Prison Camp around 8 years ago, I have been proud to call this country home. Indeed, part of my enormous affection for my new homeland lay in its, uh, 'interesting' and 'experimental' cuisine.

You ask how to get a flavoursome, delicious beer pie without reducing the alcohol content - This truly is a difficult proposition, almost 'one for the ages'. But fear not, for if any chef can 'crack the code', so to speak, and deliver a pie to the table rich in its 'beery goodness', then it is a Master Chef such as I, Yemi. Indeed, my long list of drink-driving convictions is truly testament to my being the 'Beer Pie Baron' - a name given to me in Chef's School after I ate one too many and slept with the Dean's wife.

Aaaah, college days...

Your dilemma is not a rare one since it is difficult to know what quantity of beer to use. This is due to the natural effect of alcohol evaporating away with heat (eg. wines are used in many sauces and cakes but the alcohol content steams away during cooking, leaving only the flavour). In order to compensate for this effect, it is important to 'keep the fluids up' to your pie. My recommendation would be to soak the prepared pie in a homebrew kit before baking, then again after baking. Garnish with some parsley and possibly another soaking, this time in 100-proof whisky or bourbon, then eat!

If this still does not live up to your expectations, get extremely drunk. That way, you'll never remember failing and you can try again with a new pie when you sober up.

Ah, Australia - you have to love it.

- Love Yemi xxxooo


Are you insulted that no-one is asking you for help that the webmaster has to plead for people to bring their problems to you? Or do you see it as a sign that world peace is on its way?

Claire, Sydney

Well firstly Claire, I'd like to disassociate myself almost entirely from that creepy Nick. It seems these days anyone can claim to be something as lofty as a 'Webmaster' or a 'male' and get away with it, but I draw the line with Nick. I only provide my sagacious wit for a page on this lowly sub-Hell of a site because I was ordered to by a District Magistrate after several unrelated food poisoning incidents in restaurants on the US West Coast. Everytime I see Nick's ghoulish face I curse the day I ever undercooked that filet mignon.

It serves me right for branching outside the world of pastry.

Anyway, it concerns me nought that Nick asks in such a desperate manner for people to consult me. As well as an internationally sought-after pastry chef, I have been - as my brief introduction no doubt conveys - a wise man of high repute. People the world over ask me for answers on such variegated topics as 'how to prepare a batter that won't easily burn in a frying pan', 'whether to take out a fixed or variable business loan', 'What are the fundamental doctrines of the Koran as preached by the late Ayatollah Khomeni' and 'Muffins: How blueberry is too blueberry?'. For these seekers of truth I have provided their answers with astute insight and mannered poise, coupled with subscription offers to *Y*, my brand-new monthly magazine. Nick is merely trying to cash in as fiendishly as his small brain can comprehend, and as a result my name and likeness end up plastered all over his site.

...And his tactic seems to work: I have received many, many questions in my time here at the site, plus a few hundred requests for sex - needless to say, I read every single e-mail.

As for your question about world peace, excuse me...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!.....

Ahem, sorry. Thankyou for your question, Claire...Oh, and Nick says 'Tell Your Friends!'

I think you're right, I am a little insulted, after all...I feel like such a whore, and so violated. Hmm, time to have some crepes

-Love Yemi xxxooo


I got no friends...will you be mine? I think you sound "sweet" and "tasty". Yemi you ROCK my world.

Bob, Somewhere in New Zealand

Well, thankyou Bob for your comments....you know, it's funny, wherever I go around the world on my culinary travels (my 'gastronomical globetrotting' as it were...My 'Culinary Capers' if you prefer - what? That's enough corny cook's travels phrases? Okay.), I leave people spouting similar epithets of praise. What is it that draws many a woman - and the occassional randy male who ends up the subject of a court restraining order - to becoming so wholly enamoured with me: Yemi? Is it my 'tastiness', as you so put it? Is it my 'delectable' good looks? Is it my 'scrumptious' male vagabond persona? I know that it's certainly not my 'stale' pick-up lines or my 'mouldy' breath.

It's a strange phenomenon which I can't explain - yet which I hope to someday bottle and sell to feeble-minded saps who crave attention.

Which brings me to you, Robert. You ask me for my friendship - that I am reluctant to give. Oftentimes I find myself with a bittersweet taste in my mouth when greeting my many fans and admirers across the world:

  • 'Sweet' because I am thankful for their continued support, their generous doantions to the 'Yemi Cherish the Children Fund' (of which now only 20% of net donations is skimmed off for myself - a modest fee for the use of my name and likeness) and their purchasing of my many cookbooks and range of ab-rollers; and

  • 'Bitter' because their lowly, cretinous demeanours, unwashed hands and general low hygiene standards repulse me much like a modern-day Howard Hughes....Ech, they're covered in germs, for the love of God.


As I say, I am 'reluctant' - but not entirely impartial - to offering the hand of friendship to a deserving ally. Yes, you win exceptional points by labelling me 'sweet' and 'tasty', even for saying that I, quote, "ROCK". But go into minus points by virtue of the fact you are a) not a voluptuous, aromatic femmè and b) sound like a sad, lonely male. A New Zealand male.

But maybe you could buy me a drink sometime, eh? Make sure you buy my new cookbook, A Friend Like Yemi!, today!!

- Love Yemi xxxooo


Should I date Jen or Camille?

Tom Marinello, Saratoga Springs, NY

Well Tom, it's the classic dilemma – 'which girl to choose?' I might I say, I'm quite impressed at your virility and prowess with the fairer sex. I haven't seen that kind of amorous aura of machismo since, well, Me. Yemi.

You’ve thrown me quite a curve ball here (Haha, see, that's me using the American baseball lingo. I'm hip), but nothing I can’t handle. The trick is to break down each woman's attractive features and qualities into an easy-to-interpret statistical analysis – say, a pie chart.

That’s a little chef's joke there.

Firstly, let’s cut to the chase: physical characteristics. Now, there’s no denying Camille has a great ass, but Jen’s is not to be dismissed, either. It's all a matter of taste. Remember that time when the four of us went for a weekend up in the Hamptons? Man, was that a sweet weekend. Usually, as an internationally-renowned chef, I maintain a sense of decorum in my travels...but let me tell you people, that hot ass had me going crazy that weekend. Needless to say, this chef saw the best-baked buns he'd ever seen*.

Sorry you missed out on the action that time around, Tom, but there was plenty of Yemi to go around.

Now, secondly, to what I think – as a man of the world - is the most important feature: personality. Both Jen and Camille really rank highly in this category, with lovely, radiant souls and a constant smile – and great asses. But it has to be said – and forgive my bias here – but Camille can be a little bitchy at times. I mean usually she's fantastic, but I recall an incident a few years back where I had just prepared an experimental 'date and apples pancake' (in my ongoing quest to redefine desserts as we know them). She was to be the taste-tester, and in my haste to please the beautiful lady I decided that I would romantically feed it to her with a fork. She takes one bite...AND SPITS IT OUT IN DISGUST!!! Awful manners, and a smelly stain on her character indeed...Of course, her behaviour could possibly be attributed to me accidentally (repeat: accidentally) stabbing the inside of her mouth with the fork.

It wasn't my fault, I had the shakes: I'd eaten too much cake icing sugar that day. Plus the fumes from the pancakes made me dizzy.

The final verdict?: It's a tough call. They both have a balance of qualities going their way. Maybe you should take a leaf from your recent Presidential elections and choose 'the lesser of two evils' – and steer clear of the one that used to snort coke. This analogy works up to a point, until you realise neither, Bush, Gore, Nader et al. have an ass as hot as Camille's.

Best of luck, my 'sex machine' friend!

- Love Yemi xxxooo

* - This is another 'bawdy chef’s joke'



Oh Yemi, Yemi, Yemi. You would be the perfect casting choice for my next movie. Those 'Working Dog' bastards are stealing my thunder as top Aussie producers and directors. I have given up Moulin Rouge or however the f*ck you spell it to make a movie documenting the life and times of Australia's only great cook, Fat Iain Hewitson. Considering The Dish is somewhat about Australian 'history', I have decided to gamble and make a movie along the same lines for the Australian public. Now my problem is, I am seeing you in the lead role...but Iain wants to play himself. What should I do?

Baz Luhrman, from 'No Fixed Address'

Now...let me get this straight...You want Iain Hewits-- You want to make a story about that fat muffin-chowing sumbitch?!! God, where has your mind gone?!

Let's straighten a few things out. Firstly, Hewitson is not an Australian, he's a New Zealander: the worst kind of Australian. Secondly, as much as my ears are burning right now (I'm even cooking a batch of pumpkin scones atop them) I'll pretend I didn't hear you call Hewitson (who will from now on be referred to in this correspondence as Satan) "Australia's only great cook".

Oh who am I kidding, I can't pretend....AUSTRALIA'S ONLY GREAT F**KING COOK?! Are you possibly overlooking the eighth wonder of the world: Me, YEMI??!!!! Whilst I travel the world from my home base in a luxurious Byron Bay beach-house, I gather plaudits from all food buffs telling me how marvellous my work is and what a big fan they are of my 'mastery of food'. The only other Australia-based cooks they ever mention besides me are Geoff Jansz, Ian Parmenter and Peter "Come and get it!" Russell Clarke - but in each instance it's only to say how bad their excuses for pastries are, and tease them about their (alleged) venereal diseases. There's never even a whiff of a mention of 'Fat-Boy' - ahem, my apologies...*Satan*.

What I suggest is this: the Corpulent Cook is giving you trouble? The Tubby Taste-maker don't wanna star in a big-budget movie about his [open inverted commas]life[close inverted commas]? The Big-Bellied Baron of Bad Banana Soufflè has come to the end of his (short-lived) run?!...

...Then forget him. Get the sleek, sensuous 'new-and-greatly-improved' version (Me, Yemi) and make a film about his marvellous life story (still being written every day).

I'm guaranteed not to give you food poisoning, and I'll work for a modest US $1.2 million contract....I can see it now: Yemitasia, starring Yemi the Pastry Chef as himself...

Plus I'll do all my own sex scenes.

- Love Yemi xxxooo



The only time I get to see my love is in the middle of the night when I watch through the window. How should I fix this problem, Yemi?

- Patrick, Sydney

Hmmm, yes...I can definitely empathise with your problem, but myself have never had such a dilemma - when it comes to women, I always get what I want. Except for that time back in Naples, whilst promoting my then-new book You Bring Out The Flan In Me - A Guide To Cooking Flans and Other Delicacies. A beautiful Italian goddess repeatedly turned away my sensuous advances - but in the 12 years since this failed conquest I've rationalised that she was a lesbian, so it doesn't matter.

You want this woman. In fact, you love this woman - strange, since you have to watch her through a window, but I'm here to help, not to judge...so sit down, you pervert, and let Yemi shed his mystical solution upon your tortured lover's soul.

Firstly, I reccommend that you tell her your feelings (I'm assuming it's a 'her', but even with a male name like 'Patrick' I guess you could still go both ways, you deviant). There are many ways to do this. As a starter I suggest smearing messages in blood on her window pane - some people may get a little 'upset' at this, but s/he'll definitely remember the name 'Patrick, Angel of Blood' for a long time to come, and it's definitely important to make a first impression.

A second idea to make public your intentions is the age-old, harmless technique of 'streaking at a public event, holding a placard bearing your message'. Many people have used this technique throughout the years: At Waterloo, Napoleon signalled the French Army's defeat to Nelson by dashing across the smouldering, cannon-churned ground with "I'm sorry" painted across hi chest; Ronald Reagan found himself as United States President after a skinny dip in Washington's Potomac River with nothing but a piece of carboard reading "Vote Me For Prez!" held across his private region; and more recently Mule HQ Webmaster Nick Marland nakedly sought a degree transfer at Macquarie University with a placard reading "LET ME OUT!" inscribed upon it. He has been jailed indefinitely.

A few years ago, 'Musician' and 'professional asshole' Marilyn Manson sang "I don't like the drugs, but the drugs like me". At the time, I didn't really know what that meant, and reasoned this may have something to do with Marilyn being an absolute tool, but in hearing of your plight, I now understand these words completely. Patrick, drugs are your friend. As much as I regret to say this, maybe you should use some chloroform to 'seduce' (ie. drug) your lover, place him/her in the back of a van and take him/her out to the country to be locked in a secret basement until s/he loves you (as in the novel The Collector). Women love to be shown how much effort you will make to gain their hand in love, and both women and men love to be terrified out of their mind as they realise that, with the passing of each new day, the chances of them being rescued decrease drastically. I know that I've cooked a few 'chloroform crepes' in my day.

Not for me, though. Shit, I always forget to point that out.

Finally, the drugs could just be for you and you alone - snort some coke or munch down some LSD, so at least then your hallucinations of love can be blamed on something. Sick freak.

- Love Yemi xxxooo




I don't get much sleep these days because my man works nights

Nancy, Stillwater, Oklahoma

Not so much a question, more of a statement, Nancy - alas your guru of advice, pastry and primal animalistic sexuality will attempt to calm your nerves and offer you some pointers.

It appears obvious that your situation is one that must be remedied sooner rather than later, for sleep deprivation is something no-one can go on living with. I can recall vividly that in the weeks leading up to the 1993 World Pie-Baking Championship in 'Big Pie Country', New York State, I had found myself another 'link' in my 'chain of lovers', so to speak*, and that the ensuing sleepless, love-filled nights caused me to be in a dire state of exhaustion by the time the big tournament rolled around. My exhaustion meant I was in no fit state to be baking, and the judges were disappointed when their former World Champion and odds-on favourite (That was me. Yemi) produced a purple-coloured steak and kidney pie, then collapsed heavily upon a table of apple cinammon pies. Needless to say, that was the sweetest and most delicious broken hip I've ever suffered.

I really don't know how to help you, Nancy, except to say that you could look upon these sleepless nights as a bonus...Television is so much better through blurry eyes at 3 in the morning, especially when it's a half-hour program related entirely to a revolutionary new abdominal workout system (Not that I ever needed such things - let's just say my body is as 'cut' as my delicious shortbread slice). Maybe you could use the time constructively to pursue some kind of fulfilmment; my suggestions include 'Jazzercise' and writing a thesis on the Behavioural Science and Psychological Studies of Animal Motivators carried out by B.F. Skinner in the mid-20th Century.

Again, these are just suggestions.

A third path to follow is telling that bastard man of yours to quit working nights and get a job at McDonald's cleaning the pig-fat from the clogged thickshake pump. Degrading, yes, Sleep-depriving, no.

Whatever you decide - whether to simply learn to live with the hinderance or to actively confront the problem - I have one thing to say in parting: I'm glad I'm not you and get to sleep to my heart's content.

Sorry, it's not very supportive, but I can't think straight - I'm a little tired...Aaah, think I might take a nap...

-Love Yemi xxxooo




Can you tell me why Mr Spontaneous' 'friend' Monroe is such a tool? I'm sure you'd be surprised with this question considering the writer of this internet serial thinks no one reads it. Maybe he should take his own advice...(too much text hurts the eyes and melts the brain)

- Kev/Muz, Cuba/China

Foreword
It seems your 'question' comes in a strange form - one where you make an abstracted ponderance and then proceed to rubbish the page nonetheless. It puzzles me why you would want to do this, and it seems that you've given no justification as to why said character in internet serial is, quote, "such a tool". So, In this response I will attempt to provide an answer to your question, plus offer a reasonable counter-point to your ravenous assault on the textual medium per se - all whilst frying up some splendourous crepes. Oh, how talented I am!

Being A 'Tool' - What does it mean?
Firstly, let me thank you for reading what must surely be the most controversial/boring weekly serial since Dallas (except Dallas made more sense). [Begin rabid cross-promotion here] I will be sure to pass on news of people reading Mr Spontaneous and I'm sure that Nick, sick little f**k that he is, will be tremendously pleased. Right now he's swinging from a curtain whilst carrying out a complete and uncut performance of the classic production Westside Story. When he gets down, takes his tranquilisers and has his daily breast milk, I'll tell him.

Secondly, to your question. I believe it is unfair to judge a person (even a fictitious person) as, say, a 'tool', 'hobo', 'heathen', 'racist', 'Australian Prime Minister John Howard' and so on. All you are doing is making a blanket statement without true analysis of fact, character development or character inter-relationships. In saying all that, Monroe is "a tool" because he allows himself to spinelessly be manipulated by Spontaneous - and because he has the complete set of Warrant albums. All two of them.

But it is so easy to name-call and label; why don't we first define what "a tool" is? In colloquial terms, a tool is a dislikeable person, a 'loser', a japester almost unsurpassed in their buffoonery. They may be prone to any range of traits, such as narcissism, introversion, extreme extroversion and tinea (also known as 'athlete's foot'). A tool could be anyone from a person who 'overdoes the alcohol' on New Year's Eve and winds up getting thrown into a swimming pool, to a person who makes webpages devoted entirely to nipple stags. So, before we label someone like lovable Monroe as a tool, it's important to take stock of these factors.

But yes, he probably is a tool. No-one knows why.

Text - One of God's Most Beautiful & Ferocious Creatures
Now to your attack on text - one of my true loves, besides busty women and myself. Text is one of the most beautiful sights of world culture; to behold flowing prose or gently lilting verse is a pleasure almost orgasmic in it's unbridled joy. Like a oversexed, 'slutty' lover, text always comes (no pun intended) crawling back for repeated flights of ecstatic physical, mental and spiritual escapism. From the ancient papyrus scroll through to Shakespeare and the modern-day iconoclastic work of Australian sports writer Mike Gibson ans perverts in internet chatrooms, text is something always evolving, but at the same time never really changing - As the old saying goes, "The more things change, the more you wish you could wrap your mouth around a warm blueberry muffin".

So please....attack me, attack my raw French sexuality, attack my ability with a wooden spoon (not just in the kitchen...hehe)...but do not attack text. Behold Mr Spontaneous and other great works of textual magic in all their intended glory - then try to translate them into Chinese, then back into English: it makes them even better.

- Love Yemi xxxooo

Epilogue: The irony of this response? Check out how long it is! Hahaha, TEXT IS ALIVE!!...Ahem, sorry...



What is the correct ratio of flour/"herbs". Please help.

- Tokey Bong, Who didn’t even indicate where he/she lives on the form.

Well, 'Tokey', it all really depends on what you’re looking to cook - a matter which you’ve seemed to dance around like a pert ballerina or, for that matter, a filthy, lying politician. My guess is, however, that you’re doing this because you are probably baking some kind of 'surprise' meal for someone special, and quite rightly believe that asking too obvious a question on a [*coughcoughcough*] high-profile site as this one will give away your secret. Nonetheless, I think I can help you with some suggestions of my own.

Firstly, you say you want to cook a 'herbal' pastry? Keeping this in mind, I would stick to savoury treats such as Spinach Turnovers in light, fluffy pastry or even some kind of elaborate 'pocket-style' meal: these types of foods place less of an emphasis on the pastry itself and much more on the fillings and herbal flavours. you can also, of course choose to make a simple pie; or delve into more exciting areas such as Mexican tortias, fajitas or burritos, any of which can be made cheaply by visiting a spices store. As for the actual herbs you may wish to have at your disposal, I would be looking at one with a fulsome flavour, such as strong-scented basil or oregano, although this is really up to you: after all, it is your stomach! HAHA-- ahem, ok. For a very distinctive flavour, you can often not go past things such as bay leaves or mint - both readily available - and the beautiful taste of rosemary can make almost any meal, pastry or otherwise, leap forth at you from the plate and scream "I’M DELICIOUS, DAMMIT, AND I DEMAND TO BE EATEN!!" (eg. Pastas, traditional roast dinners etc.). Herbs and herbal remedies are an "open playing field"* where "all the flavours of the world and all the colours of the rainbow come to tickle your tastebuds to orgasm and your colon to cleanliness"*, and for those reasons alone you are wise to go with a herbal lifestyle.

Finally, to rations: There are really no hard-and-fast rules when it comes to rations of herbs/flour. The trick is mainly to give each party 'equal time'; too much flour and water makes for a gluggy mix; too many herbs brutally murder all the other flavours and ruin the meal. All I can suggest is that you experiment; depending on your chosen meal - which again, I hasten to add, you did not specify - you may want a puffier pastry mix, in which case obviously you want to mix in more self-raising flour. For a more sensuous herbal bouquet, try to place less emphasis on flour, obviously.

Now, in saying all of that, my final suggestion is that you go back to sleep, you filthy pothead. This is an advice column, and has no place for drug innuendo. Now, off to bed....You need your rest for that long walk to the unemployment office tomorrow.

Oh.....and enjoy your meal!

- Love Yemi xxxooo

* - Quotes taken from Herb Party '76 - A Guide To Herbs In Cooking, published by the Australian Herbs & Spices Advisory Board



Yemi my true love! I am male, not female, like you presume in your answer to my previous question. Would this be a problem if I were to, say, ask you out?

Michel, My Pastisserie

Well, my friend, you will notice if you read my last reply that I never explicitly ascribe you a gender....though, on the other hand, I hoped you were female. At least, unlike the last lovelorn websurfer, you aren’t in love with Nick Marland - that’s got to be something in your favour.

Whilst, as I have said, I have found it surprising that you are a male, at the same time I am not surprised that you are attracted to me, Yemi the (sexually-charged) Pastry Chef (they used to call me that back in Chef’s College back in France - incidentally, if you’re weighing up whether or not to go to Chef’s College...then don’t. All they do is teach you how to wear one of those puffy chef hats properly. And that takes 4 years!). It surprises me not that a man such as yourself would find himself absolutely besotted by my beard, my rugged, buffed torso, my smouldering French good looks and my dexterity with flour, water and boysenberries. Over the years in my capacity as both a world-renowned pastry chef and a noted snow-dome collector, I have been the subject of many the amourous advance and, no, it has not been only the fairer sex that has been a party to this.....[chuckle] In fact, there’s a story I could tell you about the time I was trapped in a lift with Gerard Depardieu, but my lawyer is shaking his head 'no'.

What we have here is a very tricky, awkward, icky situation: you have a love concern and have been forced to turn to the #1 Internet Advice Councillor (well, at least the only one who can bake Sheperd’s Pie) - ironically the very same man you are attempting to coax and woo back to the boudoir for some 'pastry-style rumpy-pumpy'. This is a very, very stupid decision on your part, but then again I cannot blame you for turning to someone as wise, reputable and trusted as myself (Yemi). Obviously it is very difficult for me to give an answer, as I prefer my rumpy-pumpy to come in small, female-smelling, curvy, female-looking packages....But your persistence - and my stereotypical sexual ambiguity as a chef - leaves me no choice but to say:
"...If you can pass for a 'female' in a poorly-lit room, let’s GET IT AWN!!"
Sure, ask me out....Just be prepared for a brutal rebuff if you’re too ugly.....or too male.

I ain't some two-bit hunky pastry chef, you know....I am Yemi - Hear me roar!

Hmmm, somewhere I’ve heard that before....
-Love Yemi oooxxx



I think I'm in love with Nick Marland - please help me...I can't go on suffering this way! He just won't have us, uh, I mean me....

Babs, Sydney

Why, isn’t this turning into a regular 'Love Advice' column?! Not that it’s a bad thing, but I think if you’re talking about the same Nick Marland that I, Yemi happen to know, then you must have been sniffing some kind of solvents when you wrote this question. I mean, the guy tries to look presentable and be nice to women - even tries to flirt with them...but goddamit it, he’s a moron. And a loser. And every time I’ve ever talked to the guy I’ve walked away smelling like horse radish.

Don’t ask me why.

Anywaaay, if you are