I hope this post inspires you to have sex in your kitchen. And then clean it.

These guys know what's up.

[Before we get started, I’d like to say that the title of this post does not apply to either of my housemates who may be reading this.]

I’ve been cooking a lot lately.  I’m on a little bit of a health kick right now.  Trying to kick my Goldfish habit (it’s so hard I can’t do it anymore I hate it so much healthy food is stupid I love goldfish).  But it turns out that I also really love to cook.  And eat.  I really love eating.  So when I’m procrastinating on my thesis, or feeling guilty about the fact that I’m not writing a post for the blog, I’m looking up new recipes on my awesome Epicurious iPhone app, or pinning things to my “To Cook.” board on Pinterest (I know I’m a year late to the Pinterest parade, but I’m so fuckin into it, I’m like its number one baton twirler).  And when I’m not doing all of that, I’m actually cooking.  It’s kind of awesome.  If you had told freshman LHB that in 3 years the highlight of her day would be coming home from a few hours at the library or rehearsal to cook dinner for her three male housemates, she would have spit out whatever boxed wine was in her mouth and laughed in your face until she peed a little in her pants (not enough to have to change, but like, you know, enough).

Padma and Tom wouldn't even take shit from Francoise Pierre la blah blah. They have their serious faces on.

In my cooking frenzy of the past two weeks, I started to wonder, “Have there been any sexually scandalous chefs?”  (Because even when not actively blogging I’m still thinking about our blog baby, ok?  Blaby!)  So I did some research.  Turns out, no, not really.  Same sort of thing as when I tried to find a scandalous mountaineer and all that showed up was that some asshole had an affair once and it wasn’t really a big deal.  Except this time around, all I found was a helpful list of chefs from antiquity to the 20th century (thank you, Wiki) who were all apparently celibate.  (A la Bobby Flay on account of his extreme douchery.)  The problem is that very little is known about these historical chefs other than their contributions to cooking.  (Although I did read about a guy who apparently committed suicide during a dinner for 2,000 people because the fish course was late.  Gives a whole new meaning to “Please pack your knives and go,” doesn’t it?)  But did you know that we, posterity that is, know who figured out that potatoes were edible for humans?  And that there is a guy who is credited for making the first bisque?

Looks just like Mario Batali. Kind of.

True story.  His name is Francois Pierre La Varenne and he was the first guy to write down and thus record the culinary innovations of 17th century France.  Apparently French food in 16th century was cooked in the Italian tradition and used many heavy and exotic foreign spices that were popular in the Middle Ages.  These zingy “ethnic” (uh oh) flavors were thrown out in favor of local herbs and vegetables.  YUMI think we all know who loves shit like that.  Anyway, FPLV’s book Le Cuisinier standardized and codified French cooking for the next several hundred years.  Kind of impressive.  In this book, you can find the first recipe for bisque, the first instance of the concept of a reduction, the first time somebody suggested using a roux as the base for a sauce instead of breadcrumbs, and the idea that it might be better to use butter instead of lard for cooking things.  DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT SOMEBODY THOUGHT OF ALL OF THIS AND WROTE IT DOWN?  I just thought that the magical kitchen gods somehow imparted that knowledge onto everyone at the Food Network who in turn told all of the world.  What the fuck.  Mind blown.

Unfortunately, not a lot is known about Francoise Pierre’s life.  But if I were to guess, he definitely seduced and had hot kitchen sex with a princess or two while he was working in the kitchens at the court of Marie de Medici. He most likely did not waste his time trying to lay her highness because bitch was the second wife of Henry IV of France and you don’t want to mess with that shit.  Even if you’re destined to write the most important cook book in history.

Marie might have enjoyed one or two of Francois' pastries, ifyaknowwhatimean.

You guys deserve something juicier than the pear tart recipe that I’ll share with you at the end of this.  (YES.  IT’S COMING.)  So, even though Frank Pierre didn’t engage in historio-sexual intrigue THAT WE KNOW OF, the hoity-toity people he cooked for definitely did, and we’ll talk about them for a minute so you can get your scandal fix for the week.  I also feel that he’s inextricably linked with courtly scandal of the time because I like to think that some really inappropriate dining room table sex happened on or around food that he prepared.

Marie de Medici’s hubby, HIV (OH SHIT, not HIV as in positive…okay, I’ll have to write it out), Henry IV, was assassinated the day after her coronation.  How convenient.  She wound up acting as regent for her son Louis XIII for the next four years (convenient again).  At the time of her husband’s assassination, they had already been married for 10 years . I don’t know why they do it that way.  You know how the French are.  And their marriage was rough, to say the least.

See, H.4 (not to be confused with Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire), already had a couple of mistresses from his previous marriage.  If that makes any sense.  The French, amiright?!  And he had promised one of them, Catherine Henriette de Balzac d’Entragues, that he would marry her once his official numero uno mistress, Gabrielle d’Estrees, was dead. How French of him.  But instead he married Marie de Medici (employer of Pierre, our little chef) and Catherine was not at all pleased.

Chatherine: fierce and deadly. Would have made an awesome Bond villain. Born in the wrong era, I guess.

In fact, she was pretty pissed off.  So P-O-ed, in fact, that she was found complicit in a plot against the king that was foiled in 1606.  She got off with a little slap on the wrist.  “Hey, it’s bad to be involved in plots that involve killing the king/your lover (ew).  Don’t let it happen again!”  Catherine and Marie, mistress and wife, apparently had yelling matches in the halls of the palace where Marie was known to use “language that shocked French courtiers.”  And if you’re shocking French courtiers, you know things are really saucy (food pun!).  I mean, these people invented blowie jays for chrissake.

Catherine apparently didn’t listen to the little reprimand of 1606 because even though she had been taken back by the king as number one mistress, she seems to have been involved in the successful assassination plot of 1610, in which she may or may not have made a dealio with the Spanish to recognize her bastard son as King.  Woopsies.  Moral of the story:  Kings, if you have a mistress who tried to kill you once, there’s a good chance she’ll try to do it again.  Maybe banish her or something?

Because that’s exactly what mama Marie did as soon as she was named Regent.  Seriously.  Bitch got the crowned, signed the papers, and said “Get that whore out of France.”  Then she turned to Francoise Pierre la Varenne and said, “Hey you, cook who wrote the book about the cooking.  Bring me some cream puffs.”  And he did.


ALSO: SHOUT-OUT TO MRG WHO TURNS 22 TODAY!  (Making her the eldest and wisest scandalizer of us all.)  Jason Segel, JAF and I all hope you have a great day! Happy Birthday!!

My grocery store has a sale on pears write now, so go out, buy some pears and make this:

Quick (Pear) Tart  —  Tart is a synonym for a loose woman and quick refers to the amount of time it takes someone to have sex.  That’s why it’s funny.  Explaining jokes is the worst.


  • 1/4 cup raw sugar
  • 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
  • 1 sheet puff pastry, thawed
  • 1/2 stick butter, melted
  • 2 (15 1/4-ounce) cans pear halves, keeping stem end attached, cut into 1/4-inch thick slices
  • 1/2 cup shredded Cheddar


Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

In a small bowl, mix sugar and cinnamon together. Lay puff pastry sheet on a work surface brush with melted butter and sprinkle with half the cinnamon sugar. Cut into 6 even pieces. Fan the pear slices over the puff pastry, using 1/2 a pear for each puff pastry square. Sprinkle tops of pear tarts with remaining cinnamon sugar mixture. Bake until pastry is golden and cooked through, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Remove from tart from oven, sprinkle with cheese and bake until cheese melts, 5 minutes more.

Building, Dwelling, Boning.

JAF already did what we do best – a half-contrite, half-cheeky semi-explanation as to why we haven’t been a-blogging of late – before the previous search term referrals post. And she did a damn good job of it, too.

GUYS! We're legit now. We have Texas on our side.

So in addition to JAF’s watertight defense, I’d just like to add that I, personally, didn’t pepper you with sexy historical stylings because I spent my winter break watching the complete series of Friday Night Lights and making pointless trips to Target in an attempt to escape the death trap that is my house to any victim of feline allergies. I think the reason why I’ve been feeling like my break was not relaxing at all was that I spent it actively trying NOT to get a sinus infection as a result of my untreated cat allergy. Because despite this malady and the fact that cats are the fucking worst pets ever, my family owns one. Basically, picture me curled up kind of fetal-ly in front of my laptop, clutching a box of Kleenex, and having a nice Allegra-Benadryl-generic Sudafed cocktail every four to six hours, crying from the eye irritation and also every time Tim Riggins says “TEXAS FOREVER,” because you know he loves Texas and Dillon and football but you also know that HE knows that he’ll never leave because he’s squandered opportunities but has also had to make up for the fact that he was down for the count to begin with.

But whatever. I’m over it. NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX, SHALL WE?

If you’ve ever spent any amount of time in a college philosophy or English or architecture or gender studies or theology or psychology or pretty much any class in the past twenty years, chances are you’ve heard of Martin Heidegger. He’s considered the greatest philosophical mind of the twentieth century or whatever, wrote a lot about being and the human relationship with time and structure, blah blah blah. Actually, the man’s helped me add a couple pages at least two papers in the past academic year, so I guess I should discuss him with a little more reverence. So thanks for writing “Building, Dwelling, Thinking,” I guess, Marty.

Anyway, God knows I respect his insatiable, immoral sexual appetite!

Marty was also moonlighting as a part-time model, but he still had to keep his normal job.

So ol’ Marty was born in rural Germany in the late nineteenth century to super humble, super Catholic parents. He actually wanted to study theology, but apparently he had some sort of heart condition that made it impossible…I call bullshit. I think SOMEONE just wanted to study crazy sexy philosophy instead of boring, dusty, stodgy old Jesus. Anyway, that’s what he did, and by the mid-twenties he was married to a hottie named Elfriede (I mean I don’t really know what she looked like, but with a name like that, she had to have something else going for her), and he was the premiere philosophical scholar in all of the Deutschland, working as a professor and rector (or E-RECTor!) at Frieburg University.

He was also banging a couple of sassy, smart lady-students extracurricularly and extramaritally. My man was philosophical AND efficient.

Young Liz doing her very best Ingrid Berman impression. And doing it damn well.

First, there was Elisabeth Blochmann, who had one Jewish parent. Geez, MRG, that seems unnecessary and a little racist or ethnically insensitive or at least just a bit awkward or something. Sure it does. That’s just because I TOTALLY FORGOT TO TELL YOU GUYS THAT MARTY WAS A BIG, BIG, BIG OL’ NAZI SYMPATHIZER. Yeah. So that caused a couple of problems for both he and Liz when the whole Schmolocaust thing started gaining steam. But unlike some of the other Schmazis we’ve written about here at For Shame!, Marty was still a basically decent person at heart. So when things started getting a little…shall we say, dicey, for people of the Jewish persuasion in Germany, Marty wasn’t an asshole. He got Liz and her family the hell outta dodge before it was too late. And he also had a lot of sex with her. He was just really into giving.

And at or around the same time, another woman of the Tribe was letting Marty Heidegg-her (I’m just going to do it the one time, promise). And guess what – you’ve probably heard of her! HANNAH ARENDT ring any bells???!?!?

If you’re anything like me, it sure did, but then you had to go to Wikipedia to remember who she was, and then Pippa Middleton or soap or whatever that was didn’t let you, so you had to wait A WHOLE TWENTY FOUR HOURS to figure out what Hannah did in her life even though there’s a large, well-stocked research library less than five minutes from your apartment.

Anyway, after, like, the longest twenty four hours EVER, I realized and/or was told that Hannah was a badass philosophical bitch here in the ol’ land of the free, best known for studying the dynamics of power and authority……………………..IN BED!!!!!!!!!!1 And in just two words, I’ve trivialized her life’s work. BOOM, nailed it.

Much like Hannah herself was getting nailed by Marty, as Elisabeth before her.

And unlike Elisabeth, Hannah was 100% Kosher, making things 100% complicated.


Shit was real between those two. Even Mother Wiki calls their relationship “long, stormy, and romantic,” so it’s gotta be true. We all know THAT COUPLE. The couple that fights all the time. The makeup sex couple, if you will, that stays together merely to breakup, bone, and do it all over again, in a cyclical, sexual, totally fucking annoying dance. Yeah, in my completely valid and verified historical opinion, Hannah and Marty were in it for the makeup sex. They started boning around 1925, and kept on keeping on, cyclically, of course, until 1929, when they had THE FIGHT and Hannah, Independent Woman that she was, said “I don’t need your philosophical brain for my academics or your nonphilosophical dick for my lady needs ANYMORE!” Then she went to Heidelburg, where she went on to write her dissertation of Augustinian concepts of love under the tutelage of Mr. Karl Jaspers, another fancy philosopher. Germany was really churning them out, weren’t they? And as if the academic jealousy this undoubtedly aroused for Marty weren’t enough, HANNA FUCKING GOT MARRIED, too! All in one year. FUCK, those Germans are efficient.

Anyway, Hannah couldn’t escape rumors of her steamy affair with Marty, and his devotion to the Nazi cause a decade later certainly didn’t make things easier for her. By this point she’d moved here and started working for a couple of very active anti-Nazi, anti-Hitler, anti-badguys organizations.

Potentially if you wanted a "real," "scholarly," "researched" account of this fifty-year relationship, you could fucking read this. Potentially.

So it would be totally reasonable to assume that these two fucking hated each other. But here’s the best part – YOU’RE WRONG. That’s not the best part, I mean everyone wants to be right, right? I want you to be right. But you’re just not. The best part is that Hannah and Marty, despite the conflicting nature of their most basic beliefs and ideologies, despite their breakups, despite Hannah’s quickie nuptials, despite Marty’s marriage, legitimately remained friends until Hannah’s death in 1975. Seriously, their letters are published. I’m not mathologist, but by my calculations that’s fifty fucking years. And Marty died a year later. And both of them left this crazy mixed-up world as well-respected leaders of their respective fields. Shit. Hannah and Marty were some highly evolved, highly aroused people.

Now, naturally, I think a tribute to their sexploits is long overdue. So here’s to Marty, who as a Catholic Nazi sympathizer with two documented, high-profile Jewish bangmaids, was either very forward thinking or just really wanted to get laid, and here’s to Hannah, the Jewish bangmaid who was woman enough to remain friends with her ideological foe for half a century. Or who wanted to keep that booty call on the active roster, just in case.


And special thanks to MRG’s friend and scholar of all things German, KP, for suggesting this scandal.

Search Term Referrals: Part Drei.

In one of the great paradoxes of our time, we here at For Shame! seem to find it far easier to crank out utterly hilarious and brilliantly lewd stories of ye olde sex times when we have the crushing pressure of academia surrounding us, rather than now, during a blissful book-learning interlude, in which the most challenging things we’ve been reading are unintentionally funny youtube comment-wars on largely benign videos and picture-based interviews with Michael Fassbender. Is this because we’re gluttons for punishment? Is this because we’re lazy and feel we don’t have to do anything for the internet when we also don’t have to do anything for ‘the real world?’ Is this because we’re just motherfucking enjoying our motherfucking break and watching shitloads of Bravo until our motherfucking brains drip out our ears? It’s a toss-up.

But in the spirit of not totally dropping off the face of the blogosphere, we’re providing you with another dose of paradox: a search-terms post. You love ’em, they take almost no effort on our part, so whatever. Why work hard at this point? Work will happen soon enough, and things like ‘theses,’ and ‘lectures,’ and ‘recreational adderall,’ will make our brains drip out our ears, not Patti Stanger.

what a wonderful world this would be – if this blog got really famous and the three of us never had to worry about anything ever again.

skin tight jeans giving head – I guess if they’re tight enough…

why don’t i know about john ruskin – Because you’re not MRG.

ben franklin beaver hat – I want one.

shame of adultery – Ranked on the shame scale between the ‘shame of catholicism’ and the ‘shame of leaving half a centimeter of milk in the bottom of the carton then putting it back in the fridge.’

ezra pound big cock – I wonder if this person wanted to know if Ezra Pound had a large penis or if he was sort of a grumpy jerk.

did lillie langtry like to fuck – I don’t know.  Probably.  Don’t you?

inglourious basterds restaurant goebbels sex scene gif – Sorry we didn’t provide you with this (even though it’s not a gif, i know)

drawings of hearts with fire – The new chainsaw art.

what did lucius malfoy do that was so shameful – WELL FOR STARTERS he treated Dobby like shit. And he worked actively for the destruction of peace and happiness in the wizarding world. And he also killed Heath Ledger in The Patriot. I’d say those are the three biggies.

bestest sex story in hindi – This request came from our favoritest reader.

red sores on tip of penis – Oh fuck. We’re a lot of things, but we’re not WebMD.

prince albert gangbang  – In a can.

hot wet hore – Bitch, we don’t make spelling mistakes like that.

henry, why didn’t you like this? i will like it when you give me a male heir. also, liking your own status is tacky, everyone knows that – This one speaks for itself, I think.

classic six wives of henry viii porn – Sure, this guy wants to watch porn. But he wants to watch classic, historical porn. That’s a catch, ladies.

did anne bolynne give henry the 8th a blowjob – Yeah, probably.  I mean, she lived in France for a while, didn’t she?

example of bromance Too many to count.

sex titanic – 2012’s most popular honeymoon theme.

makemefierce porn – No, make ME fierce!

hey baby want some adame west penis – As in Adam West, the thespian famous for his brilliant and subtle portrayal of graphic literature’s greatest facist super-vigillante,  or A Dame West, the forgotten, transgendered member of Britain’s landed gentry? Either way, baby want some of he/she’s penis. Can’t argue with that.

lee pace underwear – I must change mine now.

stds on penis – Ew.  Why? Why us?

sexy male nutcracker – Where? I want one.

martha stewart halloween – MRG is so honored that you ended up on her humble blog, whomever (that’s right) you are.

fanny white sickles – …cell anemia?

col sanders uniform You’re fucking welcome.

farewell kate winslet nudity – Yeah, those titties are goin’ back in the Disney Vault.

jamie bond the prince – Not, in fact, the youthful moniker adopted by the international spy and poon-tackler, but this guy.

homosexual romanovs – The best kind of Romanovs.

irishman banging sheep – MRG doesn’t hate the sounds of that. She’s not proud.

tudor boobs – The best kind of boobs.

ring shaped psoriasis – I MEAN REALLY.

suicide girls hella juicy – I am at a loss as to how this person got here, when they were looking for the aforementioned softcore altporn.

1920’s 1930 1940 harlot whore prostitute dancer – Was this person looking for harlot whore prostitute dancers from each of these decades or a certain one who spanned all of them?

tyra banks and his boyfriend – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

1930’s gentleman farmer fashion – This gentleman knows where it’s at.

feather duster in vagina –  That…seems…unsanitary?

james madison president and benjamin franklin cartoon – We love few things as much as clipart. Except maybe all other things.

be your beard – Yes, and inherit the wind while you’re at it!

big pussy big ass big booty – BIG SAVINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

preteen nude pagan dance –  If by ‘preteen’ you mean ‘adult,’ by ‘nude’ you mean ‘fully clothed,’ and by ‘pagan’ you mean ‘we prefer to be called nature-spirit-revivalists,’ then yes, that’s how we dance, thanks for asking!

hemingway’s boat: everything he loved in life, and lost – A great book, b.t.dubs, but why they thought we would ever use such a legitimate source is beyond me.

subject: fw: when you marry an italian (bada bing, bada boom) – MRG resents this but it’s also probably in the inbox of at least  half of her relatives. And also probably her own.

she was a golden brown presence, burned by the tuscan sun and with a golden glint in her warm brown hair. – Is this one about Beyonce??

hello kitty anal sex – This image retrospectively ruined my childhood.

erotic paintings to put on facebook – I’m so glad you found our website.

prostitutes in santa fe nrweeee – Yes, prostitutes in Santa Fe Never Ride Without Eating Early Eggs Everyday.

profession sexfucking bulefilm – It’s a type of arthouse movie. Classic French New-Wave, you know.

sexy alexander hamilton costume – Mm. Hmm. Hmm? Not the worst idea we’ve ever heard?

carl weathers sex partners – MRG, LHB, and JAF? Hahaha what no way. Maybe?

i know monks masturbate at night, that pet cats screw, that some girls bite, and yet what can i do to set things right? — an original poem by Ernest Hemingway.

briefly describe the role of hermes in black orpheus. why do you think the filmmakers inserted him into the story – Maybe he functions as most benevolent supernatural characters in Greek mythology do: as a guide or third party that brings the main characters towards their emotional denouments and moves the plot through necessary exposition and explaination not assigned as dialogue. Or maybe you should have just watched the fucking movie before you had to write this paper.

does+lu+zhi+love+liu+bang+at+all??? – Our magic eight ball says don’t use a google search for such sensitive questions.

colin firth silly – UGH. Ugh. MRG is having a hard time keeping her pants on picturing Colin giggling.

fucking rilke – You shut your goddam mouth, the man’s a genius.  Unless you’re suggesting that we should fuck Rilke.  In which case, we’re totally on the same page.

what is the title of the movie in which a woman from spain is sent to a convent and she gets pregnant and to prevent a scandal they had to be secret about it– My, that is awfully specific. Anyone? JAF, weigh in here? It’s called Citizen Kane. -JAF