Do you ever get hungry thinking about the mid 2000s? Or listening to your favorite or least favorite episode of Emo Kids Anonymous? Well, then we need to talk about something. Something important. Something that fills a void in our black, cold, emotionally damaged hearts and stomachs:
We wrote a cookbook.
Well, we commissioned one.
We supervised it.
We definitely had opinions about it.
The point is, Tell All Your Friends (Dinner's Ready) is a real thing that we are totally publishing.
The book pairs iconic emo and pop-punk songs with recipes "inspired by their emotional essence." Definitely our words. We did say "emotional essence" out loud in a meeting and nobody stopped us, so here we are.
What's Inside
The book is organized into five chapters, each corresponding to a stage of grief. Perfect for dinner!
Chapter 1: Denial (Appetizers)
The opener is My Chemical Romaine, a Caesar salad that the recipe description calls "a simple dish hiding enormous theatrical complexity." It requires fourteen ingredients, a blowtorch, and "a willingness to commit to something bigger than yourself." It's lettuce.
Also featured is Cute Without The E-spresso Martini, a cocktail the book recommends "serving to someone who wronged you at a house party in 2001 (but not because you forgive them - you'll never forgive them)."
Screaming Infi-Feta Cheese is a saganaki - a slab of feta seared in a hot pan until it screams, then lit on fire at the table. The recipe insists you "maintain eye contact with your dinner guests while the cheese burns" and notes that "if someone asks if you're okay, the answer is always yes, even though the appetizer is literally on fire and so are you." The recipe pairs it with crusty bread and "the memory of someone whose hair you're still finding on your clothes."
Chapter 2: Anger (Mains)
Here we find Misery Bisque-ness, a lobster bisque that instructs you to "whisk until your arm hurts and then keep whisking because pain is the point." The recipe takes three hours.
The chapter's centerpiece is Welcome to the Black Pepper Parade, a peppercorn-crusted tri-tip that must be served on a black plate, in a dark room, preferably while a marching band plays somewhere in the distance. The recipe calls for "a generous amount of black pepper" and then, three lines later, "more black pepper." And then again on the next page.
Also in this chapter: This Ain't a Scene, It's a Chicken Parm Plate. It requires you to pound the chicken "as hard as Patrick hits the chorus on 'Sugar, We're Goin Down'" and then plate it "with the confidence of Pete Wentz during his appearance on One Tree Hill."
Chapter 3: Bargaining (Sides)
Ohio Is for Leftovers is not so much a recipe as it is a list of "suggestions." Open the fridge. Use what's there. The page reads: "We're not going to tell you what to make. You already know. It's 1 AM. You're alone in your apartment. You have half a rotisserie chicken and some questionable rice. Can't make it on your own? Try harder."
Chex Mix Juliet is here, and the recipe's only instruction for seasoning is: "Remember what it felt like the summer in high school when everything was perfect? Season to that."
We also get Dashboard Confectional Cornbread, which comes with a two-paragraph editor's note about a very specific Waffle House in Florida circa 2003 that has nothing to do with cornbread.
Chapter 4: Depression (Soups & Comfort Food)
This is the longest chapter BY FAR.
I Write Sins Not Mac-and-Cheese is a loaded four-cheese baked mac that "pairs well with sitting on the kitchen floor in tears." The recipe requires you to make a roux from scratch, which it describes as "a test of emotional endurance not unlike listening to the entire catalogue of late stage Brendon! At The Disco in one sitting." Total cooking time is listed as "4-6 hours or until you feel something again."
Thyme of Your Life (Good Riddance) is a thyme and lemon soup that the recipe intro calls "the soup you make the night before everything changes." The instructions are straightforward until step six, which simply reads: "Turn off the heat. It's over. Let it go." The recipe ends with a note that says to "garnish with whatever's left." Not sure what that means.
Chapter 5: Acceptance (Desserts)
Taking Back Sundae isn't as much a recipe as it is a four-page essay that follows the feud between John Nolan and Jesse Lacey, and how it shaped Long Island's emo scene. At no point does the essay mention ice cream. Our editor flagged this. We overruled our editor. The essay stays.
Fall Out Boysenberry Pie - a triple-berry pie with a lattice crust - includes a footnote that simply reads: "The pie is a metaphor. Please do not ask us what for. We don't know anymore."
The book closes with The Taste Of Ink-redible Edibles, black-frosted sugar cookies that the recipe ominously warns you to only eat it at "four o'clock in the f-ing morning," and advises that you "savor every moment of it."
What Are People Saying?
We sent advance copies to a few trusted members of the NAPNET community. The feedback has been exactly what we expected.
One reader wrote: "I made the Black Pepper Parade tri-tip for my family. My dad said it was the most emotion he's ever experienced. I cried. He cried. We didn't discuss why. Five stars."
Another simply sent us a toaster emoji and a bathtub emoji. We took this to mean that they couldn't stop thinking about eating these delicious recipes, even in the bath!
Should You Buy It?
Look, are we biased? Obviously.
Did we publish a cookbook with zero culinary credentials and an editorial process that mostly consisted of arguing about whether Brand New deserved a recipe? I guess you'll have to make the Deja Entrée-ndu to find out.
Is this a good cookbook in the traditional sense, where recipes are clear, portions make sense, and you aren't asked to "dice the onion like you're cutting ties with the small town you grew up in"? Absolutely not.
But in the sense that matters? The one where you're 39 years old, standing in your kitchen at 11 PM, making lobster bisque while "We're Not Okay" plays from your phone on the counter?
Yeah. We nailed it.
Tell All Your Friends (Dinner's Ready) is available for pre-order now at neveraphasenetwork.com and at the merch table of the next midwest emo show you go to, next to the stickers t-shirts.
Pre-order yours and tag us with your cooking attempts. We want to see your Black Pepper Parade. We NEED to see your Black Pepper Parade. Our lawyers, however, have advised that we tell you not to eat any of the food made with these recipes. Ever.