Millennials are eating up reboots of popular shows, clothes – and food – from the ’90s
And the rest of us are joining in. Remember Dunkaroos, Pop-Tarts Crunch Cereal, Frasier? They re ba-ack! (Oops, wrong decade.)
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In the 1990s, when Jacqueline Dole was just a schoolgirl, she coveted the Cosmic Brownies she saw in her classmates’ lunchboxes. In late 2019, memories of those fudgy Little Debbie treats led Dole, now in her 30s and the owner of Biddeford-based The Parlor Ice Cream Co., to re-create them in the form of an ice cream flavor.
Dole’s version of Cosmic Brownie – milk chocolate ice cream with brownie chunks – even contains the rainbow sprinkle “meteors” (candy-coated chocolate chips) that are scattered on top of the brownie’s thick layer of frosting. “It’s just not a Cosmic Brownie without those special sprinkles,” Dole said.
The Wrap: Online Kneading Conference, arrest made in Whitefield farmstand destruction
More Thai and more brunch for Portland diners, plus beer-guzzling dogs (OK, not exactly, but gotcha to look).
Photo courtesy of Brian Hanson
Rigby Yard, at 50 Wharf St. in Portland, which opened for weekends as a beer hall and restaurant in October, launched Sunday brunch on March 7. It plans to open weekdays, too, beginning Monday, as a “third space” concept providing a casual space to meet, relax and work, according to Brian Hanson, co-owner of Rigby Yard and Independent Ice Co.
Rigby Yard’s new hours will be from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Friday, serving coffee and coffee drinks from Time & Tide coffee roasters in Biddeford. (The hall is open later hours on weekends, still serving beer, wine and cocktails.) The food will include “light fare” and quick-serve breakfast and lunch items for eating in or takeout. The outdoor patio is expected to open April 1.
Dine In Maine: The best fried foods you can get to go
Our restaurant critic rounds up his favorites from Maine eateries in celebration of Hanukkah – and in defiance of his cardiologist.
By Andrew Ross
Shawn Patrick Ouellette/Staff Photographer
During this disorienting, mostly dismal year, I, like everybody, missed out on nearly all of my favorite communal food experiences: stocking up on freshly boiled syrup on Maine Maple Sunday; dilatory, late-summer barn suppers at Turner Farm on North Haven; even scarfing scandalously overpriced hamburgers in the nosebleed section at Arthur Ashe Stadium.
But the one I was looking forward to most was gingerly clutching onto a sugar-dusted fairground funnel cake, guiding the drips along the wax paper away from my arm, onto the dirt while sneaking tiny, steamy bites before the dough cooled. I also loved the way my jacket smelled afterwards: like spilled cider and fryer oil.