Fucking Day: The Erotic Baker (Patreon)

Have you ever gone to an erotic art exhibit with a good friend, looked at a photo of an enormous dick, and said, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could eat that?” This is the advertised origin story of The Erotic Baker, a New York institution in the '70s and '80s with two Manhattan locations and a butthole cake that one Facebook user fondly remembers as “divine.”

The Erotic Baker sadly no longer exists, but they've left behind for us The Erotic Baker Cookbook: 100 X-Rated, Explicitly Illustrated Recipes For Hungry Lovers. It's a perfect time capsule of an era when food and sex were both really gross and combining them was a terrible idea! If you've ever wished a penis were made out of egg salad, this is the book for you and only you.

You might expect an erotic bakery to have a cookbook full of only desserts, but this cookbook isn't just about horny cakes. The Erotic Baker can get pervy about any food at any time. There are descriptions of eggs in this book that would make E.L. James blush.

It's honestly pretty boring to only want to fuck sexy foods. Oh, those weirdly shiny cakes make you feel funny inside? Get in line, wuss. The Erotic Baker will get dangerously wet for corn on the cob.

There's nothing between you and the corn. Take off your corn gloves, boys; it's time to live dangerously. It's time to look at food and be unsure of which orifice you should cram it into. Yum!

You might be wondering who was in the erotic food purchasing business back in the eighties. Luckily, there's no such thing as baker-customer confidentiality, so The Erotic Baker will tell you straight up, and you will probably not be shocked to hear that Wall Street investment firms were some of their biggest customers. Also, all of the New York Knicks were fucking? Or they were, at the very least, joking about fucking, which seems like the first step to fucking. Someone was floating the idea in pastry form to see how it was received.

Ah yes, the glory days of office sexual harassment. The Erotic Baker has some suggestions for occasions you could use to show off your sexual cooking skills because the only thing sadder than carefully constructing genitals out of fruit is eating those vitamin C-rich genitalia alone in your apartment at 3 AM. One of the suggested occasions is the first day of work! Did you know they used to throw a party on your first day of work instead of showing you a bunch of lame videos about how you can't bring a cantaloupe pussy with toasted coconut pubes and a grape clit to work anymore in the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Ok, I agree there's a time and a place for erotic food. It's rare that I look at something and think, you know what would make this better is if it had an erection, but I find adding an erect penis to gingerbread men greatly improves them in almost every way. On the one hand, dicks are funny. On the other hand, more icing spread across a wider area is going to make them taste better. Everyone wins!

However, I do occasionally question the taste of the authors. For instance, they tell me to eat medium-rare chicken livers mixed with hard-boiled eggs, cognac, and pimiento. They could have more easily said to put all of the worst things into a blender, shape it into a dick, and then literally eat a dick.

Some of the meals in this book flow almost like a conversation. For instance, if you feed your spouse passion pate and they wisely decide to divorce you immediately, there's a response dish for that! The broken heart is two 1 ½ pound veal hearts dramatically cut apart, stuffed with vegetables and spices, then stitched part of the way back together, horny Frankenstein style.

The drama and horror of putting two stitched-together baby cow hearts in the middle of your sexy cookbook might be a little jarring for some horny people. It's ok; the dramatic dinner can't hurt you. What we need now is an even more dramatic reconciliation, like this vegetarian Pussy Pitta getting absolutely wrecked by New XXX-Rated Erotic Dressing for the Naked Salad. There's no better way to apologize for your food crime than by obliterating another perfectly good dish for sexual reasons.

It's weird how, after reading this cookbook for a while, it stops shocking you. You find yourself staring into the hole of an Amorous Avocado full of fish eggs, and your only thought is maybe if kids back then weren't spending $15 on avocado and caviar pussies they could afford to buy a house.

If some of you are finding this cookbook to be a little gross, let me tell you, it's more than just a little gross. It's really gross. Would you like to hear the single worst piece of cooking advice I've ever read in my 35 years of existence on this earth? It's that you should "pause every now and then and let someone lick the peanut butter off your fingers" while you cook.

Prunes are already not a super sexy food, but when you add to that the secret ingredient of spit from whoever's around and down to lick fingers, I find this dish to be the ultimate turn-off. I'm pretty sure health and safety regulations existed in the 1980s, right? Or was this considered fine in an era where the entire New York Knicks basketball team was going to town on each other? If that's the case, I still have to wonder if it's a good idea to eat food that famously makes you poop during a sexy party.

This book also suggests that you serve chili at an orgy; CHILI. This book looks you straight in the eyes and says, "Chili: that's what people who are about to hardcore pound want; a belly full of chili." Also, it describes orgies as a Sunday night activity, and I've never participated in an orgy, but it seems like a Friday or Saturday thing to me, right? I'm starting to suspect The Erotic Baker hasn't catered as many orgies as they want us to think they have. In fact, I'm beginning to think the New York Knicks were never fucking at all!

In addition to a new position office party and a Sunday night orgy, this cookbook also includes menu suggestions for an S&M dinner, a Halloween masked ball, and a "Fourth of July bang! picnic," which I'm assuming is a hot, sweaty day where you eat a couple of bowls of chili and bang outside.

Looking at the book as a whole, I'm surprised at how uncreative it really is. Take their section on balls, for instance. Of course, they have all kinds of balls, meaty, furry, and sweet balls, but they make it very clear with just a few minor tweaks that these balls could belong to anyone. Dye Santa's balls green and make them a little tinier, and you've got leprechaun balls. I'm not sure if that's versatility or laziness in their balls.

Well it looks like we've all reached our doctor recommended limit of staring at genitals for the day. Time to go do something healthy and productive, like cooking. Oh, oh no, everything I make is turning out so damn erotic. This spaghetti is clearly trying to fuck me! I've been cursed by The Erotic Baker! All of my food is trying to fuck me! Heeeeeellp.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Justin Brewer, who we've always said is as erotic as corn. 

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