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A Series of Unfortunate Recipes

Come for the delicious recipes. Stay for the terrible story.

This still image of the Baudelaires serving Pasta Puttanesca was obtained by questionable means from the archives of the Netflix corporation.

We begin at The Bad Beginning with misery and Puttanesca Sauce. If you are not currently toiling in the kitchen of an evil villain, you may enjoy making this yourself.

An accurate re-creation of the delicious Puttanesca Sauce made by the Baudelaires during their stay at the ghastly (a word which here means the kitchen was barely functional) home of Count Olaf.

If you have nothing better to do... can recreate the true culinary history of the Baudelaires in your own kitchen, by subscribing to this Unfortunate series:

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This photograph of brave Sunny explaining the menu was obtained from the files of the Netflix corporation.

This week, we have pudding. And chocolate. And chocolate pudding. And Julia Child. And many more words, most of which are too unpleasant to read.

Chocolate Pudding, made by means of scratch ingredients and without the use of packets such as the Baudelaires had to use.

Recipe: Aztec Chocolate Pudding

Speaking of unfortunate people, the Aztecs discovered that chocolate, chiles and cinnamon are delicious together. If you make this recipe, you may make the same discovery.

This image, obtained from the Netflix corporation, shows the exact moment Mrs. Poe inflicted her bland boiled chicken on the Baudelaires. Readers may find this image too disturbing to view.

This week, we endure a tragic lack of taste, an encounter with intemperate environmentalists, and superfluous synonyms. We then enjoy a delicious chicken dinner, which is how you can tell Mrs. Poe isn't cooking.

Poached (which here means "boiled") in a wine-and-herb broth, served with potatoes that have been simmered (which here means "boiled") in the same flavorful broth.

Recipe: Buttery Green Beans with Garlic and Onions

Blanched (which still means "boiled") green beans, drizzled (which here means "poured upon") with a combination of butter, olive oil, onions and garlic.

This photograph of future chef Sunny Baudelaire was obtained by my associate from the files of the Netflix corporation.

This week we avoid cannibals and reveal an evil plot to destroy breakfast.

A delightful beginning to any morning, and therefore never served at Count Olaf's house.

Recipe: Cinnamon Maple Steel-Cut Oats

Steel-cut oats cooked with cinnamon, sweetened with maple syrup, and topped with walnuts and raisins or whatever toppings you prefer. Guaranteed to make you glad you're not a Baudelaire.

Obtained by one of my associates, this still image from the Netflix corporation shows Count Olaf proffering his ersatz raspberry cupcakes.

This week, all is not as it appears to be, and Sunny tells it like it is. And there's cupcakes.

Naturally pink with raspberry juices, these cupcakes are filled with delightful raspberry flavor, with an extra raspberry hidden inside, where Olaf can't get to it. 

This image from the files of the Netflix corporation clearly shows Mr. Poe's lack of appreciation for the delicious coconut cream cake being served by Dr. Montgomery Montgomery to the Baudelaires.

Assuming you are neither treacherous nor incompetent, you may enjoy a slice of Uncle Monty's coconut cream cake this week.

As Lemony Snicket would say, this cake is "a magnificent thing, rich and creamy with the perfect amount of coconut." 

This disgusting image was obtained from the files of the Netflix corporation, and should never be viewed by anyone.

This week we explore a conundrum of esoterica, including sneaky scientists, acqueous martinis, mispronounced French cookies, and other mysteries understood only by people who are not me.  

Potstickers served with Sriracha sauce and Hoisin sauce. Plus, a way to use the excess filling to make Asian meatballs.

Week the Eighth:

Cold Comfort and Chilled Soup

This alarming image of Klaus Baudelaire on the verge of tasting Aunt Josephine's soup was obtained by opprobrious means from the files of the Netflix corporation.

Bad food is a terrible thing. You can avoid another terrible thing by carefully reading the letter in this week's post, which either contains a secret code or an inordinate number of grammatical errors, or both. 

This recipe was adapted from one that belonged to a snake charmer in Egypt. Delicious and minty, cool and refreshing, it tastes as if you are drinking something as well as eating it. A delicacy that is best enjoyed on a very hot day.

Week the Ninth:

A Meal with an Anxious Clown

This picture was allegedly taken by an agent of the Netflix corporation and is used here with no permission whatsoever, but with a lot of hutzpah.

This week we contemplate serious grammatical errors, fried zucchini and a bear who can't take a joke.

Unlike the items in the Extra Fun Special Family Appetizer, these zucchini sticks are fried to a delightfully golden-brown state of crispiness, and served with a savory marinara dipping sauce.

Week the Tenth:

Lake Lachrymose Cooking School

This image was obtained from the Netflix corporation, and shows the Lake Lachrymose Town Market and Petting Zoo in which my oven partner and I bought most of our ingredients for the Advanced Baking course at cooking school. I don't know who that strange man selling fish heads is.

This week I refuse to talk about what happened at cooking school. And I strongly recommend you visit a nicer website anyway.

A recipe I learned in the Advanced Baking Course, with Very Fresh Dill and limes.

Week the Eleventh:

Miserable Meals

This dismal photograph, along with an inordinate amount of other evidence, has been collected and filed by the Netflix corporation. I have not yet uncovered the evidence to explain their interest in this case.

This week, you can't judge a website by its cover, because it doesn't have one. Plus, what to cook while hiding in a cave.

A delightful recipe never served at Lucky Smells Lumbermill, in which ground beef, green chiles, ground cumin, Mexican oregano, tomatoes, cilantro, scallions and cheese are cooked with elbow macaroni in exactly the right proportions to make a delicious meal with no gum whatsoever.

In this grainy image, taken from the Lucky Smells Lumbermill file in the archives of the Netflix corporation, we can clearly see that Charles is making a terrible omelette.

In this penultimate post, we use advanced culinary analytics to assess Charles' omelette making techniques, and consider the side effects of hypnosis.

If you would like to make a delicious omelette for your partner, this recipe gives you a detailed how-to so you'll know exactly what to do - and what not to do - so you don't serve omelettes like Charles'. (Spoiler alert: Step 1 involves breaking a few eggs.)

Week the thirteenth:

Peppermints and a Desperate Letter

This picture was obtained by a Netflix henchperson at Prufrock Preparatory School.

To my kind webmaster, remember that you are my last hope that delicious food can again be enjoyed by the general public.

Break in case of emergency. Dark chocolate, white chocolate, pretzel crisps and peppermint candies, all melted together to form a delicious way to avoid falling into the clutches of a villain.

If for some reason you want to read the books, you will find them here:

And if you are a parent with the good sense to question whether these are the type of books you should be foisting upon your children, you may want to read my parent-to-parent review of the book series.

(When I finish weeping over this bowl of cold lime stew, I may write a review of the television series.)

Dear Reader,

By now you are probably aware that A Series of Unfortunate Events was dutifully written by Lemony Snicket to tell the true tale of misery endured by Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire at the hands of Count Olaf, and to clear his own name. Recently, Snicket has begun a new, even more desperate attempt to retell the treacherous tale on Netflix, in the form of a documentary.

As a student of the history of the Baudelaires, I have assumed the grim duty of reading the entire tragic series, and watching every episode, myself. You, however, are under no such obligation. From the Bad Beginning to the bitter End, this terrible tale contains vile food and unpleasant dining companions with treacherous table manners.

I have vowed to create this series of recipes for those who prefer to spend their time eating delicious food in the company of pleasant people. You may choose to follow along if you also prefer that sort of thing. 

With all due respect,

Lynley Jones

Proprietress, Adventure Kitchen

This photograph, obtained by one of my associates, shows the carefree schoolchildren who, due to a lapse in their parents' judgment, were exposed to the true culinary history of the Baudelaires in a class allegedly taught by me in 2015. The recipes and files from that original class have been collected here for those who have nothing better to do.