Cooking Carbonara from Google Translate: 5 Mistakes to Avoid Absolute

Just in case you thought cooking wasn’t very tricky, try cooking from translated recipes on the internet.

OF course, Google translate is doing a great job, but it still opens up a rather surreal universe of language.

I’m drinking wine and eating scones. Humm dee dum. Having a bit of a hysterical joy ride on the internet tonight, (which, I suppose that is my disclaimer: hysterics) and decided to start researching Eastern European dessert recipes, most of which I have no idea what they’re talking about.

And then I stumbled on an article titled

“Carbonara do not fear: here are five mistakes to avoid absolute”

and I said “yes yes yes! Give me the mistakes to avoid absolute!”

Here are my favorite bits, copied and pasted, with some commentary:


1. We start from fried . A moment, which fried?” WHICH FRIED INDEED??!! I believe it’s saying to not bother with onions or garlic, which honestly skipping garlic on carbonara seems like bad news to me, but who am I. Who the crap am I. Who am I? I start from fried.

 2. pillow or bacon? By the way are two different products. I understand why the pillow has a fat mass greater than that of the bacon and its flavor, then, will be decided. The fact is that I advise you to use the first, if you will be blameless. But woe, I say, woe to you if you dare to throw the bacon in a frying pan. As I said in the video recipe, I could pick you look under the house! Being always in chapter pillow, I would recommend: do not add oil in pan, there is no need. It is an ingredient that will release its fat (and especially its delicious aroma) in cooking, so why abound?😉

ok. This is really the whole reason I wanted to make this post. I’m guessing “pancetta” somehow translates into “pillow” and I find that absolutely hilarious. WHICH ONE DO WE CHOOSE?? SHALL WE DICE UP OUR PILLOWS FOR CARBONARA?? Is that a mistake to avoid absolute??

pillow pan

Here’s some original content for ya. That is actually my roommate’s Winnie the Pooh throw pillow inside of my roommate’s pan (the only pan reasonably sized to house a pillow in our apartment), and fortunately, not once did she catch me attempting to saute her pillow. Success is great absolute!!

Anyway, that was my favorite part. Keep reading if you want to look under the house.

3. The time of the eggs . Some will insist on adding them whole, creating a kind of pancake instead of a homogeneous and enveloping cream. So if it is the latter, the effect you want to create, divide the yolks from the whites and used only the first. The more correct proportion provides a head plus one whole egg yolk every three yolks: will this combination to give the right creaminess to the sauce, avoiding that too feel the taste of the eggs…” –
Fair. That’s all fair. I feel like I can follow that.

4. Cream, This Unknown . Oh no, I do not agree. Add it to the eggs is just a trick used by those who want to win easy.” Cream, This Unkown. That sounds more like a movie title to me.

Cream, This Unknown: The World Beyond the Teat

Or perhaps it’s more of a statement. Perhaps it’s a command: “Cream this unknown, Juniffer! We hate outsiders round these parts!! Now, cream them, then get me a pillow to crunch on! I’m hungry!”


Poor Juniffer.


The final mistake to Avoid Absolute:

5. Do not play with fire.” 

And finally, what pasta should we use?

“Long or short pasta? For me there is no game, I choose the classic spaghetti or those on guitar.”


via This wasn’t a very easy google image search, so I hope you appreciate the visual. #yourewelcome

So essentially, for a *classic carbonara, start from fried, add a pillow to the pan (sans oil, remember), time of the eggs, disagree with the unknown cream. Finally, don’t play with the fire, and add your cooked spaghetti noodles, or your cooked guitar strings. Enjoy.

“If you want to be sure not to make mistakes, here’s my version of the heart, of course, expect to know what is your😉





This post is part of the monthly link up party Our Growing Edge. This event aims to connect food bloggers and inspire us to try new things





17 Signs You MIGHT Be In Culinary School

Unsure whether or not you’re in culinary school?? Check out this handy list to clear that one right up!

Is she in culinary school? What do YOU think?

Is she in culinary school? What do YOU think?

1. You’re forced to iron your pajamas.

2. You’re kind of a twat.

3. You’ve started pronouncing the word “stage” and “place” kinda weird and sometimes it makes you nervous.

4. You call everything “Chef,” just to be safe.

5. You’re kind of a twat.

6. Overnight, you’ve become the authority on a lot of different issues, and nobody can do anything right anymore.

7. You’re kind of a twat.

8. Instead of saying “hello” or “good morning” or “hey hey hey” or “what up doc” or “hey asshole,” you only greet people with “I’m so tired.” You’re starting to wonder if someone else is ever going to care, instead of just telling you how tired they are back. You’re starting to wonder if there is only so much tiredness to go around, and you’re competing for limited resources. You deserve this, dammit! You’re potentially in culinary school after all!

9. You’re currently enrolled in culinary school.

10. You’re kind of a twat.

11. You have a big bag of knives, want more knives, and every morning when you wake up, you scrape your fingernails against the mirror, and ask yourself if you’re too tired to be a twat today. But you’re not. You’re a hero.

12. When you’re at school you talk about work, when you’re at work you talk about school, and when you’re at home you talk to your big, bag of knives and call it “chef,” just to be safe.

13. Good morning, chef. Hey chef. How’s it going chef. Hey chef, I have question. Uh, chef? chef. CHEF. CHEFFFFF!!!! THE KITCHEN IS 44% ON FIRE AND APPEARS AMBITIOUS FOR MORE GROWTH.

14. What’s the French word for twat?

15. You’re reading this list and you’re feeling kind of insulted, but you also have $50 getting itchy in your pocket and you want to fling it at me. Come on.

16. Have you ever heard of Anthony Bourdain? You haven’t? Oh, you have? Oh, you watch his shows? Oh, well I sorta see myself doing something like THAT someday. Like, I think being paid to travel and eat food and be a celebrity and talk about it would be a really good job for me. That’d be sort of a good match for all my skills and it might even be fun.

17. “Ya ever heard of ‘The Industry,’ kid?”

“Only in legend and stories, chef.”

“Of course, of course, you’ve heard what they’re willing to tell you. Let me guess, it’s a magical place of hard work, legitimacy and promise, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes. It sounds like a magical place. I can finally get real deep-fryer burns, go out drinking at night into the morning, get addicted to cocaine and make fun of culinary students for wearing their pants outside of school.”

“I know it’s sounds amazing, and that’s what they tell ya, kid. But let me tell you what they don’t want you to know.” He checks to see that the coast is clear and lowers his voice to a tense whisper. “You can only get there by boat, and the boat only takes passengers to The Industry, but never back. They’ll never admit that. Ya ever wonder what happens to all the potatoes you’ve attempted to tourne? They go with you on the boat to The Industry. They use you to build a city out of all the shitty tourne potatoes you culinary students create, and you can only use risotto as mortar. You build the city, and you never stop building the city. You can never live in the city – the city built from your own failures, blood and arborio mortar. Ever wondered why we need you to practice tournes so much? Huh?! Ever wonder THAT kid?” The chef catches himself, and lowers his voice back down. “The Industry will never be complete, and you will never be free. This is your life now…” The chef takes a step back and straightens out his pajamas. “This life isn’t for everyone kid, but someone needs to do it.”

And with that, the chef walks away.

Your mind is spinning with what he’s just told you, as another chef walks up to you in the hall.

“Good morning!” he says.

“Good morning, chef.” You mumble.

“Been practicing those tournes? You know what I always say: until you’ve done three cases of potatoes, you can’t say you’re bad at them! Now, get to practicing!”


You start rummaging in your knife roll for your paring knife, and find yourself stifling a sob. It all makes sense now.





As a sidenote: I finally bought a new laptop, after nearly four months without one. I have the problem of being poor, as well as an unbridled cheapskate, so I got the cheapest laptop I could find that held up a review of “generally fine.” And I must say, I am continually shocked by how crappy this laptop is. I’m almost impressed with how bad it is.

The keyboard sticks, it constantly crashes, sometimes it won’t even turn on, and at the risk of DEFINITELY sounding age-ist: when I first fired up this computer, I said to myself, “shit. This looks like an old person’s computer.” There were thousands of pop-ups, free search bars installing themselves, constant reminders of the dangers of spyware, and a little picture of a tech-support guy that I could click on for 24 hour guidance – though doing so would certainly cause the computer to crash. I spent the last four days trying to get Google Chrome or Firefox to install, but McAfee wagged it’s sassy little safety-finger and say “no, no, girlfriend. Internet explorer is for you. Google Chrome is UNSAFE like HERPES or MUMPS.” I’d spend 20 minutes pounding at the keyboard and mouse with caveman fingers, and cursing out “Mr. Assface” – what I named the smarmy tech-support guy who constantly bobbled at the top of every browser window.

Anyway, I had some free time today to uninstall all the bloatware and bundleware that ASUS laptops come with (pronounced “Asses”.) It actually kind of works now! I can at least use Google Chrome now like a person born in the 80s, (or like hip older people – in the hopes of saving myself from previously-made age-ist remarks. My apologies.)

All this goes to say – I’m able to blog now. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.