- How (and Why) to Get Rid of Books
- Pickled Cherry Tomatoes are Definitely a Thing You Need to Know About
- How to Save Seeds and Grow Better Vegetables
- How to Make a Concrete Desktop Planter (+ a $250 Gift Card Giveaway!)
- How to Create Secure Passwords You'll Actually Remember
- This Is the Best Way to Salt Your Food
- How To: Rebind a Vintage Paperback Book
- Five Ways to Use a Speed Square
- Essential Life Skill: How to Make Perfect Stovetop Popcorn
- A Foolproof Cast Iron Skillet Maintenance Routine
If someone were to ask you what your crucial, go-to, stranded-on-a-desert-island cooking gear includes, how would you reply?
Would you mention a chef's knife and cutting board? How about a large sauté pan and a flat-edged wood spoon, or a large, nonreactive heatproof bowl? (Incidentally, these are Michael Ruhlman's top five in his fantastic comprehensive guide The Elements of Cooking.)
What if I were to add that the addition of two inexpensive pieces of equipment can dramatically level up your cooking game, and that you could actually get these at an office supply store?
This just in: there's a giant ball of fire up in the sky, and it's really hot.
When it's 80 degrees and sunny, I have a hard time finding a good reason not to harness that free energy, instead of pulling in electricity from the burning fuel at my local power station (in my case, I think it's the nuclear plant just south of Raleigh) all to just dry some clothes.
A clothesline is a fantastic supplement to your laundry routine, so if you're like me and you've been putting off building one, here's a simple plan you can follow on a single Saturday—a shopping trip in the morning, a building session the afternoon.
I'm sure the original makers of Altoids had no concept of survivalism, let alone having any inkling that they were providing a vessel for emergency lifesaving tools. Yet here we are: this humble, yet curiously strong, breath mint has inspired scores of tutorials for intrepid would-be wilderness warriors.
Rather than reinventing the wheel, we at ManMadDIY have scoured the tutorials, and we've honed in on what we think are the best basics for that quintessential Internet favorite, the Altoids tin survival kit.
Let's dig in!
Downtime. Or, in same cases, dead times: waiting rooms, lines, traffic, the moments in between appointments. Those places where you get nowhere quickly, but live in effective purgatory, embracing neither productivity or relaxation. To the overly ambitious (or those suffering from some form of adult ADHD), these are the times that try your soul in that special kind of slow-drip water torture way.
Sure, you could kill your dead time by scrolling through Instagram. You may even decide to do something useful with your phone, like one-liner email replies or clearing out your old voicemail. But what if you want to occasionally limit your exposure to the little blue screen that wasn’t a crucial part of human existence before 2007?
In lieu of time-killers, here are four suggestions for time-fillers that you can perform with absolutely no equipment other than your mind and your body (as well as one that requires a simple piece of string). These are especially helpful if you’re stuck in a situation where you really shouldn’t be using your phone, like stop-and-go traffic.
I recently posted a photo of my Aeropress setup to Instagram and had a buddy comment with questions about my process. I've only been using my press casually for the last couple of years, so I didn't feel comfortable saying anything authoritative. That begged the question: who would be considered an authority on the subject of Aeropress recipes? Which led me to: if not the victors of the World Aeropress Championship, then who?
If you're unfamiliar to the world of Aeropress, if you own one and have no idea what to do with it, or if you're looking to tweak your current routine: read on, friends.
Search “bullet journal” in Instagram or Pinterest and you’ll see a cornucopia of tricked-out notebooks. The Esteemed Society of Crafters on the Internet has truly created a thing of beauty. But if you’re one of the “Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That” (ANGTFT) set, don’t be fooled by the washi tape, calligraphy, and rococo calendar ornaments: a minimalist bullet journal is, hands down, the most efficient and robust planning tool in your productivity kit.
If you were to ask an American to picture drinking a cup of tea, it's safe to assume that the mental image wouldn't include work boots, hardhats, bricks, and lumber. But while coffee is standard in the U.S., for thousands of construction workers in Great Britain and Ireland, as well as numerous tradesmen like electricians, welders, and plumbers, a strong cup of tea is the preferred fuel for a day filled with labor.
Here's a basic rundown of how to fortify your work day with the strength of a bricklayer.
Knot tying. It’s a thing. If you read any "men's lifestyle" content, you've no doubt seen an exhaustive list of "essential knots every man needs to know." You proceed to read their list of seven, or ten, or fourteen, and by the time you get to the bottom of the list, you can't even remember the name of the first one, let alone how to tie it.
One of my all-time favorite aphorisms is that Victorian era gem that shines from its facets of order, efficiency, and thrift:
A place for everything, and everything in its place.
I consistently use this idea to recalibrate the way I see my home and studio. My wife and I are work-from-home freelancers; we're in our house 90% of the week and share it with our very active toddler and three cats, working and playing and cooking three meals a day, so we make a lot of mess. Without direct intervention, entropy reigns supreme, with total anarchy its final goal. Thus I constantly ask myself when I put something down: Is that where it lives? If the answer is no, put it away for real.
Well, let's piggyback off the idea of "a place for everything" to deliberately use our physical space to make good habits.
Just like how many Americans think they don't have accents, I used to believe I was totally free of regional snobbery... until I moved away from Maryland after high school.
See, I grew up just between DC and Baltimore, I've got roots in the Chesapeake Bay stretching back at least 4 generations, so I know—Maryland doesn't really have a ton of nationally-recognizable cultural touchstones, except for one thing: the Chesapeake Bay blue crab. Marylanders are also persnickety about preparation methods, of which there are only three acceptable options: deep-fried softshell on a sandwich; fried up as a crab cake with extremely sparse filler; and steamed with Old Bay, hand-picked and dipped in melted butter.
So when I left my hometown and found other crustaceans being touted as "crab," my gut reaction was Man, that's not crab.
You know what, though? I love all kinds of seafood, so I was eventually willing to concede that here are a lot of other types of crab out there, and they were probably delicious. So I took it upon myself to try out Alaska's most famous seafood exports: the Alaskan king crab.