What are the opening hours?

Monday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm Tuesday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm Wednesday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm Thursday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm Friday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm Saturday 11am - 2:30pm 3:30pm - 8pm

http://www.ginosfayettevilleny.com/

Josh Amidon, Fayetteville, NY (2026)

05/29/2026

Yesterday, after I was done packing spices, I went to the post office and dropped off the day’s orders.

I drive home, pull into the driveway, and Joe is outside moving hostas from the side of the house to the backyard along the fence.

I walk inside and our 11-month-old puppy, Reno (huskey/german shepard mix), is having what can only be described as an emotional breakdown.

Joe is his human. Not me.

We both provide food, shelter, medical care, and emotional support – but Joe apparently also provides meaning.

Reno is standing at the back door crying because Joe is outside and he is not. So I go back outside and tell Joe:

"Reno is losing his mind. He wants to come out and hang with you while you garden."

First of all, Joe immediately corrected me.

"Landscaping."

Apparently gardening and landscaping are two completely different things, and I had accidentally insulted both professions. Then he goes:

"I had him out here for two hours. Every time I put my shovel down, he grabs it and takes off across the yard. I dig up a hosta, and he steals it. I set down a bush, and he steals that too. I can’t get anything done."

Which honestly tracks.

Weather-wise, it was a perfect late-afternoon, early-evening kind of day. So I did what any responsible adult would do.

I poured myself a large mason jar of wine (don't judge me), put on some early-2000s pop music, and headed outside to dance while Joe landscaped. Not gardened. Landscaped.

About twenty minutes later, I'm in the backyard full-on karaokeing SoulDecision's Faded.

Not singing. Performing.

At one point I was probably only three key changes away from a residency in Las Vegas. Then suddenly...WHAM.

Something shot past me and absolutely took out my left knee in the process. I hit the ground. Hard.

As I'm laying there trying to figure out what just happened, I look up and see Reno standing over me. Checking on me.

Apparently after determining I would survive, he immediately sprinted away and launched himself onto Joe's back while Joe was bent over replanting a hosta.

Joe and I both stood up, looked at each other completely confused, and simultaneously asked "Did you let him out?" at the exact same time.

Then we turned around. And that's when we saw the window fan hanging out of our second-story bedroom window. Still plugged in. Swinging gently from the power cord.

That's when we realized. Reno hadn't been let out. Reno had jumped out of a second-story bedroom window.

Ummm... Justin's Canine Campus, you may or may not remember Reno from puppy training class a few months ago.

I remember learning how to stop counter surfing.
I remember learning leash manners.
I remember learning recall commands.

What I do NOT remember is the lesson titled:

"So Your Dog Has Chosen Flight" or "My Puppy Just Yeeted Himself Out Of A Second-Story Window"

Don't worry about Reno, he's completely fine. In fact, he spent the rest of the evening living his best life playing keep-away with Joe's gardening gloves.

Landscaping gloves? Do they make landscaping gloves?

Anyway, Reno survived his brief career as a stuntman, Joe eventually got his hostas planted, and more importantly, I finished my mason jar of wine while singing Panic! At The Disco’s “I Write Sins Not Trageties.”

Anyway, if you'd like to spend your Sunday with someone whose dog defies gravity like Elphaba, I'll be hosting Josh's Jeopardy & Seasoning Show at Green Lakes Lanes this Sunday at 4pm.

We'll be there at 3:30pm registering teams.

Come win some cash, grab some spices in person so you don't have to pay shipping.

05/27/2026

This past Friday, I was invited to Creative Environment Day School to help prepare lunch for all their students. The kids were all between the ages of 18 months - 4 years old.

I said yes not because of a paycheck (I didn’t get paid) and not because I was selling spices. Kids don’t have money and even if they do, they’re not spending it on well-balanced seasoning blends. Toddlers are more of a “loose Goldfish crackers found in the car seat” demographic.

I agreed because I’m on a mission to work in as many Central New York commercial kitchens as possible, soaking in everything I can possibly learn before I reopen my restaurant again.

When I walked in, I was immediately drawn to all the photographs on the walls. Wrapping around every corner and expanding down the hallways, there was a class photo from every single classroom dating back to 1964. Hundreds of photos.

I stood there staring at six decades of tiny humans. You could see the evolution of hairstyles, clothing and shoe styles from decade to decade. Everything changed over the years except for the smiles on the kids’ faces. Those stayed exactly the same regardless of the year.

Before I went to the kitchen, I had to stop at the office to sign in. When I walked in, they had a gift for me, an apron that said “Mr. Josh” on it. Every single kid in the school had either signed it or drew little pictures all over it for me.

And listen… I joke around a lot online, but that one punched me directly in my overly emotional little heart.

After that, I was introduced to Mr. Bill - the in-school chef. He started trying to show me around the kitchen, but every 14 seconds we got interrupted because classes kept walking past the door.

And here’s what blew my mind… every single time a classroom walked by, the kids would stop and yell “HI MR. BILL!”

Not only did Mr. Bill know every child’s name… he knew them instantly. No hesitation. No pretending. No “buddy” or “champ” filler nicknames while secretly panicking trying to remember their mother given name.

That impressed me, because I forget someone’s name midway through them telling me their name.

Eventually, the classroom traffic died down enough for Mr. Bill to explain the menu for the day. These kids eat better than 90% of adults I know:

Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. A berry fruit salad with raspberries, strawberries and blackberries. Fresh broccoli with homemade ranch. Cornbread cake for dessert. Everything from scratch.

Meanwhile, I had “Buffalo Chicken Tornadoes” from a gas station roller grill with the same texture, taste, and complexion as an old leather recliner in a smoker’s basement

At one point, I was kneading seasoning into ten pounds of ground beef for the meatloaf when a little 3-year-old walked past the kitchen doorway. He was clearly expecting to see Mr. Bill.

Instead, he saw me. He froze. Then he slowly looked up at his teacher with genuine concern and said:

“Are we being robbed?!? That guy took Mr. Bill!”

The teacher reassured the child that the kitchen wasn’t in the middle of some sort of culinary hostage situation.

Also, I need to say something that only restaurant people will understand - Mr. Bill’s oven? It was sexy. Absolutely unbelievable oven. I was jealous immediately.

You can ask former employees from my restaurant - my commercial oven (currently sitting in a storage container) was so finicky, if the temperature was off by even ONE degree, food would burn faster than a Kimberly Clark toilet paper factory.

After we got the meatloaf in the oven and finished the mashed potatoes, I was asked if I could go to the upstairs classroom and help them with a “special project.”

Turns out the kids were making what they called “America Pie” for Memorial Day. It was layers of strawberries, blueberries and Cool Whip in a graham cracker crust.

Except the kids didn’t call it Cool Whip. They called it “Cool Cream” (they combined Cool Whip and Whipped Cream) And frankly? Whoever makes Cool Whip, should consider a name change. The branding potential for Cool Cream is off the charts.

While in the class, I was sitting in a tiny chair made for the children. My entire fat a$$ consumed that chair like rising bread dough in a too-small loaf pan.

Not to mention, I was so low to the ground, standing up normally was no longer an option. I had to sort of roll sideways onto the floor like a beached manatee and push myself upright from there.

But honestly, the thing I keep thinking about most is how peaceful and happy the school felt.

The world feels insane lately. Everybody’s angry. Everything feels like a Jenga tower that’s constantly wobbling. Bills, politics, stress, algorithms, news alerts, existential dread, whatever fresh hell Spectrum is doing this week.

But inside those four walls? None of that mattered or existed.

The biggest concern in the building was whether the weird blue-haired lunch helper was going to screw up the meatloaf. And weirdly… that felt awesome.

Before I left, Mr. Bill said something to me about the school that stuck in my head all weekend:

“This place charges a battery you didn’t know was drained.”

And damn it… he was right. Because when I walked out of that building, for the first time in a long time, I realized I wasn’t worried or stressed about anything.

Damn those kids and their tiny joyful cult. Somehow a building full of toddlers managed to do what therapy, antidepressants and mozzarella sticks couldn’t.

The spice that had Central New York in a strangle hold last year is back for a limited time - CNY AF - it's filled with flavors that helped shape CNY. Link below.

05/21/2026

We spent the week rearranging the Central New York Bureau of Flavor Affairs…that’s what my dramatic a$$ calls the offices we operate our spice company from.

By “we,” I think we all know I meant “My husband, Joe, and my spice assistant, Sarah, did all the rearranging while I provided the much needed moral support.”

I suffer from the inability to organize, tend to get in the way, and distract people with longwinded stories nobody asked for…the holy trinity of “You know what, Josh? I’ll just do it myself.”

When it comes to logistics, creating a plan and actually executing it, Sarah and Joe work together flawlessly.

When I try to help, I get told:

“Josh, why don’t you go write a story for social media?”

Which is basically the workplace equivalent of redirecting a toddler with an iPad and code for:

“You are slowing this entire operation down.”

So even as I write this, and as you read this, Joe and Sarah are currently 10 feet behind me huffing and puffing while moving production equipment, reorganizing thousands of bottles of inventory, and creating something called “workflow efficiency.”

Apparently, the goal is to create a system where we stop walking back and forth across the room 700 times a day to get what we need to run a successful business.

In real time, I’m now going to distract and annoy Sarah. Give me a second. I’ll report back.

(TWO MINUTES LATER)

So, fun fact, Sarah just told me to “F*ck off.”

After they’re done, I’m going to ask them where they moved the HR office so I can formally file a complaint.

But anyway, I have a busy few days ahead of me.

Tomorrow, I was invited to spend the day inside the kitchen at Creative Environment Day School with their on-site chef, Mr. Bill. I'll probably have the day's adventure written for you on Monday morning.

One of the things I’ve been doing lately is visiting as many local restaurants, food trucks, and other commercial kitchens as possible to see how other people operate, solve problems, and run their businesses.

Partly because I genuinely love kitchens and the people who work in them, but also because I’m quietly collecting ideas, systems, and inspiration for whatever my next restaurant eventually becomes.

Basically, I’m turning Central New York into one giant apprenticeship program while dragging all of you along with me in real time.

Restaurant owners: if you’d like a day of free labor in exchange for letting me poke around your kitchen and publicly overshare the experience on the internet, DM me.

On average, each adventure gets read around 75,000 times, which is a lot of eyeballs seeing your business for free. Granted, you do have to spend the day with me – as Joe and Sarah can attest, that price is psychologically steep.

Lastly, tonight I'm hosting trivia night at Twin Trees Too. Josh's Jeopardy & Seasoning Show starts at 6pm, but we start registering teams and selling spices at 5:30pm.

So if you’d like to spend your evening answering obscure pop-culture questions with Sarah, Joe, and I - which is essentially a traveling seasoning circus - stop by and see us.

You can play trivia, grab spices in person to avoid shipping, or honestly just come witness whatever the hell this career path is I’ve chosen for myself.

(Also, this platform apparently now punishes posts with links in them by showing them to fewer people, so I have to put the link to order spices down in the comments.)

05/14/2026

I’m very well aware that I have a fully operational restaurant packed away inside of a 40 foot storage container.

Freezers, coolers, deep fryers, stove, flat top, tables, chairs, pint glasses – everything you could possibly imagine needed to sell 36,000lbs of beef a year arranged like a game of food service Tetris sitting there not doing anything.

It’s been exactly 10 months (to the day) since our last day at the restaurant. 10 months ago, I could’ve packed up and rented another place right away, but if I’m being honest, I don’t want to rent again.

I don’t want to spend years building up another business just to eventually have someone else decide what happens to it. We went through the nightmare version of that already and I’m all set on the “surprise plot twist” season of my life for a while.

That leaves one available route – owning my own space.

That’s what we’re saving up for. That’s what every bit of profit from the spice sales have been going towards. Every one of the 22,000 bottles shipped out is basically another tiny step toward unlocking that storage container.

So seriously - thank you.

But in the meantime, I’ve been on a very public mission to be in as many kitchens as possible in Central New York.

Partly because I genuinely love this industry and miss the chaos of it all. Partly because I want to arm myself with as much knowledge as possible.

Since then I’ve seen the inner-workings of all kinds of food service kitchens across Central New York – pizza, BBQ, dive bars, traditional family restaurants, small bites, breakfast spots, food trucks…basically if there’s a grease trap and somebody yelling “behind!”, I’ve probably wandered into it at this point.

But I was missing something…

At my last trivia night, Ashely, owner of Creative Environment Day School, approached me with an opportunity to come down and work in their kitchen, see what they do and how they feed their students every day.

I jumped at the chance. Something new.

I get to be a lunch lady…umm…lunch lord? No, that sounds blasphemous and vaguely medieval. Lunch sir? Too formal. Lunch man? Sounds like a superhero whose power is throwing rectangle pizza at villains.

We’ll work on the title later.

Next Friday (5/22), I’ll be working with their in-house chef all day helping cook and serve lunch for the entire school. And apparently this man even makes his own buttermilk for their homemade ranch dressing.

Do you understand how insane that sentence is to somebody raised on public school cafeteria food? When I went to school, our ranch came out of a packet and tasted like tangy wall spackle.

As always, local restaurants: if you’re looking for a little promotion, some free labor, and think you can handle me becoming part of your staff for a day - hit me up.

This isn’t like the long list of “content creators” walking into your restaurant asking you to pay them ungodly amounts of money for them to say something nice about you that ends up getting watched by 17 people and one confused aunt in Tampa.

Each one of these posts gets seen by an average of around 75,000 people (80% of those people are local) - and I’m offering it to you completely free.

…well, technically not free.

The price is letting me temporarily cosplay as a restaurant owner again while I aggressively ask your cooks questions, get too invested in your ticket times, and say weird things like: “Honestly, this fryer setup is kinda sexy.”

I miss kitchens. I miss the noise, the rhythm, the weird personalities, the cook who somehow survives entirely on ci******es and Mountain Dew while carrying the entire operation on his back.

So until I open my own place again, this is my version of methadone.

Lastly, I’ll be at Ten Pin Restaurant tonight hosting Josh’s Jeopardy & Seasoning Show (that’s a nice way of saying “trying to financially reverse engineer my way back behind a flat top.”)

We’ll be set up by 6:30pm to register teams and the show starts at 7pm.

(link to spices in comments)

05/07/2026

Last weekend, I went to the 70% Off MacKenzie-Childs warehouse sale in Union Springs/Aurora, NY.

I make a whole weekend out of it every year - multiple trips, multiple days.

On the first day of the sale when the women in the line are willing to tackle each other over a hand-painted ceramic pumpkin…
..and another trip at the last day, when the remaining items get an extra markdown because apparently nobody needed a polka-dotted rooster lamp badly enough.

Honestly, it’s like The Hunger Games, but sponsored by decorative teapots....in a good way.

One of the days, I stood in line for almost two hours waiting to get into the sale. Normally, I hate waiting. I’ve always said I have the patience of an overtired three-year-old trapped in a TJ Maxx checkout line with no snacks.

But I don’t totally mind it there because the line itself becomes an event. Everybody starts talking. Complete strangers become temporary buddies bonded by the shared dream of heavily discounted whimsical furniture.

At one point, a woman behind me tapped my shoulder and introduced herself because she recognized me. She was there with her husband - both probably mid-to-late thirties. Very nice people.

The husband wasn’t saying much though. He looked distracted. Like he was in a daze.

Eventually he excused himself to go use the restroom, and the second he walked away, the wife leaned in and quietly said:

“You’ll have to excuse him… he had a couple gummies in the car.”

Then she shrugged and added:

“That way, I can have fun shopping all the colors and patterns - and he has fun tripping out looking at all the pretty colors and patterns.”

I was already laughing, but then she delivered the most diabolical sentence I’ve heard all year:

“Plus… he has absolutely no idea what I spend.”

Geinius.

The husband got back to the line and I smiled and welcomed him back. He was either really paranoid or could read my face - he nervously whispered…

“She told you, didn’t she? About my… elevated state?”

I told him I was aware he was currently higher than Ariana Grande’s whistle-tone.

He looked around dramatically and whispered...

“Shhhhhhh. Don’t tell anybody. It’s our secret. You. Me. Circle of Trust. Got it?”

The wife put her hand on the back of his head and said…

“Awww….Buddy, he doesn’t keep secrets. He’s sorta known for that. You’re going to be a story on social media – but don’t worry, you’ll laugh. I promise.”

We finally got inside and split up. I watched the wife steering the cart while her husband hung onto the side of it like a little kid whose only job was “don’t wander off again.”

I saw them again about an half hour later. As we walked by each other, I asked how he was doing. As he passed me, he had a giant smile plastered on his face and said loudly...

“I’m shopping with menopausal women and gay guys….and it’s awesome! Some woman gave me a caramel candy she had in her purse!”

Don’t forget - I’ll be at Seneca Street Brew Pub Josh's Jeopardy & Seasoning Show tonight. Team registration starts at 6:30pm and trivia begins at 7pm.

We’ll also be selling our spices, including the brand new Riggie Stardust.

And for the first time ever… we’re selling it in real life instead of online. I have to make sure to bring enough, so we don’t sell out.

05/05/2026

Over the weekend, I had to drive to a customer’s house because we packed their order wrong.

They ordered 4 bottles (one of everything) and we somehow left out the newest spice, Riggie Stardust. Which is like buying a ticket to your favorite band and the lead singer just… doesn’t show up.

It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And as much as I enjoy being correct at all times (a core personality trait), sometimes I’m not. So whenever I can, I fix it the same day and hand-deliver it to their doorstep.

I pull into the address on the order. Long driveway that goes deep into a wooded area.

The driveway curves behind a wall of trees, opens up, and now it forks into two houses. One looks older - very modern 1960s vibes. The other looks much newer.

I got the feeling it was one big property with one house on it… and then decades later, someone built a second house on the same land.

I drive toward the newer house because that’s the address from the order. I grab the padded envelope, get out of my SUV and start walking to the porch. And then, I hear….

“Krusty!!! HEY, KRUSTY!!!”

I turn around. A woman in her 70s-ish, dressed entirely in black, is charging out of the older house and she seemed ummm…angry?

Confused, I go, “...huh?”

She yells back, annoyed she has to explain:

“You know. The clown. Krusty. He has blue hair too. I’m not walking all the way over there. I’m as old as Satan’s panties - you walk to me.”

Alright. Fair. That’s a power move I respect. So I walk over.

She immediately demands to know why I’m “lurking” near her son’s house.

I explain: “Someone named Jessica ordered some of my spices, I forgot one, I’m just dropping it off—”

She doesn’t even let me finish.

She snatches the envelope out of my hand, rips it open with the energy of someone opening a jury summons (confused and pi**ed), pulls out the bottle, hands me back the empty envelope because, apparently, I’m her personal recycling bin, and she goes:

“Jessica is my daughter-in-law. Let’s see what she ordered today…”

She squints at the label.

“Riggie Stardust. HAH! Like David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.”

Then she looks up at me:

“You’re funny, Krusty. I like you. What’s it taste like?”

So I start explaining it’s basically like a dry version of a riggie sauce - garlic, tomato, white wine - and it’s really good….

She cuts me off mid-sentence (again) and goes:

“Listen, sweety. Do you see how I’m dressed? I have a funeral to go to. As nice as you are, I can’t be yacking it up with you all day. I need you to find the answers to my questions a little faster, ok, honeysuckle?”

Now, I’ve always had the patience of a tired three-year-old, so honestly… I respected her candor.

She turns around immediately and starts marching back to her house. No goodbye, no transition, just… exit stage left.

As she’s walking away, she holds the bottle up over her head like she just won a carnival game and yells:

“Tell Jessica I have her spices…”

Then, without even turning around:

“Oh, and Krusty? Move your car. I’ve got my friend’s funeral to go to.”

Pause.

“Not sure she was really my friend though. She talked a lot of s**t to be called a friend… but it’s fine, I talked a lot about her too.”

And then just SLAMS the door.

Leaves me standing there in the driveway, holding an empty envelope, dressed like a clown apparently, wondering WTF just happened.

Jessica - I hope you see this. Your mother-in-law mugged me and now has your Riggie Stardust.

I didn’t call the police because… well, she scares me. Also, based on how casually she talked about that “friend”… I’m not convinced it was natural causes.

04/28/2026

So it’s been a little bit since you’ve heard from me.

Sarah and I have been slightly preoccupied trying to get 1,947 bottles of our new spice blend - Riggie Stardust - out the door. Happy to report: every one of the 826 orders has officially been shipped out.

Since I haven’t written in a bit - and because I haven’t exactly been out in the wild collecting new material (unless you count arguing with bubble mailers) - I figured I’d dig into my journals from the past 6 years and pull out a previously unreleased story.

So let’s rewind a little…Monday, April 17th, 2023:

Sarah and I had just opened the restaurant for the day. It was one of those slow starts.

A woman (late 20s) walks in, orders, and sits at the end of the bar while the cooks start her sandwiches. I’m over in the corner by the to-go station, doing something very important…or at least standing in a way that made it look like I was.

Sarah’s behind the bar talking to our first customer of the day, Marissa. She’s never been inside, but she’s had our food a ton because her husband always picks it up.

So Sarah, being a seasoned bartender and part-time detective, asked for her husband’s name. The woman says, “Peter.”

Now…we had many regulars named Peter. Enough to narrow it down to absolutely nothing. So Sarah follows up “What does he look like?”

The woman smiles - like she’s about to give the most helpful description in human history - and goes:

“Oh, I’m sure you know him. He’s VERY well-endowed. He’s hard to miss in a crowd. Finding him pants that…accommodate him…is almost impossible.”

Sweet suffering savior, slap me with a hymn book and flip to page WTF.

I whipped my head around so fast I gave myself vertigo. Whatever I was doing? Over, done, irrelevant. I abandoned my post and full sprinted my fat a$$ over to the bar. There was no alternative timeline where I stayed out of this conversation.

Sarah…Sarah was gone. Physically present. Mentally, she left the building. She’s just standing there, frozen. Mouth slightly agape. “…umm…I…uh…”

Meanwhile, Marissa? Completely relaxed. Unbothered. Living her truth. She goes on... “Yeah, he usually gets the extra onions.”

I shove Sarah out of the way and completely interrupt…

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, extra onions, beautiful, love that for him. Well-endowed though? You don’t say…since you’re sharing, got a photo?”

I was joking….well, half joking.

Marissa pulls out her phone without hesitation, no pause, no “is this appropriate?”- just straight into her camera roll like this is a completely normal request.

She finds a photo of her and her husband at a wedding and turns the phone toward us. This man is towering over her. At least a foot and a half taller. Marissa goes:

“Yeah, see those pants? I had to special order those. He has legs like a Daddy Long Legs.”

And that’s when it hit me like a folding chair to the back of the head. Sweet, lovely, painfully unaware Marissa had absolutely no idea what “well-endowed” meant.

And now I’m standing there with information that I technically don’t need to share…but I felt like I needed to tell her. Also…I wanted to see how she would react.

“Hey…just so you know…when people say ‘well-endowed’…they’re not talking about height…they’re referring to the size of a man’s…uh…member.”

Her face… I have never seen a face go through that many emotions that quickly. Confusion. Processing. Realization. Horror.

Both hands shoot up to her mouth.

“NO. No, no, no, no, NO. I use ‘well-endowed’ to describe him to EVERYONE. I told my boss he was well-endowed at the company picnic. I told my step dad he was well-endowed!”

At this point, there is nothing you can say to fix this. The damage is done. This woman has accidentally been running a full-scale PR campaign about her husband’s…load-bearing beam.

I put my hand on her arm, like I’m delivering news in a hospital.

“I promise you, your husband is not going to be upset that you’ve been telling people that. In fact, I’d go ahead and venture a guess that he’s going to be thrilled. Ecstatic even.”

Eventually, Marissa grabbed her sandwiches, thanked us for correcting her and left. Never saw her again.

And I have thought about that moment more times than I’d like to admit.

Because somewhere, in a house not too far from here. There’s a man named Peter, who came home from work that day to a conversation he was wildly unprepared for.

Anyway…Riggie Stardust is selling faster than Peter’s reputation - link to purchase is in the comments.

04/21/2026

UPDATE: I went to start printing shipping lables and ShipStation is down for a small amount of users. Of course, we're in the "small amount of users category." I was hoping to get all orders out today and still do, but I'm dead in the water right now. Please let me know if you'd like to cancel your order.

In 24 hours… we sold 1,498 bottles of Riggie Stardust.

I don’t even know what to say anymore.

Actually that’s not true, I always know what to say. That’s kind of my whole thing.

But still… what?!

Sarah and I are spending the entire day packing these up and getting them out the door. If you ordered, first of all, thank you.

Second of all, your bottle is currently being handled with love.

Now let’s talk about what the hell this actually tastes like...

This is basically Utica riggies… if you removed all the moisture and concentrated it.

You’re getting:
- garlic + onion (obviously, I’m not a monster)
- tomato powder for that deep, slightly sweet backbone
- oregano (if I left it out, Utica would’ve shown up at my door)
- aged parmesan backbone
- a little tang from white wine powder (we fancy)
- and just enough crushed cherry pepper heat to make you go
“oh hello there” without ruining your day.

Put it on/in:

pasta, chicken, hamburgers, fries, pizza, eggs, garlic bread, wings, shrimp, steak, roasted vegetables, meatballs, mac and cheese, baked potatoes, breakfast sandwiches, leftovers straight out of the fridge at 11:42pm…

or just stand over the sink and shake it directly into your mouth. I’m not here to police you.

We made a LOT… but we're not sure how much longer it’ll be in stock, fair warning. Link in the comments...

EDIT: Don’t worry, this is a normal size bottle. My hand is just unnecessarily large. I posted it, looked at it and was like “oh no, that’s not helpful at all.”

04/20/2026

SURPRISE SPICE DROP!

We mix and bottle all of our spices in a kitchen commissary in Syracuse, NY…but in my basement, I have what I call "Josh’s Kitchen Laboratory" for food experiments.

Some men have a man cave. I have a fully operational flavor facility that would concern any normal human. I’ve never been the “traditional” type of guy.

In my laboratory, I have every spice you can possibly think of lining the walls, flavor as far as the eye can see. At last count, I had 342 different bottles filled with spices, herbs, acids, specialty powders, heat variations, pre-mixed blends…

…basically if it can be dried and ground, I have it.

It looks less like a kitchen and more like I’m one step away from accidentally inventing a new element.

One of my favorite things to do is go down into my lab, shut the door, put on my lab coat (yes, I have one. Yes, I wear it. No, you cannot take this away from me.), it makes me feel like a food scientist.

Leave me alone. You know I’m dramatic. It helps me get into character.

And then I start mixing. No rules. No plan.

And one day, I was testing different spice combinations and somewhere between “this is interesting” and “this might actually be something,” I had a genius idea:

What if I took one of my favorite dishes, Chicken Riggies, and turned it into a spice blend?

Now, people sell spice blends that go into riggie sauce. That’s not new. That’s been done.

But no one, no one, has taken the finished sauce itself, looked it dead in the eyes, and said:

“What if I removed all of your moisture and turned you into a dry good?”

So that’s what I did. The result?

Riggie Stardust.

(Any resemblance to David Bowie’s fictional character, Ziggy Stardust, is purely coincidental. Please don’t sue me, I’m currently saving up to buy a property for my restaurant and cannot emotionally or financially handle a legal battle at this time.)

Ok, we’ve got followers all over the country (and somehow even in other countries) so if you’ve never had chicken riggies, it’s a Central New York pasta dish (born in Utica, NY) with creamy tomato sauce, garlic, chicken, oregano, parm, white wine and sweet cherry peppers with just a little heat, but not enough to ever call it spicy.

I took all those ingredients and mixed them into a blend ready to put on and in your favorite foods.

Do me a favor, go to your spice rack and see how many of your blends have white wine powder in them. I’ll wait.

…

Exactly.

That’s because it’s ridiculously expensive, and most spice companies take one look at the price and say, “absolutely not, we have shareholders to think about.”

But me? I’m down in my basement wearing a lab coat making bad financial decisions. And white wine powder adds a flavor you just can’t fake.

If you want Riggie Stardust, the link’s in the comments (along with a dangerously long list of what to put it on), this is limited and it’s going to move fast. We start shipping tomorrow (Tuesday)!

You can also grab it at my trivia shows (until we inevitably sell out).

Shipping’s weird (I don’t make the rules) but it gets cheaper the more you add, so stock up, grab gifts, or finally try the ones you’ve been thinking about.

Josh Amidon

05/29/2026

05/27/2026

05/21/2026

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05/07/2026

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04/28/2026

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04/20/2026

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