Long ago, a reader asked why I don’t sell t-shirts. I hemmed. I hawed. I had nothing. I went to design a t-shirt. It swiftly became clear why I don’t sell t-shirts: lack of shirt design skills.

So I’m putting it to you, the readers. I want you to design a Roots and Grubs shirt. There will be a prize: three free shirts, plus a selection of my favorite snack foods, including Corn Pretz and Kinder Eggs.

Here are the ground rules:

1. The contest ends on May 31, 2007, at midnight PDT. I’ll make a thingy in the sidebar to remind you that the contest is on.

2. Artwork should be submitted in PNG or JPEG format. The image size must be 2100×1800 pixels (either portrait or landscape orientation is fine). Shirts may be one- or two-sided. For two-sided, just submit two 2100×1800 PNGs. Oh, and tell me which one is the front.

3. Consider setting the Roots and Grubs name in American Typewriter Bold, like I do on the site–but if you have a cool idea that uses a different font, that’s fine. You can use the word “and” or an ampersand, whatever looks good. There’s no need to put the URL on the shirt. As Dan Savage put it, GFE.

4. All submissions become the property of mamster. I reserve the right to sell multiple shirts (and, naturally, send out multiple snack packs). If I pick your shirt, you’ll be identified as the designer on the “buy a shirt” page. But not on the shirt, because that would look silly. This is my way of saying I’m not going to cut you in on a share of the shirt proceeds, because I expect the shirt proceeds won’t even cover my annual hosting costs. If something happens that causes people to buy a million shirts, however, I am not going to forget who designed the shirt.

5. Man, I really hope something happens that causes people to buy a million shirts. Maybe some kind of brain parasite? If you want to work on that angle instead, go for it.

5. Send submissions to rootsandgrubs AT gmail.com. If you end up with a file larger than 10MB, Gmail won’t accept it, so contact me for alternate arrangements.

Other than that, have at it. I have no preconceived notions about what the shirt should be like: it could have a cartoon, a stock photo, a quote, a cool logotype, or all of the above. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Thanks for participating. Feel free to email me or post comments if you have questions; I’m sure there’s something important I left out.

They’re my favorite vegetable, and now they’re back again to haunt my Culinate column:

Secrets of the sprouts

Which two celebrities endorse Brussels sprouts? You’ll have to read the column.

Iris and I are nothing if not fashionably late. Remember how last fall everyone was making that no-knead bread from the New York Times? I didn’t join the party. I have no good excuse for this.

But we made it this week, because the new issue of Vogue arrived, and the no-knead bread got Jeffrey Steingarten’s seal of approval. When it comes to bread, the word of Steingarten means more to me than that of Mark Bittman plus a veritable army of bloggers.

Anyway, here’s what the bread looked like:

As you can see, (a) I floured it too heavily and (b) it seems to be sporting angry eyebrows. What you can’t see is that I also underbaked the crumb because I had the oven too hot, so it was a little gummy. This did not deter Iris, who never met a crumb she wouldn’t burrow through. The crust was superb, and the bread is true to its name: you don’t knead it at all.

(If you want to see many, many other examples of no-knead bread, check the noknead tag on Flickr.)

The best thing about this recipe, I think, is that it puts very good bread within the reach of the millions of people who can’t buy it because nobody near them sells it. It’s the only yeast bread recipe I’ve tried that really is easy enough that it’s not just for fanatics. Until, oh, December 2003, I was a bread fanatic. Now, count me among the no-knead crew.

(Apologies to The Onion.)

I’ve been loyal to the same brand of jarred spaghetti sauce for so long, it predates our marriage. If it turns out that Laurie married me for bringing Bertolli (formerly Five Brothers) Marinara with Burgundy Wine into her life, it would be hard to fault her for this.

At least once a week, I cook some Italian sausage in a pan, pour in some Five Brothers (I’ll never get used to the new name, which debuted in 2002), and use it to sauce some penne rigate. It also makes great sauce for English muffin pizzas, and of course it’s the basis of Penne alla Vodka. (Actually, there’s another sauce I like even better for pizza: Hunts Traditional, in a can. Often on sale for $1.)

Now, I realize there’s nothing empirical about the greatness of Five Brothers. It just happened to fall into my mouth and my life at the right time and stay on the market despite mergers and acquisitions in the red sauce industry.

Therefore, my question to you is: what’s your sauce?

This week’s Culinate column is about fats again. Cue Homer Simpson noise.

[Chewing the fat, part II](http://www.culinate.com/read/bacon/Chewing+the+fat*2C+part+II)

I know what you’re thinking after reading these two columns. You’re thinking, “I have not heard Matthew drone on about fats and oils sufficiently.” Well, lucky you. This Saturday I’ll be on Tom Douglas’s Seattle Kitchen on KIRO 710 AM from 5pm to 5:30pm PDT, talking about that exact topic.