19 Wholesome Posts I Found On The Internet This Week That Are So, So Needed Right Now
1. This cake that is quite possibly the most perfect birthday cake I've ever seen:
2. Getting to enjoy a gorrrrrgeous bouquet:
4. This adorable, perfect lamb cake:
5. This gorgeous Easter table setting:
Twitter: @earlygirl__
6. "It looks like if Klimt made an omelette":
9. The Japanese ambassador to the UK, who seriously loves his job:
Twitter: @AmbJapanUK
11. This exchange that made me laugh:
12. This Snoopy and his mini Snoopies:
13. This adorable hedge, and the fact that for some reason it's a marked tourist spot:
16. Appreciating the world's beautiful sights:
17. This mom moment (although you should put that guy outside!):
19. And finally, this Victorian band playing in Paddington Station:
Twitter: @HallieRubenhold
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Eater
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‘King of the Hill' Was Always a Food Show, Dang It
There is, truly, no show like King of the Hill. Thanks to its somehow impossibly realistic depiction of life in the Texas suburbs, Mike Judge's animated series, which follows the Hill family throughout their life in the fictional town of Arlen, has evolved into a cult classic in the decade-plus after its shockingly abrupt 2009 cancellation. But now King of the Hill is back, and so is its obsession with food. It's been 15 years since we last saw the Hill family, who moved away from their home in Arlen after Bobby graduated high school. Peggy (Kathy Najimy) and Hank (Judge) went off to Saudi Arabia, where Hank worked in — what else? — propane, and Bobby (Pamela Adlon) headed off to the big city of Dallas, where he became a chef and opened Robata Chane, a Japanese restaurant that also boasts German influences inspired by the history of the Texas Hill Country. Now, Hank and Peggy have returned to Arlen, and reunited with their kooky cast of neighbors, including conspiracy nut Dale Gribble (Johnny Hardwick and Toby Huss) and his wife Nancy (Ashley Gardner), and Kahn (Ronny Chieng) and Minh Soupanousinphone (Lauren Tom), a couple of Lao immigrants who moved to Arlen with their daughter Connie (Tom), who's Bobby's childhood friend and on-again, off-again girlfriend. In the show's original run, it explored a broad range of themes, from goofy Texana storylines with Willie Nelson cameos to more serious subjects, like bullying and LGBTQ acceptance. Even as it explored these bigger themes, though, King of the Hill was, at its heart, always a food show. If there's one thing you know about Hank Hill, it's that he's a salesman of propane and propane accessories, and his belief in the supremacy of that fuel for grilling steaks is practically religious. But it's Bobby who's the true gourmand — a noted fruit pie enthusiast and culinary risk-taker who also enjoys lutefisk. In the Season 7 episode 'Goodbye Normal Jeans,' we see the first glimpse of Bobby's kitchen skills when he starts learning how to cook and clean in his new homemaking class. He's so good, in fact, that Hank starts to prefer his cooking to Peggy's, a development that irks her so much that she tries to sabotage the roasted turkey that Bobby wants to prepare for the family's Thanksgiving dinner. In the final episode of Season 13, aired in 2009, Hank and Bobby finally get their moment of bonding over grilled meats. In the Season 14 premiere, King of the Hill easily settles back into a familiar rhythm. Even as Hank and Peggy navigate a new world in which everyone shares their pronouns and all-gender bathrooms exist inside Texas barbecue restaurants, it doesn't feel like 15 years have passed since the last time we saw them. Hank attempts to adjust to the boredom of retirement, leading him to take up homebrewing his own beer, which devolves into a competition with Bobby, pitting the son's chef expertise against Hank's 40 years of drinking beer. The two end up in a Dallas homebrewing competition, where both learn that winning isn't as important as spending time with your family. Bobby and Hank go head-to-head at a Dallas homebrewing competition Hulu As Hank and Peggy readjust to life in Arlen, Bobby's busy trying to make his restaurant a success. He's passionately trying to make German Japanese fusion happen — grilling yuzu sausages over binchotan charcoals, frying up herring tempura — and hoping to impress his stodgy parents with his skills. It's the charcoal, of course, that becomes a source of conflict between Bobby and his father, who eventually comes around to understanding that Bobby has to use binchotan in order to most accurately approximate true robata-style cooking. And as with all restaurants, there are more than a few problems for Bobby to solve. His business partner and former middle school bully Chane Wassanasong (Ki Hong Lee) is too busy partying with his frat bros to really help with any of the actual work, but he's always around to take the credit for Bobby's successes, as when he caters a 30th wedding anniversary party for Kahn and Minh. He's also trying to figure out how to make peace with the fact that Connie, who he still very clearly has feelings for, is in an 'ethical non-monogamous' relationship with Chane. Across these 10 new episodes, Judge and showrunner Saladin K. Patterson present a King of the Hill that feels endlessly familiar to anyone who's spent countless hours rewatching reruns of the show in syndication, or on Hulu. It's true to the original formula without feeling stale or stuck in a bygone era. It isn't overly obsessed with how much has changed since its cancellation in 2009, but does comment occasionally on the ways in which society has moved forward — and backward. When Hank attends a 'male empowerment' seminar with his younger brother, he's quick to dispel the toxic masculinity that's on offer, and that's what we've come to expect from a guy like Hank. He might be a little stuck in his ways with regard to Ronald Reagan and propane, but he's not willing to cosign hateful behavior. It's also refreshing to see that Hank has fully embraced grown-up Bobby, even if he's still confused by many of his son's choices. 'That boy ain't right' may still be his most common refrain about Bobby's behavior, but it's always obvious that he's trying, that it comes from a place of love. He might not understand why Bobby wants to be a chef instead of a propane salesman, but he always supports his son eventually. Ultimately, it just feels really nice to be back across the virtual table from the Hill family once again. Watching Hank and Peggy stumble through an awkward dinner with Bobby's vegan girlfriend is both nostalgic and of the moment, the kind of wholesome escapist television that makes you want to keep coming back for more. If anything, I'm mostly bummed that there aren't more new episodes to keep me distracted from the horrors of the world, and I'm starting to think that now is the perfect time to rewatch King of the Hill's entire run from start to finish. Sign up for Eater's newsletter The freshest news from the food world every day Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Time Magazine
4 hours ago
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'King of the Hill's' Bobby Was Never Meant to Grow Up
For yet another unnecessary revival of a long-running show, King of the Hill Season 14 is surprisingly satisfying. Now streaming in full on Hulu, Mike Judge and Greg Daniels' 10-episode continuation of their beloved animated sitcom revisits the Hill family nearly a decade after the events of the series finale, which aired in 2009. Old-school patriarch Hank and his self-assured wife, Peggy, have just finished a long stint in Saudi Arabia, where our propane-evangelist hero worked for Aramco and lived in an idyllic, company-adjacent suburb. Now the couple is returning to their fictional hometown, Arlen, Texas, to retire. Though American culture has taken an extremist turn, things on the old block are mostly the same. The men still guzzle beer in the alley. Boomhauer still speaks incomprehensibly. Needy Bill has become more pathetic than ever. The Souphanousinphones have yet to tire of mocking their 'redneck' neighbors. Our new golden age of conspiracy theories has transported Dale Gribble to tinfoil-hat heaven—though he remains unalarmed by how much time his wife, Nancy, spends with hunky healer John Redcorn. Amusing antics ensue as perennial straight man Hank struggles to comprehend everything that has changed since he last lived in the U.S., from all-gender restrooms to toxic manfluencers. Judge and Daniels, working with new showrunner Saladin K. Patterson (who created the 2021 Wonder Years reboot), are perceptive in portraying the tension between his George W. Bush-era 'compassionate conservativism' and the hateful rhetoric of today's right. (When some Girl Scouts explain that the name of a cookie was changed to avoid offense, he replies: 'It's nice to be nice.') The creators also capitalize on Hank and Peggy's restlessness in retirement, which forces them to embark on new adventures. There's just one major problem with the way King of the Hill has been updated for 2025: Bobby. The standout character in a series nominally centered on his dad, the Hills' boy has now grown into the adult man he was never meant to be. One reason we know how much time has passed in the alternate universe of adult animation is that Bobby Hill, who aged from 11 to 13 years old during the show's original 12-year run, is now 21. Instead of going to college, he has pursued his passion for meat and become the chef and part owner of a Dallas restaurant he describes as 'a traditional Japanese barbecue with a fusion of flavors and techniques from the German traditions of the Texas Hill Country.' ('Last time the Germans and Japanese teamed up, I wasn't a fan,' one senior diner notes. 'But this is delicious!' Bobby: 'I call it the Axis of Flavor.') He shares an apartment with his childhood best friend, the Gribbles' son Joseph, who is heavily implied to be the biological offspring of John Redcorn. And in the premiere, he runs into his first girlfriend, Connie Souphanousinphone, on a local university campus, setting into motion the obligatory will-they-or-won't-they storyline. What is Bobby doing on said campus? Exiting a dorm where he's just spent the night with a college girl, who told him that their hookup was 'a one-time thing' and sent him on his way. This moment is preceded by a cringe-worthy scene in which Peggy is awakened by her ringing cellphone; it's a Bobby butt-dial, all heavy breathing and moans. In theory, I am pleased for Bobby Hill. Good for him; he can get it. But hearing him have sex? No, thank you. I don't think that's because I'm a prude, or even just because I'm nostalgic for the old King of the Hill (though, while we're on the subject, it was always my favorite of the Fox animated sitcoms). At the core of the original show was ultimate normie Hank's struggle to relate to his weird son, and vice versa. 'That boy ain't right' was Hank's refrain—one that dated back to a series premiere in which Bobby used the threat of a Child Protective Services investigation to intimidate his well-meaning but gruff father into showing him love. Neither a great student nor an athlete like his dad, Bobby was defined to some extent by his old-soul precociousness (this is a kid whose sense of humor comes straight out of vaudeville), but even more so by his middle-school malleability. In that sense, and despite all his eccentricities, he became adult animation's quintessential pre-Tina Belcher, pre-Big Mouth preteen: a mess of curiosities, talents, delusions, and hormones slowly organizing themselves into a cohesive identity. For 13 seasons, the most memorable Bobby storylines—which also comprised the majority of the show's most memorable storylines—were the ones that stretched his nascent self into new shapes. In one great episode, the owner of a clothing store for 'husky' boys observes Bobby strutting his stuff in a variety of high-stretch garments and recruits him for a fashion show. (While he embraces the spotlight, his plus-size modeling career is cut short by Hank's secondhand embarrassment.) The source of a GIF turned meme of a cross-legged Bobby meditating in his bedroom as smoke from a stick of incense swirls ceilingward, Season 4's 'Won't You Pimai Neighbor?' sees a delegation of Buddhist monks identify the boy as a potential lama. And in what might be the most famous Bobby episode, 'Bobby Goes Nuts,' Hank sends his bullied son to learn boxing at the YMCA. When that class is full, Bobby talks his way into a women's self-defense course. Soon, he's standing up for himself. But to Hank's horror, he's doing it by kicking his tormenters in the crotch while shouting 'I don't know you! That's my purse!' Like most pubescent kids, Bobby is a sponge, thirsty for love and liable to absorb any influence that might help him figure out who he is. Feeling excluded from Hank's bond with the Hills' elderly dog, Lady Bird, in another Season 4 episode, he befriends the raccoon that has been gorging itself on the family's trash. If the episode wasn't so funny, it would be heartbreaking. At the risk of taking a cartoon character too seriously, the reason so many of us adore Bobby isn't just because he's a hammy miniature entertainer who says the darnedest things, but because his oddball's search for belonging captures something universal about youth. A person who's still getting to know himself could grow up to be anything. For him, the possibilities are endless. Getting to glimpse an adult Bobby is kind of a fun novelty, in the same vein as that flash-forward Simpsons episode where Lisa is the President. At least Judge, Daniels, and Paterson left the character's distinctively androgynous voice (provided by Pamela Adlon in both incarnations of a show that has weathered the untimely deaths of too many original voice actors) intact. And their choice to make his parents the characters in transition is an inspired reversal that goes a long way toward making Season 14 work as well as it does. The thing is, a stable, 21-year-old man who's excelling in his career, feels relatively secure in his father's love, and even gets laid once in a while barely resembles the wonderfully inchoate Bobby Hill we know. Which means that this King of the Hill, for all its many pleasures, isn't quite the same King of the Hill, either.
