Tuesday, November 25, 2003
The holidays are when you think about those dearest to you, so before I head off to St. Louis for some righteous Midwest-style eating and carousing, I want to send a shout out to tha stone-cold B-shiznit, gamely kickin' it in tha ABQ. Last year, said B-shiznit was kind enough to welcome me to her parents' home in South Bend for turkey et al., with part of the et al. being biscuits and gravy from the hand of wassap herself. Now that the B-shiznit can truly get her Thanksgiving on B-shiznit style, she has informed me of a brilliant plan to serve a Thanksgiving dinner consisting mainly of biscuits and gravy. I, as ever, stand dumbfounded by the genius of tha B-shiznit. On her behalf, I would also like to inform everyone that biscuits and gravy is a dish that, ideally, does not call for either cayenne or hamburger meat.
That's what Thanksgiving is all about, right? Eating the stuff that makes you most thankful? I personally would have a Thanksgiving enchilada party if I were going to be here. Though I have to say I'm usually plenty thankful for the traditional grub my mother serves up. If I'm as much of a rock star as she is when I have a family, this is what they're going to be eating:
turkey or some other large game bird; pheasant is mighty tasty too
cornbread dressing, baked inside the bird like God intended
lots o' gravy
mashed potatoes
glazed sweet potatoes, WITHOUT the damn marshmallows
green bean casserole with lots of those fried onion thingies
cranberry sauce (homemade; ideally spiked with triple sec)
cornbread
yeast rolls
mulled wine
an assortment of Wild Turkey cocktails
pumpkin cheesecake
With that, I will go eat my frozen pizza.
That's what Thanksgiving is all about, right? Eating the stuff that makes you most thankful? I personally would have a Thanksgiving enchilada party if I were going to be here. Though I have to say I'm usually plenty thankful for the traditional grub my mother serves up. If I'm as much of a rock star as she is when I have a family, this is what they're going to be eating:
turkey or some other large game bird; pheasant is mighty tasty too
cornbread dressing, baked inside the bird like God intended
lots o' gravy
mashed potatoes
glazed sweet potatoes, WITHOUT the damn marshmallows
green bean casserole with lots of those fried onion thingies
cranberry sauce (homemade; ideally spiked with triple sec)
cornbread
yeast rolls
mulled wine
an assortment of Wild Turkey cocktails
pumpkin cheesecake
With that, I will go eat my frozen pizza.
Monday, November 24, 2003
very bad kitty:
Gato Negro cabernet is officially the ass-nastiest wine I have ever consumed. It makes me long for the jug-bottled, screw-topped goodness of Carlo Rossi Burgundy. Spend your $2.99 on Three Buck Chuck cabernet instead.
Gato Negro cabernet is officially the ass-nastiest wine I have ever consumed. It makes me long for the jug-bottled, screw-topped goodness of Carlo Rossi Burgundy. Spend your $2.99 on Three Buck Chuck cabernet instead.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
no, Mina, your typing assistance is not needed . . . bad kitty.
Busy times in the various domains of the Antifoodie. There was a trip to Houston last weekend to see the family; grandparents' 50th anniversary and Liz's state cross-country meet up in Round Rock, which likes to refer to itself as Austin. Naturally the return to Texas afforded all kinds of rare culinary opportunities. Before I had been in the state for 24 hours, I had: raided my parents' fridge (sadly devoid of Shiner, but the Negro Modelo was nice); eaten my weight in breakfast tacos at the cross-country meet (the difference between Spectator Sister and Participant Sister); and--the coup de grace--made my triumphal return to Jack in the Box. I regret to report that the once-vaunted Chicken Fajita Pita, formerly the premier fast-food item in the country, has fallen from grace and edibility. I remember back in the day when the chicken was actually grilled. Now it's a tepid slimy mess; and the cheese wasn't even melted. Thank God for the curly fries and half of Mom's Bistro Jack. We like curly fries.
The next day featured lots of my uncle's barbecue brisket and ribs, more breakfast tacos, and assorted morning-friendly alcoholic beverages. I don't think my mother will ever let me make her a tequila sunrise again. Or me, for that matter.
In the midst of this epic cholesterol-fest, I realized that I had left not only the lucky underwear, not only the lucky boxers, but also the LUCKY SHIRT in Chicago. And you would think that even given this gross negligence on my part, the Chiefs could still maybe squeak by the Bengals? Maybe? Well, no.
My pain was somewhat alleviated by getting a free round-trip travel voucher for volunteering to leave my overbooked return flight for a later one that same evening. My pain returned when I boarded the flight and found myself surrounded by hyper evangelical teenyboppers from Iowa with an aggregate IQ of perhaps 80, who found it terribly amusing to construct tents of sorts by appending the Southwest blankets from the overhead bins. My pain was again alleviated by the nice flight attendant who brought me two shots of Wild Turkey, declining payment each time. He saved many lives that night.
The universe was further put to rights this afternoon, though, sort of, with KC's season sweep of the Raiders. It wasn't pretty, but hey, after losing to the Bengals anything looks good. And it gives me occasion to bring you (in true Bachelor hyper-hype fashion) The Most Dramatic Boerigter Watch of the Season.
Final drive of the game. Tied at 24. Chiefs are driving into Oakland territory; must reach about the 25 to have a realistic shot at the game-winning field goal. Green drops back, throws towards the left sideline. Pass knocked away by the defense; through the receiver's hands; incompl . . . whaaaaaaaa?? Boerigter has it! On his back! Even in a position generally reserved for roadkill, dude can make you pay. A few plays later, Priest rips off a brilliant run to about the Oakland 22. Next couple of plays stall; on third down, disaster strikes. After apparently making a first-down catch, Tony Gonzalez is called for *offensive* pass interference. The all-universe Tony Gonzalez, playing against the dirtiest, most penalty-prone team in the league, gets called for one of the more rare penalties in football. Third and 14 from the 32; well out of field goal range now. Green throws to Johnnie Morton along the left sideline; in the words of Chris Berman, "Morton can't salt it away." So we have fourth and 14, but at least are not treated to another rendition of "The Worm." The worm has, ahem, turned. Our two most reliable receivers have failed us. Priest has been stuffed on his last two carries. Without a first down, it's overtime or worse; hard-won dominance of the AFC playoff race is on the line. In short: Boerigter time! A yard past the first-down marker, M-Boe shows that Morton punk how it's done. Seconds later, the ageless Morten Andersen takes it 35 yards to the house, placekicker-style, for a 27-24 victory.
Whew. I need a cigarette.
I have perhaps hit a new low in the Cheap Beer from Wisconsin department. It's "fully krauesened," it's a sweet, sweet $6.99 a 12-pack at Sam's (bottles, though the 30-can collection is available for a mere $13); it's presumably the brewsky du choix of Mike Maslowski's alma mater; it's LaCrosse Lager. It's here, it's beer, get used to it.
Even bigger ups to Sam's for having Trevor Jones "Boots" grenache from Australia; and for having my current favorite wine, Rex Goliath "Free Range?" NV Merlot, for $7.49 a bottle. The label features HRM Rex Goliath, a 47-pound rooster that apparently traveled around with a circus in Texas, back when giant roosters counted as quality entertainment. What the rooster has to do with the wine is not elucidated by the fine and otherwise forthcoming folks at Rex Goliath Wines. But it's tasty, and you should get some.
I also bought some "Gato Negro" cabernet from Chile, solely because it was $2.99 and featured a cat on the label. I will let you know if it is worthy of joining the Rooster Wine and the Goat Wine in my all-star oenomenagerie.
Also in the "why not, it's $2.99" department, Charles Shaw has seen fit to jump on the beaujolais nouveau bandwagon. Seeing as last year's $9 Georges Duboeuf beaujolais nouveau was so wretched, this can't be any worse. I have to say I don't get it about beaujolais nouveau. It's not that alcoholic, it's not that flavorful or complex, it comes in extremely ugly bottles, and is generally a very training-wheels sort of wine, apparently marketed to people who usually drink Franzia but feel the need to pop some kind of cork around the holiday season. Why anyone would drink that when they could have the rooster wine for about the same price is beyond me.
Good Thanksgiving programming on the Food Network. My mother has been conducting a long-standing "you should marry Tyler Florence" campaign; after watching him slather a turkey with herb butter and then cover it in bacon strips, I would have to concede that she has a point. I do not, however, particularly care to watch Martha Stewart "bone" a turkey ever again.
Busy times in the various domains of the Antifoodie. There was a trip to Houston last weekend to see the family; grandparents' 50th anniversary and Liz's state cross-country meet up in Round Rock, which likes to refer to itself as Austin. Naturally the return to Texas afforded all kinds of rare culinary opportunities. Before I had been in the state for 24 hours, I had: raided my parents' fridge (sadly devoid of Shiner, but the Negro Modelo was nice); eaten my weight in breakfast tacos at the cross-country meet (the difference between Spectator Sister and Participant Sister); and--the coup de grace--made my triumphal return to Jack in the Box. I regret to report that the once-vaunted Chicken Fajita Pita, formerly the premier fast-food item in the country, has fallen from grace and edibility. I remember back in the day when the chicken was actually grilled. Now it's a tepid slimy mess; and the cheese wasn't even melted. Thank God for the curly fries and half of Mom's Bistro Jack. We like curly fries.
The next day featured lots of my uncle's barbecue brisket and ribs, more breakfast tacos, and assorted morning-friendly alcoholic beverages. I don't think my mother will ever let me make her a tequila sunrise again. Or me, for that matter.
In the midst of this epic cholesterol-fest, I realized that I had left not only the lucky underwear, not only the lucky boxers, but also the LUCKY SHIRT in Chicago. And you would think that even given this gross negligence on my part, the Chiefs could still maybe squeak by the Bengals? Maybe? Well, no.
My pain was somewhat alleviated by getting a free round-trip travel voucher for volunteering to leave my overbooked return flight for a later one that same evening. My pain returned when I boarded the flight and found myself surrounded by hyper evangelical teenyboppers from Iowa with an aggregate IQ of perhaps 80, who found it terribly amusing to construct tents of sorts by appending the Southwest blankets from the overhead bins. My pain was again alleviated by the nice flight attendant who brought me two shots of Wild Turkey, declining payment each time. He saved many lives that night.
The universe was further put to rights this afternoon, though, sort of, with KC's season sweep of the Raiders. It wasn't pretty, but hey, after losing to the Bengals anything looks good. And it gives me occasion to bring you (in true Bachelor hyper-hype fashion) The Most Dramatic Boerigter Watch of the Season.
Final drive of the game. Tied at 24. Chiefs are driving into Oakland territory; must reach about the 25 to have a realistic shot at the game-winning field goal. Green drops back, throws towards the left sideline. Pass knocked away by the defense; through the receiver's hands; incompl . . . whaaaaaaaa?? Boerigter has it! On his back! Even in a position generally reserved for roadkill, dude can make you pay. A few plays later, Priest rips off a brilliant run to about the Oakland 22. Next couple of plays stall; on third down, disaster strikes. After apparently making a first-down catch, Tony Gonzalez is called for *offensive* pass interference. The all-universe Tony Gonzalez, playing against the dirtiest, most penalty-prone team in the league, gets called for one of the more rare penalties in football. Third and 14 from the 32; well out of field goal range now. Green throws to Johnnie Morton along the left sideline; in the words of Chris Berman, "Morton can't salt it away." So we have fourth and 14, but at least are not treated to another rendition of "The Worm." The worm has, ahem, turned. Our two most reliable receivers have failed us. Priest has been stuffed on his last two carries. Without a first down, it's overtime or worse; hard-won dominance of the AFC playoff race is on the line. In short: Boerigter time! A yard past the first-down marker, M-Boe shows that Morton punk how it's done. Seconds later, the ageless Morten Andersen takes it 35 yards to the house, placekicker-style, for a 27-24 victory.
Whew. I need a cigarette.
I have perhaps hit a new low in the Cheap Beer from Wisconsin department. It's "fully krauesened," it's a sweet, sweet $6.99 a 12-pack at Sam's (bottles, though the 30-can collection is available for a mere $13); it's presumably the brewsky du choix of Mike Maslowski's alma mater; it's LaCrosse Lager. It's here, it's beer, get used to it.
Even bigger ups to Sam's for having Trevor Jones "Boots" grenache from Australia; and for having my current favorite wine, Rex Goliath "Free Range?" NV Merlot, for $7.49 a bottle. The label features HRM Rex Goliath, a 47-pound rooster that apparently traveled around with a circus in Texas, back when giant roosters counted as quality entertainment. What the rooster has to do with the wine is not elucidated by the fine and otherwise forthcoming folks at Rex Goliath Wines. But it's tasty, and you should get some.
I also bought some "Gato Negro" cabernet from Chile, solely because it was $2.99 and featured a cat on the label. I will let you know if it is worthy of joining the Rooster Wine and the Goat Wine in my all-star oenomenagerie.
Also in the "why not, it's $2.99" department, Charles Shaw has seen fit to jump on the beaujolais nouveau bandwagon. Seeing as last year's $9 Georges Duboeuf beaujolais nouveau was so wretched, this can't be any worse. I have to say I don't get it about beaujolais nouveau. It's not that alcoholic, it's not that flavorful or complex, it comes in extremely ugly bottles, and is generally a very training-wheels sort of wine, apparently marketed to people who usually drink Franzia but feel the need to pop some kind of cork around the holiday season. Why anyone would drink that when they could have the rooster wine for about the same price is beyond me.
Good Thanksgiving programming on the Food Network. My mother has been conducting a long-standing "you should marry Tyler Florence" campaign; after watching him slather a turkey with herb butter and then cover it in bacon strips, I would have to concede that she has a point. I do not, however, particularly care to watch Martha Stewart "bone" a turkey ever again.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
It has come to my attention that "buffalo nuggets" are, in fact, called "flying nuggets," which in a way is even more disturbing. The Pub also offers "flying catfish nuggets," which I fully intend to sample next time I'm there.
All-star Pub juke box playlist: Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell, Iggy and the Stooges; When the Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin; Fat Bottomed Girls, Queen. Try it sometime. I do owe a debt of inspiration with regard to the last item.
Fine, fine meal last night. Dinner on Monday consisted of random cheeses and wine at a poetry reading, about three buffalo wings and several pints of beer at the Pub, and then possibly a lot of whiskey. Not to say that this wasn't a fine, fine meal, because it was, but by Tuesday night I sort of needed real food. So I finally made the braised lamb shanks with onions and cherries, mashed potatoes, green beans, and opened a bottle of tempranillo. After a couple weeks of Three Buck Chuck, I was reminded why I am sometimes willing to pay $16 for a bottle of wine. Vina Izadi or something like that, 2000, Spain.
I would be remiss not to note that even after being open for a week, and even after having unconsumed portions funneled back into the bottle, the cabernet variety of Three Buck Chuck is really quite agreeable. Upon my return from Texas, another run to Trader Joe's is in order. Maybe I'll pick up a case and give some out as Christmas gifts.
All-star Pub juke box playlist: Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell, Iggy and the Stooges; When the Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin; Fat Bottomed Girls, Queen. Try it sometime. I do owe a debt of inspiration with regard to the last item.
Fine, fine meal last night. Dinner on Monday consisted of random cheeses and wine at a poetry reading, about three buffalo wings and several pints of beer at the Pub, and then possibly a lot of whiskey. Not to say that this wasn't a fine, fine meal, because it was, but by Tuesday night I sort of needed real food. So I finally made the braised lamb shanks with onions and cherries, mashed potatoes, green beans, and opened a bottle of tempranillo. After a couple weeks of Three Buck Chuck, I was reminded why I am sometimes willing to pay $16 for a bottle of wine. Vina Izadi or something like that, 2000, Spain.
I would be remiss not to note that even after being open for a week, and even after having unconsumed portions funneled back into the bottle, the cabernet variety of Three Buck Chuck is really quite agreeable. Upon my return from Texas, another run to Trader Joe's is in order. Maybe I'll pick up a case and give some out as Christmas gifts.
Sunday, November 09, 2003
And now for something completely different:
You are the green line. You dwell in the ghetto,
and damn, you're proud of it. The streets of
your kingdom may not be paved with gold, but at
least you have a place where you know you rule.
Just don't go cruising too late at night
without a shotgun.
Which Chicago 'El' line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Oh yeah, and the Chiefs are 9-0, despite the best efforts of Billy Bartee, who possibly sucks more on special teams than he did as a cornerback. Is it any coincidence that he and Deltha O'Neal wear the same number? I think not.
[Speaking of D.O., how about that Monday night game? May the record show that I called his punt return TD ("DON'T KICK IT TO DELTHA!") and my homie from Colorado called the last play of the game ("OK, this is where Deltha O'Neal gives up the game-winning touchdown.") If MNF commentary can feature such luminaries as Dennis Miller and Dan Dierdorf, well . . . I rest my case.]
Boerigter watch: 2 receptions for 45 yards, including a key third-down catch to keep a scoring drive alive. Almost recovered a fumble on special teams. Got big ups from the ever-insightful Dan Dierdorf for being "more than your average receiver," or something.
Schlitz makes an excellent liquid for beef stew, incidentally. I think I liked the lamb stew with Rolling Rock better, though, possibly because I like lamb better. I have a couple of plump, succulent lamb shanks defrosting in my fridge at this very minute. These are destined to be braised with onions and dried cherries in a variety of red wines including, but not limited to, two varieties of Three Buck Chuck.
Mashed potatoes will also be served.
Damn.
You are the green line. You dwell in the ghetto,
and damn, you're proud of it. The streets of
your kingdom may not be paved with gold, but at
least you have a place where you know you rule.
Just don't go cruising too late at night
without a shotgun.
Which Chicago 'El' line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Oh yeah, and the Chiefs are 9-0, despite the best efforts of Billy Bartee, who possibly sucks more on special teams than he did as a cornerback. Is it any coincidence that he and Deltha O'Neal wear the same number? I think not.
[Speaking of D.O., how about that Monday night game? May the record show that I called his punt return TD ("DON'T KICK IT TO DELTHA!") and my homie from Colorado called the last play of the game ("OK, this is where Deltha O'Neal gives up the game-winning touchdown.") If MNF commentary can feature such luminaries as Dennis Miller and Dan Dierdorf, well . . . I rest my case.]
Boerigter watch: 2 receptions for 45 yards, including a key third-down catch to keep a scoring drive alive. Almost recovered a fumble on special teams. Got big ups from the ever-insightful Dan Dierdorf for being "more than your average receiver," or something.
Schlitz makes an excellent liquid for beef stew, incidentally. I think I liked the lamb stew with Rolling Rock better, though, possibly because I like lamb better. I have a couple of plump, succulent lamb shanks defrosting in my fridge at this very minute. These are destined to be braised with onions and dried cherries in a variety of red wines including, but not limited to, two varieties of Three Buck Chuck.
Mashed potatoes will also be served.
Damn.
Sunday, November 02, 2003
disaster narrowly avoided:
The lucky boxers almost ended up in the wash tonight. If there are any other females out there who also have lucky boxers, please let me know so I don't feel like such a freak.
Bye week for the Chiefs. According to ESPN, this was a "well-deserved" week off. Seeing as every team in the NFL gets a bye week during the regular season, I really fail to see where the deserving/undeserving question enters the picture. Get a bye in the first round of the playoffs, and then we can talk about bye-worthiness.
I just realized that I forgot to publicly gloat about our 38-5 demolition of Buffalo last week. It was really just sort of surreal, especially in that Eric Warfield for once didn't play like the poor man's Deltha O'Neal. I further submit for consideration that Scott Fujita should go to the Pro Bowl this year.
Boerigter watch: he was just happy to be there.
Did you know that there's a convenient word to describe Dante Hall's celebratory "X-factor" arm crossing? Decussate (v.): to cross in the form of an "X." Cool, huh? There are still no words to describe Johnny Morton's celebratory humping of the endzone turf.
Fish tacos were okay. I coated some catfish with Goya Adobo with Cumin and some random Mexican chili powder (available at Cub Foods) and pan-fried it. The adobo is really salty, which is OK, seeing as when you look up "salt fiend" in the dictionary, there I am. Then I broke it up into chunks and put it in warm flour tortillas with large gobs of guacamole. And that would be all.
This morning for brunch, I busted out the Stokes Green Chile Sauce with Pork that I got in Albuquerque. Fry a couple of eggs, put them on top of two corn tortillas, cover with warmed-up green chile sauce, melt jack cheese over the top, add your favorite hot sauce, die and go to heaven.
The lucky boxers almost ended up in the wash tonight. If there are any other females out there who also have lucky boxers, please let me know so I don't feel like such a freak.
Bye week for the Chiefs. According to ESPN, this was a "well-deserved" week off. Seeing as every team in the NFL gets a bye week during the regular season, I really fail to see where the deserving/undeserving question enters the picture. Get a bye in the first round of the playoffs, and then we can talk about bye-worthiness.
I just realized that I forgot to publicly gloat about our 38-5 demolition of Buffalo last week. It was really just sort of surreal, especially in that Eric Warfield for once didn't play like the poor man's Deltha O'Neal. I further submit for consideration that Scott Fujita should go to the Pro Bowl this year.
Boerigter watch: he was just happy to be there.
Did you know that there's a convenient word to describe Dante Hall's celebratory "X-factor" arm crossing? Decussate (v.): to cross in the form of an "X." Cool, huh? There are still no words to describe Johnny Morton's celebratory humping of the endzone turf.
Fish tacos were okay. I coated some catfish with Goya Adobo with Cumin and some random Mexican chili powder (available at Cub Foods) and pan-fried it. The adobo is really salty, which is OK, seeing as when you look up "salt fiend" in the dictionary, there I am. Then I broke it up into chunks and put it in warm flour tortillas with large gobs of guacamole. And that would be all.
This morning for brunch, I busted out the Stokes Green Chile Sauce with Pork that I got in Albuquerque. Fry a couple of eggs, put them on top of two corn tortillas, cover with warmed-up green chile sauce, melt jack cheese over the top, add your favorite hot sauce, die and go to heaven.
Saturday, November 01, 2003
Department of knowing when to fold 'em:
So I have cable these days, and consequently I can devote my Saturday afternoons to such diversions as watching the World Series of Poker on ESPN. I don't really have much to say about it, except that it's on and I am watching it. I wonder how many of the people I played poker with in high school are still alive.
Department of one less thing to import from Texas:
Green chile enchilada sauce is, indeed, available in the greater Chicagoland area. Cub Foods stocks the La Preferida marque. If anybody thinks that a marque is a member of the British nobility or the big flashy sign above the box office, talk to Anand and he'll set you straight. Cub also has the best tortillas I have ever seen in a supermarket.
Department of things to do with nasty beer people have left at your place:
Sam Adams Cherry Wheat: return to sender. Or, use it to braise lamb shanks with dried cherries and onions.
Schlitz: pour down sink; strew cans about for that appealing frat-girl ambience. I thought I liked Schlitz, but Old Style is really where it's at.
Bass Pale Ale: use as the liquid in Irish stew; let colonial tensions simmer for 45 minutes or until meat is done.
Though nobody has ever been foolish enough to darken my door with a six-pack of this, I feel I should develop a contingency plan in the event that I find myself in possession of Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale. Like Blue Moon wasn't fruity and flowery and nasty enough without miscegenating with the contents of Grandma's oven. Beer. Should. Taste. Like. Beer. Thank you.
Department of the least nutritious dinner I have possibly ever had:
Curly fries, "buffalo nuggets" with the attendant blue cheese dressing; half a pitcher of Killian's, half a pitcher of Leinie's. Buffalo nuggets are not (necessarily) something you step in if you wander off the boardwalks at Yellowstone. This easily supplants the previous recordholder, which was two pints of Leinie's Red, a manhattan, and a Jimmy's cheeseburger.
Department of what's for dinner tonight:
Catfish tacos. I think. If they work well, the recipe, such as it is, will follow.
So I have cable these days, and consequently I can devote my Saturday afternoons to such diversions as watching the World Series of Poker on ESPN. I don't really have much to say about it, except that it's on and I am watching it. I wonder how many of the people I played poker with in high school are still alive.
Department of one less thing to import from Texas:
Green chile enchilada sauce is, indeed, available in the greater Chicagoland area. Cub Foods stocks the La Preferida marque. If anybody thinks that a marque is a member of the British nobility or the big flashy sign above the box office, talk to Anand and he'll set you straight. Cub also has the best tortillas I have ever seen in a supermarket.
Department of things to do with nasty beer people have left at your place:
Sam Adams Cherry Wheat: return to sender. Or, use it to braise lamb shanks with dried cherries and onions.
Schlitz: pour down sink; strew cans about for that appealing frat-girl ambience. I thought I liked Schlitz, but Old Style is really where it's at.
Bass Pale Ale: use as the liquid in Irish stew; let colonial tensions simmer for 45 minutes or until meat is done.
Though nobody has ever been foolish enough to darken my door with a six-pack of this, I feel I should develop a contingency plan in the event that I find myself in possession of Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale. Like Blue Moon wasn't fruity and flowery and nasty enough without miscegenating with the contents of Grandma's oven. Beer. Should. Taste. Like. Beer. Thank you.
Department of the least nutritious dinner I have possibly ever had:
Curly fries, "buffalo nuggets" with the attendant blue cheese dressing; half a pitcher of Killian's, half a pitcher of Leinie's. Buffalo nuggets are not (necessarily) something you step in if you wander off the boardwalks at Yellowstone. This easily supplants the previous recordholder, which was two pints of Leinie's Red, a manhattan, and a Jimmy's cheeseburger.
Department of what's for dinner tonight:
Catfish tacos. I think. If they work well, the recipe, such as it is, will follow.
