Super Bowl Sunday Eats
A few years ago we jumped into the culinary zeitgeist surrounding Super Bowl Sunday with our first ever "Stadium-style" snack extravaganza.
Not Actual Presentation ... But, Kind of Close
As you can see it was a knockout. A home run. It scored the winning field goal. Touchdown!
Last year we thought we'd ramp it up a notch. Since so many people were expected — more than previously owing to all the acclaim of the snack stadium — we pondered long and hard about how much to serve and how to accommodate the throng. Thus begat the Super Bowl Snack Maze.
Alas, it was decimated so fast that we didn't get a photo. It took up the entire living room transformed into a stadium of sorts. There was a stepped bleacher on all four sides of the room. A large service table floating in the center. I use the term "floating" purposely because the table was literally floating in a huge plastic kids pool filled with ice and cold ones. Astroturf on the floor, but of course. The whole set up was designed to handle four streams of traffic, each being offered the same choices at each station. The logic being ... get 'em back to the game ASAP.
So, now, what about SB L (50th)?
It's ... It's ... "Nacho Mountain." And — surprise! — "Nacho Volcano!"
All the usual suspect edibles. Your cold cuts. Your Chile con Carne. Bean Dip. Other ... Dips. Your Tortilla chips. Guacamole. Bacon, of course. An assortment of the sausages of the world. Brats ... that's so done. Breads, naturally. Nuts. Slim Jims. Shrimps. Other Cheeses. Other Chips. Even, Kale Chips.
But the star player, the most valuable player ... did you guess it?
We have a friend Phyllis who has a rather sophisticated palate. So, upon request only, a good crumbly sharp aged imported artisanal Cheddar. OK, Phyllis?
We also have a cranky Uncle Luther. For him ...
And, for Uncles and Aunties everywhere, a joke ...
The Bishop is very sick. Doctors come from
all over the world to try and diagnose his illness, and finally a little Jewish
psychiatrist finds the cause of the problem. He tells the cleric, "Your Eminence,
because you have had nothing to do with women all your life, your hormones are
unbalanced and there is only one possible cure. You must make love with a
woman." "No, no!" cries the Cardinal, "I can't. All the
vows I have taken ... I just can't!" "But, Your Grace," replies
the shrink, "you must or you will die, and this too is a mortal sin."
The bishop retires for a
few days to consider his fate, and then calls the psychiatrist again. "Okay,
okay" he says, "I have reached my decision. I will do as you ask."
"But please, be sure that
the she's got nice, big tits."
Last word to all you hopefuls in the culinary Super Bowl ... there's nothing more pathetic than someone shopping for Avocados on Super Bowl Sunday. Or, Shrimp.
PS That last image with the comely lass, that's a hint for plans already underway for SB 2017.
