Well, if you want to look on the positive side - which is always something I try to do - you can take this away from Sunday’s embarrassment at Lambeau Field: It was a good excuse to get creative behind the Bloody Mary bar.
Not that I’m promoting alcoholic beverages on a Sunday or anything. But who am I kidding? This isn’t Minnesota. And I’m a responsible adult. So, yeah, I went out to the market and picked up some fixings b’fore the game. I’ll admit it. The truth is, I was buying it for a guest. And the double truth is, I was buying those beef-sticks and cheese curds as celebration accoutrements. Unfortunately, I ended up drinking my devil’s juice in defeat, in a sad state of embarrassment that can only come from being thumped extra-ordinarily on your home turf.
Anyways, is there really any point to talking ‘bout the game? We all saw it. We’re responsible adults. Sometimes we get thumped upside the noggin at home. Sometimes we have a few too many cock-tails. Not that I’m promoting alcoholic beverages on a Sunday or anything.
But here’s the thing - I can’t really bear to think back to our pathetic showing in the cold winds of December. And I sure as sugar beets don’t want to spend a paragraph or six gouging our laughable “defense” or the “offensive line.” So let’s just leave the field, if you will. Let’s talk about pleasantries.
Like how to make a rock-solid Bloody Mary. See, even in talking about these delicious devils, we can escape the drearies of Grade “F” football.
Some folks like to pick up these fancy pre-mixed Bloody Mary con-coctions. Like my cousin Walter. But he’s a bit silly. Unlike me. I prefer a juice squeezed from the garden. Something chunky and pure. So each year me and my wife, we can up a few crates of what I like to call “Mooney’s Rocket Fuel.” It’s basically an in-sanely spicy tomato juice from heaven. With chunks. And like everything from the garden, it’s spec-tac-ular. Huzzah!
The other important thing for my bloodies is to deck it out with all the fixings. My daughter tells me the kids call this “pimping their ride,” what-ever that means.
As I said earlier, an ample spread of interesting accoutrements are essential to a good liquid brunch, and to a good Packers viewing experience. Same goes for a nice cheese and sausage platter. Not that I’m promoting alcoholic beverages on a Sunday or anything.
OK, I guess I kinda am. My apologies to the youngsters.
Anyhoo, necessary food-stuffs in a bloody: Beef sticks, pickled eggs, celery, cheese curds, cottage cheese, peppers, carrots, sliced cheese, string cheese and, of course, pickle spears. Also, don’t think of bringing any of those stinking olives into my kitchen. Disgusting.
So that pretty much does it. And abra-ca-dabra, now we don’t ever have to think about that scrawny noodle-armed Jets QB dicing our defense like a fistful of green onions - which are another fine ingredient, now that I think about it.Anyways, I’m way off track here and running low on words.
F.G., circa 1929
