This weekend is going to be fantaaaaaastic. No, not because I give a shiz about the Super Bowl – I’m told that it doesn’t count if you only start caring about the Giants when they’re acting like winners – but because I get to slap on an apron and make like Beezy Homemaker for the small group of revelers that will congregate at mi casa on Sunday.
I’ve settled upon a menu that requires the least amount of work possible, since Snags and I only have one working burner on our stove and our oven emits a distinct odor of fried hair follicles every time we use it. Also, too much cooking cuts into prime beer guzzling and Puppy Bowl watching time. Unacceptable.
Bezusita’s famoso guacamole
Since Beezus is not really a genetic Feinberg and Linds and Lar clearly adopted her from Santo Domingo at a young age, she’s really good at making guacamole. Like really good. She regularly challenges other people to guacamole-making contests and wins. Psycho.
Luckily, Crazypants McGee was so kind as to lend me the recipe for my pequeña fútbol americano fiesta. Katy claims it will never taste the same without Betsy’s beer tears and vaginal hubris (the second part I stuck in for shits and gigs per my serious League bender). Anywho, here’s the recipe:
2 large tomatoes (cut into quarters, cut out yicky inside middle part with seeds, then chop)
2 jalapenos (cut into quarters, slice off inside part with seeds, then dice)
1 bunch cilantro, chopped (use the entire bunch, we like ours really cilantro-y)
1 large red onion, chopped
3 large cloves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lime
Red pepper flakes
Salt and Pepper
Mash together everything except tabasco and red pepper flakes, add those incrementally to taste.
Please note that under no circumstances are you allowed to make this guac unless you are committed to eating it with Hint of Lime Tostitos and only Hint of Lime Tostitos. I’m watching you.
I thought I’d keep the Latin theme going and do some quesadillas since they’re so easy to make that even Babygirl couldn’t eff them up after a bottle or two of Chard. And believe you me, I shall be sauced.
Some recipes I may hit up:
I’m pretty sure that wings aren’t a part of the local cuisine south of the border, but then again who gives a flying frittata? Besides, I’m not about to put up with an angry mob demanding wings on Superbowl Sunday in my newly dreckorated basement apartment with limited escape routes.
Taking notes from my friends on Top Chef (I’m looking at you and your unibrow, Hugh Acheson), I’ll be doing a duo of wings – one ala Linda and the other ala the recipe that Zach found online.
To make Linda’s wings, just pat the chicken super super dry after washing it off, douse the wings in olive oil, salt, black pepper, and white pepper, and stick them in the oven on a parchment-lined baking sheet at 420 degrees until they’re nice and crispy. Turn them over a time or two so you get both sides. Sounds boring, but they’re really goddamn tasty and obviously the easiest things to make EVER.
The second style is below: same type of thing, with no frying/breading/slaving involved, just a different set of spices. Bon appetit boneheads!