That Thing

The original side eye.

What, do I seem like a crank because I'm against chronic traumatic encephalopathy and I begrudge a certain team their support of a white-supremacist regime? So sue me. "Please don't," the kids say, when their father and I enter into conversation about the Patriots, and what properly is the role of a responsible citizen who has the attention and devotion of the entire country focused on him. "Not again."  I'm never, like, in love with the Super Bowl. But this year? With the Muslim ban and Bannon and Sessions and the Dakota pipeline and no Jews on Holocaust Remembrance Day and fighting with Australia and with every allegedly American value, like the rule of law, just as a for-instance, hanging in the balance, or not even hanging in the balance as much as tipping, tipping, tipping us all, scrambling, like the Titanic passengers bouncing along the length of the ship on their way to the icy depths? I can't believe they're even following through with the stupid Super Bowl. Luckily Frederick Douglass is still alive. And luckily, the party I'm going to on Sunday has an upstairs group of cheering glazy-eyed concussion lovers, and a downstairs group of board-game-crushing nasty women who will boycott the thing until the Hamilton cast is on, and then our boycott will enjoy a brief hiatus, because we are only human, and we deserve a little pleasure. Also, snacking.

So. In the interest of everyone who's gotta eat, and who might as well eat delicious munching food, I offer you a few old favorites. I love you. xo

The best ribs.
The best chicken wings.
The best nachos.
The best crudites.
Vegetarian chili for a crowd.
People-pleasing enchilada casserole.
Comforting mac and cheese.
Dill pickle popcorn.
Fake, cheap DIY Boursin.
Obsessy edamame.
Crazily good deviled eggs.
Momofuku soy sauce eggs.
Buffalo cauliflower.
Jicama that will get finished before anything else.
Weirdly addictive tortilla pizza.