Well, it came and went: The Super Bore. Bowl. Let's be honest-- until I was 23, I thought that the Steelers were named for the action of stealing and therefor despised them. And the Packers? There is nothing worse than packing for a trip or move. So really, who was there to root for this year? Any year?
We never watch the "big game." But this time, I decided not to let a loathing of overproduced football stand between me and an equal right to consume unearthly quantities of lard and mashed beans. A new family tradition was born: Junk Fest. This year's celebration began with cake and ice cream at the neighbor's house (Harold and Cleone, the 87 year-olds over our back fence and our only friends in this drag of a town...I'll say it, we spent New Year's Eve with them, playing Skipbo and gorging on banana splits til all hours of 10:30. Those two ROCK!). We followed it up with tortilla chips, cheesy bean dip, and homemade guacamole. But what did we do while stuffing our faces? Nothing. That's the beauty of Junk Fest. It's so honest. There's no excuse-making or pretense about it. It's just a pure Epicurean experience. Real. Refreshing. And it comes to you, highly recommended.