See what I did with that title?
Totally avoided any silly licensing discrepancies with "The Big Game" while alluding to what the subject of this food blog will be.
Earlier this week, Clem and I sat down to record another episode of The Podfathers. In it, Clem thought it would be a brilliant idea to rip off the Chicago guys' Snake Draft... Which ripped off Lights Camera Barstool's TOP 5... Which ripped off PMT's Mt Rushmore... Which ripped off RANKER's whole existence... Which ripped off Dave Letterman's TOP TEN LIST... Which ripped off millions of pieces of content across all mediums since the beginning of time that found it interesting to rank benign subjects.
If we really wanna give credit to where this all started, I believe God was actually the first to do a ranking when he gave Moses (who ran God's social media at the time) at least 2 stone tablets inscribed with The Creator of Heaven and Earth's Top 10 Favorite Sins.
In our version of this centuries-old practice, Clem proposed he and I do a segment of the podcast dedicated to each of our Top 3 Big Game Snacks… A fine enough idea, although the results were somewhat predictable. So to mix things up a little, I suggested that on top of our 3 favorite snacks, both Clem and I would also list our 2 Most Hated Super Bowel (I did it again!) Delicacies… An even BETTER idea than stupid ol' Clem's and the results were slightly less obvious.
--- By the way, I am hoping to shit all over Clem multiple times in this blog, but please know he is probably the nicest person I have ever met. He is a talented writer, an engaging conversationalist, a wonderful father & husband, and just an all-around good human being. Extremely uncomfortable to look at, but a gem of a guy… I love him, and the cartoon graphic that was made when MANSCAPED sponsored me to shave his balls before his vasectomy is my second-favorite graphic in the world. ---
But back to those lists…
Clem's 2 least favorite snacks for a game were a crudité platter and then "anything that requires a knife and fork to eat."
He made me giggle when he said the second choice, but that one actually made a whole helluva lot of sense when I pondered on it for a stretch.
When we chose our favorites, Clem chose pigs in a blanket and I chose Buffalo wings, which, on paper, seemed like an overwhelming win for me if we were grading who had better picks.
The reason I say an "overwhelming win" is because I believe the majority of civilized society values a perfect wing over a perfect PIB. So much so, wings are a staple on just about every menu and there are also multiple restaurants and restaurant chains dedicated to making that perfect Buffalo chicken wing.
The same cannot be said about Clem's pigs… Very rarely do you see them on a menu (although it is a delight when they are), and I don't know of any restaurant that is dedicated to perfecting the pig in a blanket.
There are certainly hot dog joints all around the world, but if you want to argue that a hot dog place and a pig in a blanket place are the same things, then I have no time for you.
But here's where that overwhelming win gets less "whelmed"… Wings are fucking MESSY. Especially when you are in a crowd of people that are not seated at a table. Especially when those people are drinking. Especially when you have fabric couches.
PIBs, on the other hand, are perfectly portable palatables (alliteration)… You can pile 30 on a plate and eat them with one hand without threatening to ruin a couch or a rug.
And that's what having people over for a game is all about, right?… Having them be able to float around from the TV room, to your kitchen, and then back with plates filled with food BUT without the need of tucking napkins into their shirts.
Plus, the Monday after a big game is already filled with hangover-related regrets, you don't need to augment that by waking up to find that the rug in your hallway looks like a Jackson Pollack painting because of one careless wing-eating cousin.
In that same vein, Clem's 2nd least favorite choice makes a lot of sense… Nobody likes a med-rare ribeye more than this fat-fuck right here, but trying to navigate slicing that bitch while I balance a flimsy Chinette plate on my lap while next to me, Steven Cheah jumps up and down like an overeager track star after every Tampa Bay gets a first down is a textbook case where the steak is simply just not worth the sizzle.
So "anything that requires a knife and fork" is a top-notch choice for the worst Big Game snack from a man (Clem) that consistently makes terrible personal hygiene decisions.
Now, my choices for the worst gametime snack were a little different…
Coming in at number 2 were CHEESEBURGER SLIDERS… I have never been in a slider situation where I had less than three. And every time I have those three minis, I always feel like I should've eaten 1 regular-sized sandwich instead.
Three mini-burgers that are 75% bread versus a full-sized burger is an unfair fight, as far as I'm concerned. So just fire up the grill with a dozen patties instead of assembling 36 mini-sliders because this isn't a little girl's birthday party filled with adorable food options… I want to eat a burger, drink a dozen beers, and watch the fucking game.
And because of the famously vocal pro-slider contingent, I almost went with the six-foot hero for my pick instead, and my reasoning for passing on those soggy monstrosities is opposite that of the sliders.
Instead of eating a lopsided cross-section from a manhandled six-footer…
I would rather order 12 different heroes and cut them into more gentlemanly human-sized quarters.
But aside from how people may feel about wings, pigs, sliders, utensils, heroes, or veggie platters, my number one worst thing to either bring to or serve at a Super Bowl party is hopefully universally loathed, but they are somehow still offered in most big-box stores…
Who the fuck buys these things?
Flash-frozen shrimp that somehow look exactly alike and somehow fit perfectly wedged next to each other in that same black plastic ring with that same clear plastic snap-on lid.
And I don't mean a shrimp cocktail platter from a fishmonger or from the catering department of a higher-end grocery store.
I mean the one you get in a big-box store that comes frozen and never quite thaws out.
I mean one where you miraculously manage to buy 30 shrimp for less than what you normally pay to get your hair cut.
I mean one where the manufacturers have to purposefully misspell the word "shrimp" in the same way a good percentage of aerosol dairy products need to label their poison using the word "CHEEZ".
So this week's I Want You Inside of Me is less of a recommendation and more of a conversation…
(my favorite animated graphic)
What is the worst thing you could either bring to or be served at a Big Game party?
And who the fuck is still buying those pathetic shrimp?
(Although, I have a pretty good idea on that second one.)
Clem and I host a new episode of The Podfathers that drops every Wednesday. And after a long hiatus, one of the original Podfathers, KFC, has signed back on to be a regular contributor.
(Not my favorite graphic.)
You can tune in here…