On this, most American of holidays, the one where we take a religious icon and . . . .drink in his honor? I like to make an Irish Car Bomb, or Irish Car Firecracker because I always do half measures. A bi of Irish whiskey in a shot of Irish cream, dropped into Irish Guinness and drunk as fast as possible.

It’s silly, but I do like it, on this day. Once a year. It makes me silly, and nostalgic for like, 3 years ago, but it’s a fun thing. Plus, the booze makes my fingers warm and assists me in ignoring the passage of time as I vacuum. You’d be amazed at how quickly stair vacuuming can go when one is gently “illuminated”. Happy holiday.


Fathers’ Day was fun and nice.  Nick had seen his dad the day before, so we didn’t feel bad at all about spending the whole afternoon with my dad.  And now, here is a photo-filled, overinformative, utterly useless post!

all togther nowThis is us on our way to dad’s house.  That’s Nick, and me, and Older Sister.

Card game 1And this is part of the card game we played for like two hours.  There was much laughter.  This is Daddy and Older Sister.

card game 2Another perspective of the infamous card game, known to me as Garbage and taught to me by my newly acquired niece, Miss A. You know all our names by now.

Next, we started dinner.  Daddy had mentioned wanting sausages and sauerkraut, so we jumped into the idea of German food with great gusto.

fondueBAM!  There was fondue, made with swiss cheese and violent inattention to the recipe.  White wine, garlic by the gob, swiss till it looked okay, then a little more with flour.  Then, a sprinkling of salt, a touch of powdered garlic, and then!  Red cayenne pepper.  Fondue; if the heat doesn’t get you, the pepper will.

Creepy sausages

Nick wanted to make beer brats, because he loves them with great fervor and joy.  I just wish they didn’t look so dang creepy for so much of the cooking process!

onions, yoWe ran out of stovetop space, so I sauteed the onions on the woodstove and felt like a total badass.  Also, we toasted bread for to dip into le fondue.  I was thinking to myself, ” Oh yeah, I could TOTALLY survive in like the woods and stuff with no running water and/or electricity.  I mean, just see how I handle onions, yo!”  When I feel badass, my internal monologue gets significantly more gangster.

NiiiiceAnd this is all the food we ate.  Grilled onions and boiled sauerkraut and beer-simmered bratwursts and fondue and pears (to dip in the fondue – trust me, it’s good) and sourdough rolls to dip in everything.  German is the heritage that everyone at the table had in common, so I decided to imbue the dinner with more importance than anyone else was giving it.  It’s our Shared Heritage Meal you guys.  It’s what we have in common.  Our ancestors are totally rejoicing right now.

Another few card games and some goofy pictures later, we were on our way home.  Nick drove home, and for a man who has eaten his body weight in good, dense, German food, that is quite a feat.  He also drove out there, taking the same twisty scenic route as last time except THIS  time I didn’t watch the scenery so much as I watched my knitting.  And that made me nauseated which precluded a small session of Yelling Wife Criticizes Driving and Threatens Vomit.  Older Sister just laughed the whole time.  Nick, to his credit, drove more carefully until I was fully recovered and didn’t utter a word of complaint.  Good man, that.

Hurr hurr

Family picture (missing Little Sister) wherein we attempt to accentuate our jawlines and cheekbones.  Well, Daddy and I did.  Older Sister stayed true to kind and laughed at me the whole time.  Atta girl.

Oh porter, oh stout

your depth of flavor, richness,
your soul.
essence of coffee and chocolate
complex flavors of earth.

Nick doesn’t like you
he doesn’t understand you
like I do.

Oh dark beer, our love is pure
pure as your sweet, smoky depths.

You even taste good with ice cream,
poured over like a root beer float
except not root beer.