The gauntlet was tossed, the gloves thrown down, the booger flicked. Okay, maybe that last one is a little esoteric, but in my world, that's a definite declaration of war.
Coming off a visit to the Cox-Toyota compound here in West Culver during which my homemade guacamole was a big hit, my cherished friend Colin invited me, Jae, and Kylie to his Memorial Day BBQ, and challenged me to a "guaca-duel," a "guaco-y-guaco showdown," a "guac-off" (maybe we haven't quite come up with the best name for it yet. Your ideas are appreciated.) I accepted, and took all my fresh ingredients to the Valley. I was confident. After all, for those who do not know my guacamole, know this:
Christ fed the multitudes because he used it as a side dish.
A bowl of it was discovered in the refrigerator of Dorian Gray.
No one has ever actually seen it made.
When asked if they had taken it into space with them, the astronauts said, "No --- we brought it back."
The Mayans once went out in search of something better. They've never returned.
A bowl of it was discovered in the refrigerator of Dorian Gray.
No one has ever actually seen it made.
When asked if they had taken it into space with them, the astronauts said, "No --- we brought it back."
The Mayans once went out in search of something better. They've never returned.
Onions cry because they are not in it.
The old woman who lived in the shoe was alone and celibate until she shared it with the sixth fleet on her 60th birthday.
It is...the most delicious guacamole in the world.
"I don't always eat guacamole -- but when I do, it's Rock-a-mole, made by that guy Rob, who does the nice thing with the lime and cilantro, which I loooove, and then some other stuff with a secret ingredient that I don't understand, but I don't care, I just eat it; it's good, you'll see, you'll like it too, I think."
Long story short (I know, "Who am I, and what have I done with Rob Cox?") -- You don't have to be a disgraced, de-frocked, convicted felon of an NBA official to have predicted that HOME PATIO ADVANTAGE would result in the nearly unanimous vote favoring Colin's "avocado-based dip" over my "Rock-a-Mole," Do I sound bitter?
Truth is, Colin's was good -- chunky and mild (not unlike the man himself -- and we love him for both those reasons). All in all, it was very different from mine, and guests knew whose guac was whose (we agreed it should be a blind test next time) but when the chips fell, I stood thoroughly vanquished. The fact that Kylie favored mine made me feel a little better, as did the "secret ingredient" I had been sipping while making my guac.
On a day when the Phillies lost possession of first place in the National League East and the Flyers lost Game 2 of the NHL Stanley Cup Finals, I took my beating like the bitter third of the "tri-f@#$-ta" that it was. Unlike some Philly fans, however, I did not conk Colin over the head with a bottle of Belvedere, taze him, throw up on him, or even "boo" him. I simply savored the great assortment of grilled meats that are ubiquitous at any Colin Campbell-hosted function, watched Kylie flutter around in the swimming pool like the tiny puffer fish she is, and vowed someday to have my revenge.
The old woman who lived in the shoe was alone and celibate until she shared it with the sixth fleet on her 60th birthday.
It is...the most delicious guacamole in the world.
"I don't always eat guacamole -- but when I do, it's Rock-a-mole, made by that guy Rob, who does the nice thing with the lime and cilantro, which I loooove, and then some other stuff with a secret ingredient that I don't understand, but I don't care, I just eat it; it's good, you'll see, you'll like it too, I think."
So there I toiled in the kitchen, cutting, chopping. mashing, dashing, sipping (secret ingredient, anyone?) stirring, dolloping, grinding, and sipping a little more until I was summoned to "Come get my beating."
Long story short (I know, "Who am I, and what have I done with Rob Cox?") -- You don't have to be a disgraced, de-frocked, convicted felon of an NBA official to have predicted that HOME PATIO ADVANTAGE would result in the nearly unanimous vote favoring Colin's "avocado-based dip" over my "Rock-a-Mole," Do I sound bitter?
Truth is, Colin's was good -- chunky and mild (not unlike the man himself -- and we love him for both those reasons). All in all, it was very different from mine, and guests knew whose guac was whose (we agreed it should be a blind test next time) but when the chips fell, I stood thoroughly vanquished. The fact that Kylie favored mine made me feel a little better, as did the "secret ingredient" I had been sipping while making my guac.
On a day when the Phillies lost possession of first place in the National League East and the Flyers lost Game 2 of the NHL Stanley Cup Finals, I took my beating like the bitter third of the "tri-f@#$-ta" that it was. Unlike some Philly fans, however, I did not conk Colin over the head with a bottle of Belvedere, taze him, throw up on him, or even "boo" him. I simply savored the great assortment of grilled meats that are ubiquitous at any Colin Campbell-hosted function, watched Kylie flutter around in the swimming pool like the tiny puffer fish she is, and vowed someday to have my revenge.
Because a man bent on revenge is always more interesting.
Stay hungry my friends.
