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“I swing as hard as I can…I swing big, with everything I’ve got. I hit big or I miss big. I like to live as big as I can.” -George Herman “Babe” Ruth
“Ah, good old trustworthy beer. My love for you will never die.”
The man under the cap and behind the big blue shirt.
Bobby “Bacala” Baccalieri is a shoe-in as our favorite New Jersey mobster.
Take one huge TV, add sports, beer, a couch and a bucket of wings. Mix well.
Television viewers love the working-class hero. Hand him a beer, and he becomes a God.
I think I’m going to officially call this the easiest recipe we have on the site… and hoo-boy is it tasty.
What the hell is a caribou, and why would you want to eat one? Because you can. Rudolph was a red-nosed caribou, and what an annoying little bastard he was (‘She thinks I’m cute’). He deserved to be eaten.
I first enjoyed this morsel in a funky restaurant/bar downtown in Manhattan. They are a terrific starter or a party dish. The level of heat depends on the heat of the pepper. These little buggers can burn you mouth so be careful, especially if you’re using the merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango! Grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum.
Here is an all purpose dry-rub recipe that is sure to please all of the subjects at your next barbecue. To make it interesting, we’ve included an easy to follow pork spare rib recipe.
March 17th may be the greatest day corned beef has ever known, but the day after St. Pat’s is the perfect time to mince the remains of the previous day into a hash fit to side the breakfast of kings.
Picture this: you are sunning your fat ass on a pristine white sand beach surrounded by crystal clear blue water, and a bevy of bronzed beauties. There is a cool breeze blowing constantly so you cannot feel the heat as you slowly roast yourself under the scorching afternoon sun of the Dominican Republic. Sound nice? It’s even better when you have a frosty green bottle of El Presidente Cerveza in your hand.
Welcome to Bitburger! I have to translate that for those of you who don’t speak German or have no common sense. OK, now that I’ve insulted your intelligence let’s move this thing right along…
As I usually do when I write any review, I am sitting with my PowerBook, hunting and pecking my way through this copy with one hand and holding the beer of the month in the other. This particular month… Beck’s Oktoberfest.
Picture yourself in the Big Easy. It’s a steaming, sultry, freggin’ hot July night, and college kids stagger out of Bourbon Street dives with Irish names to chuck up their happy hour hurricanes. But that’s not what brought you to N’Awlins.