Week sixteen
The game: Patriots at Jets
The beer: Stone Coffee Milk Stout
The result: Win, 17–16
The commentary: It’s rarely easy with these teams. I spelled it out after the Pats won in October’s first meeting, and adding this one to the pile the Pats come out three cumulative points ahead from 2013 to 2014. Three wins, one loss… three points! I still don’t know what happened with that fourth-quarter “first down” by Amendola. Rex Ryan thought he was short and challenged the spot… why? It is fourth down, stupid! Oh. Oh? Weird sequence, with vague officiating and confused broadcasters keeping it foggy. I wonder what will become of this generally competitive rivalry should Ryan be shown the door.

The stout was purchased at a charming local shop we like to support. Unfortunately I’m pretty sure it was skunked because it had that essence of temperature/storage/sea-level fluctuations my in-laws favor with the Sam Adams they buy for me whenever we visit still stock after buying a case for me three years ago. The dusty bottle and general desperation as the lone stout in the fridge—behind several new arrivals—was a sign unto me that I ignored. Even A. was unimpressed, and she goes batshit over coffee-flavored stouts and porters. What a woman!

Week seventeen
The game: Bills at Patriots
The beer: Wachusett Winter Ale
The result: Loss, 17–9
The commentary: We hosted nine family members for Christmas. It was the first time we formally hosted a dinner party, formally hosted a exo-July holiday party (we used to rage on the fourth: Guitar Hero, pounds of shrimp and giant bottles of Evan Williams with which to spike one’s Coke for the walk to beachfront fireworks), formally or otherwise cooked anything resembling an actual turkey (do two bone-in breast-meat carcasses count?), etc. My homemade stuffing was popular but a little too sweet for me because of the apples—I decided against adding onions because I thought they would make it too greasy but I should have tossed in a few tablespoons. Garlic too. The chili (merry Christmas?) was also popular as it should have been because it’s fucking delicious.

The day was a total success, and not only because of all the wine everyone brought. G. was a star and it’s amazing how patient she was while A. and I assured her “Honey, we have to wait to open presents” while scrambling to get everything ready. I woke up around six because I’d never gotten around to making the stuffing the night before (following an adorable ride home with G. on the train) and I was concerned with how long it would hog the oven—the oven that so desperately needed to begin cooking the birds as soon as possible. Preparation took three times longer than it needed to, as always, because I’m not very coordinated in the kitchen and we have deceptively little counter space.

Next were the potatoes, which would take four hours in the slow cooker. No way I synch everything up correctly but fuck it, no one would care. They would have been happy with frozen pizza if it came down to it so long as they got to watch G. work on puzzles and dance around, often at the same time. Hours and hours of my award-winning Christmas playlist would fill in any lulls. There were none.

The main course went in a little later than I wanted, even after cutting few available corners with the herb butter. Those extra minutes counted though since I wasn’t convinced they were fully thawed out after forty-eight hours in the fridge—the huge chunks of ice I removed from the cavities were one indication. Shit. Panic? Nah. Frozen pizza would be done in half an hour. After a spell of wondering where to put all the wine (a great holiday problem) and if the meatballs were hot enough (ditto) I called my dad into the kitchen to see what he thought about the turkeys. I mean, they looked like turkeys, but what do I know? “Probably going to be awhile,” said without the least bit of skepticism or concern. Not the news I was hoping for, though the delivery was appreciated. (Anyone for pizza?) We opened another couple of the Wachusett Winters he brought, which are actually defined as Scotch ales on the label. I almost bought some myself but feared it wouldn’t be crowd-friendly if it leaned more toward the overly spiced Harpoon seasonal and away from the wonderfully restrained Sam Adams one, and so got an IPA and a smoked black lager (crowd-friendly?) instead. But. The Wachusett is one of the best new beers I’ve tried in a long time. With all the beer we still have it’s graduated to an elite drink-everything-else-first-and-save-these-for-later tier reserved for only the best. Another great holiday problem. Anyway, the turkeys turned out nicely. They popped about when I was hoping and probably could have cooked another hour but that’s the takeaway. Next year’s will be better. And so will the stuffing.

What’s that you say? The Bills won at the Big Razor for the first time ever? You must be kidding. See you in the playoffs.

Up next: Re-watching the first season of Dexter because A. and I only ever saw the edited episodes on CBS. It’s fun to root for a consistently good team. Happy new year!