(Image courtesy of www.anniesbarn.com)
As you're celebrating on Sunday with over-the-top Super Bowl parties I'll be doing something a little bit different. Don't worry I'll still be watching the game but it's going to be in an environment of angst, superstition and prayer.
This is because my husband, who takes his Kansas City Chiefs football very seriously, won't be able to watch the game in a party hearty atmosphere. Oh, no this man requires a Super Bowl habitat that will have zero distractions so he can concentrate one hundred percent on the action taking place on the field via his big screen T.V. It's as if he harbors the fear that if he doesn't give the Chiefs his entire brain space they'll somehow lose.
As for superstitions discussions have already taken place on me replicating exactly what I served on February 2, 2020, when the Chiefs won the Super Bowl and to not repeat any of the snacks present when they lost the Super Bowl in 2021. This presents a big problem because who remembers what they served as Super Bowl snacks two and three years ago? Not me, that's for sure.
The one thing I'm certain about is that pigs in a blanket were on the snack table for both of those Super Bowls mainly because I love pigs in a blanket. Is it even a football party without pigs in a blanket? I don't think so. And just to be clear I'm talking about the real deal pigs in a blanket. Meaning wrapping tiny smoked sausages in dough that comes out a can that you open by relentlessly banging it on your kitchen counter.
Have you noticed how every Super Bowl some chefs and other fancy pants try to class up pigs in a blanket with puff pastry and la-di-da cheeses that are hard to pronounce like butterkäse? Okay, we can all pronounce butter so this may not be the best example, but you know what I mean.
The real culinary crime though is the audacity of upgrading the grocery store tiny teeny smoked sausage into uppity gourmet pork like mortadella. I have tested this version of pigs in a blanket and it was a very sad experience. (Sorry not sorry to lovers and purveyors of fine Italian meats.)
If there's one thing I know in this world it's that pigs in a blanket are the perfect Super Bowl food and don't require an upgrade. It would be like saying Patrick Mahomes needs an upgrade and that's just pure blasphemy that no one with any sense would utter or really even entertain the thought.
If you're now, logically thinking, "Well, girl at least you can enjoy the halftime show," you'd be wrong. The Super Bowl halftime for me will not be about the song stylings and magnificent and probably controversial wardrobe choices of Rihanna. It will be thirty minutes of quiet reflection, meditation and prayer that the Chiefs either hold on to their lead and/or start getting more touchdowns.
If the Chiefs are losing at half you can count on my husband needing to take two baby aspirin as a preventative measure to ward off a heart attack and going outside to take a walk to calm down. If this happens, I'll be in my kitchen self-medicating with, yep, you guessed it, pigs in a blanket.
The bottom line is I will gladly and eagerly follow through with all my husband's Chief's Super Bowl rituals if it somehow in the football cosmos of luck, superstitions and positive thinking brings home a win. But I'm thinking our amazing Chiefs have got this (No offense to all you devoted lovers of the Eagles.) and all they need from their fans is to yell loud and enjoy sausages wrapped in canned dough.
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Whatever the Super Bowl outcome here's something that we can all cheer for - books! 
So if you love reading how about giving my books a lookie-loo. There's Empty a "laugh till you cry" menopausal revenge adventure. Back to School is a hysterical read for any mom whose experienced elementary school parent drama. Trouble in Texas is a tall tale of what happens when a daughter lets her septuagenarian mom enlist her in a wild scheme that could end up with both of them in jail. And Four Seasons of Snarky is full of short stories (perfect for the person who doesn't have much time to read) that feature tales of suburban revenge.
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