The Giants, that is. Is it criminal to expect a repeat performance in the game defined by the adage "Any Given Sunday"? Would it have been so completely bonkers to watch Eli Manning manning it up (pun intended) against the Eagles to finish what has certainly been an impressive season?
While the Giants were busy making their mistakes yesterday afternoon (stop passing up the middle already!), I was busy making some mistakes of my own. It might actually be impossible to watch American football in the company of food that is not fried, beige, and generally unhealthy. And any teetotaler will tell you that football season is the one exception to the "don't drink on Sundays" rule.
I ended up at a sports bar in Astoria. I had one criteria when choosing this particular bar: Buffalo wings. My friend, more moved by the game than by the game food, figured that Broadway Station, a pub located at the Broadway stop on the N train, would be big enough to guarantee a seat during a high-octane hometown game.
We did get a seat and we did get wings. They were small (strike one), breaded (strike two), and not nearly spicy enough (yerrrrrrrr out). Baby back ribs met with more success, fatty beef ribs falling off the bone and lacquered with sticky sweet BBQ sauce. The ribs came with vinegary cole slaw festooned with mustard seeds.
To continue my artery-clogging afternoon, I supplemented our meaty snacks with a plate of onion rings (bread battered, not the beer battered variety) and a Caesar salad. The lettuce itself was pretty unremarkable grocery store greenage, but the dressing was thick, tangy, and surely made with plenty of mayonnaise.
I washed this down with a Magic Hat No. 9--apricot-flavored hippie beer from Vermont--a Diet Coke, and a glass of water, because variety is the spice of life.
Astoria, NY 11106