Beer and Burgers Bought by Boys

I could definitely focus this recipe on the colonoscopy that I had done on Monday. But I won't. Too easy.

Ingredients
"In the modern dating world, dating-app-induced offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated desperate under-35s who investigate these vicious wireless encounters are members of an elite squad known as Most of Your Single Friends. These are their (my) stories."
* All line spacing is original line spacing.
* Italics are mine. 

- Once "matched," the following first lines in a chat:

• What sign are you?
• What's your spirit animal?
• You're cute
  Ill give you a shot
• Stop. You're f*#%ing 
  Hot.
  
  

- The following complete misses, within chat:

• Must be difficult to break into. (re: acting)
• What kind of acting do you do?
• What type of acting do you do?
• What sort of acting do you do?
• Do you want to be a Broadway star one day?/I still haven't had the chance to go see a Broadway show, but I hear it's worth it!
• Learned a new hangover remedy, a few tablespoons of honey before you pass out gets the alcohol out quicker and gets you some vitamins you lose.
• What's your favorite peanut butter style: creamy, crunchy, extra crunchy, or variable I haven't contemplated? (OK, this was actually really good. A+)
• Hey, go Golden Flashes! My sister graduated from Kent.
  Nice. For fashion?
  (Apparently that's the only thing a female can study at Kent.) Physical therapy.
  
• Acting. And you?
  That's partially true lol.
  Partially true?
  I feel like we're always acting anyway
  Very profound, I agree.
  I'm glad
  But you're just better at it
  High confidence you have in me!
  Why shouldnt I haha
  Well, I could be a horrible actor.
  I guess, you would know miss city girl from good old Ohio
  
  
  
  ...(later on...)
  I never really realized how nice Ohioans are, but ppl keep telling me!
  Believe them
  :)
  Are you blushing
  Haha
  Me too.
  (Never said I was) And why is that
  I'm crushing on you
  That was fast.
  Way to kill the mood
  Woops
  Hmm

- And this entire conversation:

• How is 2015 for you so far?
  Hi, there. It's been pretty sleepy. But my friend from home was in, so good! You?
  Aw. Good so far but I think I know of a way to make it even better... what are you up to later?
  (air hockey?)
  Are you asking me to play air hockey?
  haha yes if you are up for it
  Typically I'd ignore someone asking me out this quickly, but I just have to give a nod to this very unique request. Haha.
  But I'm working. 
  Nice
  And yeah I just feel like 5 minutes in person equates to about 50 text messages
  But what happens after those 5 minutes?
  You listen to your gut
  It's so much easier to read someone in 3D
  You never just feel a vibe?
  I mean. Sure. I guess. I like to get to know someone.
  Yeah, it makes sense
  Totally kosher(end of conversation)

Instructions

What have you gotten yourself into. A few things to note before we get started:

1. I have just given you actual transcripts of real conversations I have had using my dating app. Please understand the power you have. Please forgive me.

2. I included the hangover tip simply because I think it might be a good hangover tip.

3. I did indeed tell someone that my new year had been, so far, "pretty sleepy." This is indication of how little I try, and how fantastic that is. 

Also, real quick, you won't get very far in this read without understanding how Hinge (that's the nameless dating app I keep referring to) works: 

1. Rifle through really old Facebook "photos of you" so Hinge won't automatically use your most recent profile pictures, which are all show posters.
2. Peruse the daily batches of guys Hinge chooses for you, based on: 
   a. your Facebook mutual friends 
   b. your preferences, which it creepily learns
3. "Favorite" as many of the Ivy-league grads and Ohioans (it's gotten to know you so well) as you wish, anonymously.
4. If Mr. Ohio-born Columbia University Grad Working at Comedy Central also favorites you, you're a "match!" and Hinge suggests the most hilarious things in your chat window:
   a. You know you can't gaze into each other's eyes through your phone. You're both up for drinks!
   b. Oui really think it's time you turned this chat into a rendezvous. You're both up for coffee!
   c. You're both so awesome, it'd be a crying shame if you didn't meet. You're both up for drinks!

Let's begin with "Stop. You're f*#%ing 

Hot." First of all, slow down with the excitement and take the proper measures of fitting all of the parts of your sentence into one message. Secondly, after two days of my not responding to this person who thought I was "hot" enough to use a one-word demand, vulgarity, and extra space, he sent the following message: "So, are you from Oberlin, Ohio? (I'm originally from Sandusky.)" 

LEAD WITH THAT! Why, why on this blessed earth would you ever choose to lead with "stop, you're f*#%ing hot" or "you're cute, I'll GIVE YOU A SHOT" instead of an innocent, nice question using common ground?? This guy consciously (or, hell, probably unconsciously; we can only hope) chose to order me to obey him based solely upon appearance over saying... well, anything else. *You don't have to be much of a feminist to find offense in a complete stranger demanding you to do something, simply because you look like a female. 

*Or so I hope, so I hope, so I hope, so I hope.

*You also don't have to be much of a feminist to not jump for joy when a stranger-male blesses you with the "shot" to look at or talk to him.

*Or so I hope, so I hope, so I hope, so I hope.

But you also don't have to be much of a feminist to know that using Hinge is OK and does not make you a slut.

Here's the thing: I hate that I'm using this app. I really do. However, it's because I wish I didn't have to. I wish I had the type of job and social life or apartment building and group of friends or whatever and whatalways to not require the use of Hinge in my life, but alas here I am. It took a while of me feeling sorry for my lonely self to realize that I wasn't dating not only because I didn't have any clear prospects, but also because I was afraid and knew nothing about dating. Nothing about the dating, at least-- the act of going on dates. Especially in New York City. Oh, who am I kidding, really anywhere. I still have no idea what's expected, what's typical, where you go, what you do, what you talk about. That's OK, though; if you're like me and don't date a lot, or maybe you don't want to date at all, or maybe you could give a rat's flying behind either way, you'll live and you'll find your way. What's not OK is that I have been entirely deplete of the knowledge that there are handfuls of men/boys out there waiting and happy to PAY for my DINNER at RESTAURANTS. 

This is where I have failed myself. I had to stop (not because I was f*#%ing hot), and think out loud, and pace around a little, multiple times to multiple people, to fully comprehend that all I had to do was "offer to pay"-- aka half-assedly pull my raggedy old college Vera Bradley wristlet excuse for a wallet out-- and my male counterpart would take care of everything! I go out to eat/drink/exist NEVER, 90% because I can't afford to. Enter males with real jobs! Hello, can I take your coat? Oh, wait, someone else is going to do that, because we're at a real restaurant, like, with a waiter! I've wasted so much time...

Now, I know what you're thinking. Oh, Anna, you were just all pro-feminism and now you're buying into old fashioned, outdated traditions that the guy must pay on the first date? 

No, absolutely not! Because I see no reason why he should stop paying after the first date. Listen, if I had a salaried position or made any continual, living wage, then yes-- yes, obviously I would legitimately offer and even insist on covering the bill on the first date, and more to come. There's no reason why two working adults can't split the costs of their dates with each other. Problem is, I'm not a working adult. I'm a baby adult who works some things called part-time jobs. I have no money, but pretty much every guy who fits my *criteria for dating is going to have money. They will definitely have money. Buying two meals or two drinks is not nearly as monumental a deal for them as it is for me. Someone once asked me if I'm offended that a date might assume that to be true, based on my profession as an actor. Um, the answer is No because they assumed correctly! I know plenty of actors who live off mommy and daddy's money, or got super lucky and found a high-paying day job or, heck, a paid acting job, and they could surely pay for a meal or two. I'd be offended if I were one of those actors and a guy assumed that I was destitute, based only on the fact that I was a "starving actor" (yuck!). Nope, these dates of mine have guessed correctly based on many more context clues other than my career choice: my living location, the number of jobs I have, how many times I complain about how much things in this world cost, my previous living locations,  my entire family's professions, potentially my wardrobe, etc. I'm not going to lie to them, so why should I expect them to buy into a lie that was never there to begin with? And why miss out on a nice free meal. Seems stupid. 

* AT THE MOMENT, calm down

* criteria = has a job, makes some sort of money, over 5'7, can confidently and/or comfortably discuss colonoscopies & stand-up comedy in the same conversation

I'd like to mention that I have been on one (1) date(s) via Hinge. I feel like that's important to note that the extent of my involvement is matching and chatting. Since my singledom began this fall, I have, though, gone on a few non-Hinge (like, from real life) dates with someone, in which I first learned of this males-with-jobs phenomenon. This was also where I learned that this phenomenon can be very similar to the phenomenon where guys (and gals) will do almost anything-- perform superhuman feats, pay for someone else's meal-- when it leads to the possibility of sex. Well, that may be why you're paying for my meal or ticket or drink, but I could honestly care less. Because, either way, you're not getting any, and, either way, I'm getting something for free. 

Of course I'd wildly prefer for that not to be the reason a guy goes out with and pays for me. Of course I'd like to hang out with a nice guy who's cool and smart and funny and respects my cool smart funniness in a nice way-- so much so that I'd even pay! I choose to use Hinge instead of Tinder-- for obvious reasons of why someone like me would choose anything over Tinder. I also choose it because of the painfully slow way it opens and the quick way it crashes, along with its 100% guarantee for intellectually enticing conversation. Nah, I choose it because it uses your mutual friends on Facebook. The only matches you'll see are friends of friends or third degree connections. I'm already afraid of dating, so I chose the least scary dating app/site. You know someone I know? Great. That's a non-mathematically sound 70% less chance you're a serial killer. 

So, in conclusion, there's no way I'd ever have the opportunity to experience the restaurant or bar scene in NYC without--

GUYS, THIS IS BIG OH MY GOSH, AS WE TYPE/READ, I HAVE A MAJOR UPDATE FOR YOU!

OH MYLANTA! This is pure gold and I simply can't ignore it. Please, please everyone, help me formulate the perfect response by posting in the comments section below what you think I should reply. 

I'm serious! Use that comments section!

Oh. This is happening in real time. So funny. This is why I keep this app around. 

How Would You Like Your Christmas Calories?: Soy Sauce and Ice Cream

Ingredients

• (what feels like) 1 million f-ugly Buckeyes made, upsetting to all involved except your stomach and taste buds, yeaahhh!
• 2 Jewish friends who share your sensitive stomach but not your love & knowledge of "A Christmas Story"
• An entire pew to yourself at Christmas Eve Midnight Mass
• 1 nine-month-old maniacal cat
• 11 hours
• 1 fancy Italian restaurant open on Christmas
• 11 hours
• All of the New Zealanders in NYC
• 4 stolen petit fours leftovers stashed in coat check, like bread in "Aladdin"
• 1 very sexist man who wears a coat
• 11 hours
• 1 puking man
• Circling back to my Jewish friends, 1 (affordable) restaurant open on Christmas: Chinese food 

Instructions

I lied. CVS is also open on Christmas. It's 24 hours, bitches, 365 days a year. There, I purchased my first-ever pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream that wasn't their fro-yo and also bought in a dorm using my college meal plan points. No, this was the real deal: an entire pint of normal Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream at the original, non-sale price. Chocolate & vanilla ice cream with fudge brownies & gobs of chocolate chip cookie dough. And Chinese food. At 11:00pm on my orange futon.

Now, how did I end up here, eating legit not-dietarily-modified-at-all chicken and broccoli with white rice out of a giant styrofoam container until my sides burst, only to follow up with half a pint of full fat, overpriced ice cream-- on Christmas Day? Have I mentioned I was alone? (Sans the maniacal cat I'm cat-sitting, of course. His name is Anton.)

My Christmas Story is a funny one. It's not rather interesting. It's funny maybe only to me. Perhaps it's simply sad, and nothing else. Or it's just... nothing, and nothing else. But I'm going to recall it to you in the form of a classic Christmas poem, pronounced "pohm". That way, after you read it, you shall rest your head down, dream of dancing candy, and receive gifts under a plant in your home, which was broken into by an old man.

Light your fires, or turn on Yule Log on Hulu:

'Twas the year without Christmas, and all through NYC

No one cared you were here. No one bought you a tree.

So your garland was hung on the wall with pushpins,

Your ornaments, too, except those forgot in the box, like shut-ins. 

The Buckeyes were made with such high expectations,

As no one outside Ohio has any inclination

Of what majesty they bring to your mouth and your Christmas,

Even when your first-time-alone batch is semi-ambitious.

As the Ohioan sou chef of a highly acclaimed restaurant understood,

"They were good. Visually, not so good." 

For from an old brownstone in Bushwick they came,

Where you melted dark chocolate like one dumb and lame.

Alas, my first sans-mom Buckeyes look dreadful,

Making their appearance and tasting at this fancy restaurant stressful.

But everyone working there's strangely from Ohio,

How else would you get this job, checking Burberry coats like there's no tomorrow?

Showing high business clients to their tables so swiftly,

Ignoring sexist "can you handle these two coats on your arm?"-- No, really.

Alas, this is the reason why you weren't home for Christmas,

For when you apply for a job in December, you clearly missed

The underground agreement that you'll work on the holiday.

That's fine, though; you didn't want to fly home again anyway!

It's helpful your mom flew in the weekend before--

Her "I-haven't-flown-in-thirty-years" record no more!--

And that you'll be flying home soon for a colonoscopy. 

Anyways, who's left in New York for a Christmas Eve party?!

Two of your best friends, who happen to be Jewish, (other) Anna and Melanie!

Every dish you make to accommodate gluten-, dairy-, & FODMAP-free

Turns out to explode, burn the oven, or not be real tasty.

In accordance with what your dad advises for a Christmas Eve bash, 

"Good food good friends good movies", you didn't do too bad!

Because of work, you won't have time for mass the next morning,

So you head to your first Midnight Mass to find your Prince Charming.

(That's your mom's response to your first trip to any new church--

That you'll meet a nice Catholic boy to help you out of your lurch.)

At 1am, your walk back home, you pass drunken reindeers at bars, 

Fellow holiday orphans who, instead of an 8am start, get cigars.

"Now, Mother! now, Father! now, Sister! now,-- KITTEN!"

You Skype with each parent, and with your temp. cat they're smitten.

But, alas, fifteen minutes with each is all that you get,

For a train you must catch to your Christmas Day hosting minuet!

11am to... whenever! That's the shift you will work.

There are so many others battling this here with you, you can't help but smirk.

But just as you do, you know it won't last;

You predict a moment where you will all break-- you see it in a flash.

You try to ignore it as folks start to arrive,

Until you notice a dreadful trend that simply won't jive.

Jive is a horrible word in this context, merely used to rhyme--

What I mean is THESE PEOPLE WERE ALL FOREIGNERS WHO WOULDN'T TIP A DIME!

No, not a dollar for coat check! On Christmas, of all days!

A marathon shift, all you had going was hope of high pay!

How could you be so naive, thinking they'd take pity on the hostesses?

The considerate family-minded are at home with their families on Christmases!

Who else would be at this restaurant, paying for a Christmas pre fixe

But overseas tourists whose native custom is not to tip?

New Zealander after Brit strolled in with puffy coats through the door,

Even though it was sixty degrees out, there came more and more and more and more...

The key sexist man, the only truly offensive guy so far:

When you returned with two coats, he refused to take "the lady's", so you stood silently by the bar,

You holding her mink until she returned from the restroom,

Only to be met with another demand, from which you looked to fellow hosts for rescue:
"Help her into it." Help her into it?! Say it nicely, at least!

This was at Hour 8, by George, you were gritting your teeth. 

Oh, sir, we are not your servants; coat-checking is not our CAREER.
Apparently, to you, sir, our life's calling is hosting your fine dining-- sorry, to us, that wasn't clear.
The muscles in your face tightened ever so,
And this wasn't even that breaking point, ohhhh, no no no!
Finally, after a knock-down, drag-out professional discussion of who got to leave and who got to close,
You left second (yay!), and could finally, ruthlessly blow your nose.
Now began your true Christmas, your extremely deserved celebration.
You hadn't planned on eating after work, but your bitter exhaustion had a better response to starvation.


"What's open at 10:15pm on Christmas night?" was a question you were excited to answer,
As you knew, from "A Christmas Story" and your Jewish friends, that Chinese food was standard. 
Why there were tourists outside taking pictures of the Lord & Taylor windows
And the New York Public Library at this hour on Christmas, you'll never know; 
Or why a young man projectile vomited onto the subway tracks 
Right next to you and, for whatever reason, you didn't even react; 
Or why you were sweating in December instead of dodging stray icicles--
These Christmas mysteries exist alongside Christmas miracles. 
Yes, that one Chinese place around the corner from your apartment
That you swore to never get was open, its old, weathered picture menu lit up and ardent.
You waited maybe four minutes for your food; man, that was fast.
Though usually it'd make you sick, you enjoyed it with Netflix, at last!

SNL, duck sauce, and Half Baked Ice Cream;
A cat like a dog on Adderall, to whom every ten minutes you scream.
So you didn't eat your mom's cookies, your gifts shipped too late to your family;
You missed your cousin's engagement and Marr-famous dinner rolls from Aunt Sandy.
This Christmas belonged to you, and you alone--
Your first New York Christmas, your first away from home.
You got to share Christmas Eve with friends who don't know it,
Though you didn't have the clam dip, lasagna, tenderloin, and trifle to show it...
And, let's be honest, you missed your cousin's wedding engagement--
It literally happened on Christmas, your mom was there, important situation.
But still! The fugly yet delicious Buckeyes do freeze in your freezer,
A cat is asleep on your futon, and you ain't no Ebenezer.
You are off on New Year's Eve-- well, except for 8am to 3...
But who the hell cares! You make cash, nap, then PARTY.

Let's all now exclaim, ere you sneak out of sight--
"Happy Christmas to all, and don't puke near me New Year's Eve night!"

Buckeyes, & Other Ohio Nuts

 *WARNING: Actual Recipe Included*

Ingredients

• 3 unnecessarily humungous supermarkets in 3 days (that's 1 a day), voluntarily 

  

  Our regional grocery store is "Giant Eagle." Picture, if you, will a giant eagle. And how that might possibly relate to food.

• Your wallet's magnetic draw towards Kohl's (at least twice), where everything appears basically free
• An evening with your best friends catered entirely by Aldi's Supermarket, which excites you almost as much as learning about Aldi's new products every time you come home
• 1 elevator ride in which an old man tells you that you look like Taylor Swift
• A sip of your very first Great Lakes Brewery Christmas Ale, treated like an initiation into adulthood

  

  No, I didn't have the ice cream. We all know I would've preferred that.

• A very "costly" restaurant with unexpected "steep prices." Like $24 for an entree. Hahahahahahahahaha. Oh... (Did I leave my $17 cocktail in New York?)
• 40°F when you enter your aunt's house for Thanksgiving dinner
• 20°F, 2 feet of snow, and a legitimate doubt of your ability to drive to your home 2 minutes away when you leave your aunt's house from Thanksgiving dinner
• 60°F and sweating 2 days later
• Black Friday Shopping including 2, and only 2, stops: The Olive Scene and Swan Creek Candle Company (olive oil & candles, respectively)
• 1 library card that NEVER EXPIRES, which you "lose" about once a year and instead present your ID and thus  NEVER have to replace (Said library is not part of any library system; totally isolated; you'll be a member forever.)

  

  So old.

• A surge of comfort, togetherness, and confidence as you look among the other women standing in the security line at the Cleveland Hopkins Airport
• The feeling of dread as you roll your 12-year-old, army green children's suitcase down the terminal toward the gate boarding for New York City, where, awaiting you, are women decades older and yet decades thinner
  *If for some reason you don't notice this, um, it really should be very obvious due to their casual plane attire of $100 patterned yoga leggings and baggy/strategically drapey black sweaters.
• A fall Sunday in Cleveland, which one can identify by wondering whether the large amount of people in the airport is due to all of these people flying or all of these people watching the Brown's game in the airport bar
  *There are a lot of Browns jerseys and not a lot of movement towards flight gates, so you should lean Browns Backers. 
• Flying on the same airplane as you: 1 couple with a 5'5 man in an oversized & dwarfing Browns jersey and a tiny woman carrying a French bulldog who is also wearing a Browns jersey. Though they zip him into a tote bag that reveals only the dog's head,  you can still tell he's a Browns fan just by the way he's sitting there... waiting for something good to happen... fairly confident it will, but knowing that, in all reality, he could be in this bag forever...

Instructions

As we walked in the 30° cold at 10:30 in the morning on an un-iced and unpopulated sidewalk in Vermillion, OH, my mom exclaims, "Isn't this fun? This is so much fun!" Yeah, right, I thought. But then I realized, counter-arguing my internal monologue: Heck, yeah. Heck yes this is fun, Mother. Because this is how we spend time together. This is how we spend our Black Friday. This is how we shop for fine olive oils and soybean wax candles. This is HOW WE DO.

Not only did I receive my free hand-painted olive branch salt cellar and spoon, having been one of the first 100 customers (we woke up early to get there at the 10am opening; my aunt and cousin weren't far behind us; we were the only ones in the store), but, the next day, I got to walk around historic Main Street Amherst for Small Business Saturday with my step-mom and witness which stores have kept their integrity and which have gone down the Pandora Vera Bradley Switch-Flop wormhole. I'm telling you, we know how to have a good time. 

And the next day, before my 2pm flight, before our 12:30pm departure from Amherst, after I woke up at the ungodly hour of 8am solely for this particular activity, my mother and I made buckeyes. Buckeyes. Glorious, chocolate, peanut butter, soft, hard, delectable, traditional, so little understood Ohio buckeye candies. Or cookies. I consider them a Christmas cookie, but these morsels are... Well, truly, they're in their own category. 

Tell me you don't know what this is, especially since I've mentioned it once already in a previous recipe:

Oh. Woops. Sorry, my mistake. Wrong buckeye. That's Brutus. He's... yeah... he is a "buckeye"-- his head is a buckeye. He's the OSU mascot, and clearly a little bit forced. Anyways.

Woah, woah, woah! No! Is that-- Is that still Brutus? Sheesh, Brutus, buddy, you've had a rough past. Then again, you are from Ohio, so, understandable. We've all been there-- feeling, maybe looking, like poo. It's OK, because look at you now! A big star for a big team in the Big 10. Congratulations, Brut. Now, can you please leave us alone, so I can get on with explaining my favorite Christmas non-cookie?

Mmmm. There we go. Let's take an more in-depth look.

Yesss. There it is, that buttery, semi-soft, ridiculously rich peanut butter center. 

What about these balls is not appealing?

[Clear nod to one of my favorite SNL sketches of all time, Schweddy Balls, and it's reemergence at this time every year. Merry Christmas, Alec Baldwin.]

This holiday season, my first of, I'm sure, many gifts to enhance the greater good, is the recipe to make your very own traditional Ohio Christmas Buckeye. You have no idea-- You're welcome. 

They think Reduced Fat Jif, stationed next to an entire box of butter, is going to make a difference.

I give to you, shockingly, 52 Recipes of Disaster's first ever real recipe:

The *Best Part About Being from Ohio
1 1/2 cups Jif® Creamy Peanut Butter 

  Or 1 1/2 cups Smucker's® Natural Creamy Peanut Butter

  Or whatever high quality sugar-infested peanut butter goodness you want to include (PEANUT butter. That's    right, no almond or soy or whatever fake nut you want to mash up-- PEANUT.)
1/2 cup butter, softened
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 to 4 cups powdered sugar
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips OR DARK CHOCOLATE, can you guess which is better?
2 tablespoons Crisco® All-Vegetable Shortening 

  Or butter, or any type of oil. Anything that can stop your heart, really. 

- Combine PB, butter, vanilla and salt in large bowl. Beat with an electric mixer on low until blended. 

- Add 2 cups powdered sugar, beating until blended. This is when you're going to begin to doubt me. Don't. 

- Beat in additional powdered sugar until mixture, when shaped into a ball, will stay on a toothpick. This is a legitimate measure. 

It really does get tough here, but you have to persevere. Your electric machine is probably not game enough to beat all of this powdered sugar into your peanut butter mixture, but that's OK; you can handle it. Get a wooden spoon. Finish it off yourself. 

- Shape into 1-inch balls. Refrigerate. For, like, however long your patience will remain in tact, but at least for 20 minutes. 
- Place chocolate chips and shortening in microwave-safe bowl. Microwave on medium for 30 seconds. Stir. Repeat until mixture is smooth. Reheat as needed while coating peanut butter balls. 

- Insert toothpick in peanut butter ball. Dip 3/4 of ball into chocolate, leaving top uncovered to resemble a buckeye**. Place on wax paper-lined tray. Remove toothpick. 

- Smooth over holes. (Yeah, you're gonna have 'em, 'specially as a first-timer. Major gouges call for major sampling, though, am I right?)

- Refrigerate until firm.

* Besides Cedar Point

**Jif trusts that all readers know what a buckeye looks like. I'd like to say the fine folks at Jif are a smart people, but I know, sadly, from experience, that I'm educating quiiiiite a number of individuals on what a buckeye even looks like right now. 

Variation
SPICY BUCKEYES: Add 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon and 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper with peanut butter mixture in step 1. Continue recipe as-- WHAT. I HAD NOT SEEN THIS. THIS IS PURE BLASPHEMY-- GO AWAY JIF, STOP SPREADING HATE! 

So there you have it. And you better soak it in-- this may be the one and only time that I openly praise anything from my home state. It's the holidays, people. Makes you feel things.

Two things I love? Buckeyes and, now, newly, Great Lakes Christmas Ale. Ohioans-- and some Midwesterners in other states-- stock up on cases upon cases of Christmas Ale as soon as it's released in the fall, because it only comes around once a year. Especially in Cleveland, there is no other beer than Great Lakes. And especially for Anna, there is no other beer that I will drink than one whose glass's rim is dipped in honey and coated with brown sugar. I should've said that first. 

Forever changed.

I encourage everyone, from those in Midwestern suburbs of suburbs to my friends who grew up in Beverly freaking Hills, to call upon what they love about their home state. Clearly easier for some more than others, but it really does help to have even a little pride. Oh, you heard me-- don't think I don't have pride. If you make fun of Ohio and you aren't from Ohio, Imma throw some OSU-Cedar-Point-Rock-'n-Roll-Hall-of-Fame-War-of-1812 shit down. 

Happy Holidays!