“Goodness is the only investment that never fails.”
― Henry David Thoreau
― Henry David Thoreau
February 24, 25, 26th . . .
Song: "I’m Coming Out" by Diana Ross
The Wisconsin Saga continues: Between the one bar receptivity that I have been using to pirate off of somebody else’s internet and the consecutive string of Brandy laced nights, I haven’t exactly had the ability, or neurons, to bust out my daily journal. Henceforth, part two of my time here in Winter Wonderland.
Fried Bluegill, 2 pieces of Fried Chicken, 14 Barbecued Pork Ribs, 3 slices of Prime Rib . . . all you can eat for sixteen bucks. Kneut’s Bar & Grille in Oxffordville was our dining destination and it proved to be well worth the backwoods drive (which really wasn’t that inconvenient as the Suburban was loaded with an ice chest overflowing with Coors Light cans). The Boyz & I took turns whacking on this Boxing machine that registered your punch indicating whether you were a wimp or a superman. I passed the butch factor. We traversed through a few bars and ended up settling in at “the Nite Owl” for our final stretch. A veteran of the post hangover, I switched out “the Silver Bullet” for $5 Patron tequila shots accompanied with a glass of water . . I was the last man standing! Ok, my insomnia had something to do with that but none the less, I remain the champion of that which nobody should attempt.
You know you’re a redneck when:
- 1.) You shed is bigger than your house
- 2.) You buy your Coors Light beer by the pallet
- 3.) You have more than 10 dead animals hanging from your walls
- 4.) Your spittoon is a customized cup with pictures of your kids
- 5.) Your favorite color is “camouflage”
- 6.) Your truck is bigger than your Suburban
- 7.) You don’t dump your garbage, you burn it!
- 8.) You possess more than 3 chest freezers stuffed full of deceased wildlife
- 9.) Your backseat driver doubles as a bartender
- 10. You’ve named your rifles, shotguns & handguns after South Park Characters
Coincidentally, all of the above definitions of a Redneck are applicable when describing Brother Andy. Coincidentally, I didn’t exactly feel up to par the next day either . . but I pushed on through as it was Uncle Scotty time with my adorable nieces. We built a Snow Sea Turtle and finagled the construction of Mommy’s Ice Cream Cake layered with chocolate cake, Oreo chocolate mousse and brandy induced gelato. I think I put too much brandy in the ice cream as it was inclined to melt rather quickly causing the cakes to slide before I was able to properly encase the decadent layers in chocolate ganache . . or perhaps, I was moving to damn slow. Oh, my head hurt something fierce. I considered a Bloody Beer; perhaps it could repair last night’s voluminous consumption of booze, doubtful . . but I went ahead with it anyways.
My father picked me up sometime between “wicked degradation” and “complete uselessness” Some how I mustered up the ability to bust out a delicious Pork Roast nurtured by a Leinkugels Apple Spice Lager, star anise, fennel seed and fresh ginger accompanied by a Graverstein Apple Chutney and a little Wild Rocket salad. I know what you’re thinking . . . now, did you forego all rationale and elect to pick up the bottle of Sailor Jerry. Why, of course I did! Stupid, stupid, stupid . . . extending your hangover is not really anything to be proud of, but we Wagner’s have an inescapable ability to enrapture ourselves with this unchallenged quest of endurance. And no, I’m not referring to cross-country running skills.
It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’ve yet to make my homemade walleye “fish sticks” Glancing over Monday, I can tell you that I enjoyed a fried burger at “the Main Tap” with a side of fried cheese curds washed down by a Capital Brew dark lager. I can tell you that I secured my next foot forward as the Regional Event Manager for 24 Carrots Catering & Events. I can tell you that at “Toby’s” you order your dinner at the bar and drink brandy old fashioned’s until you are sat at a table adorned with your salads drenched in homemade ranch, rolls with unlimited amounts of butter, a crudités plate, dill pickle spears and frosty cinnamon buns. In due time, your meet arrives bleeding back up at you, with what else – more starch & butter. How much? $10.95 per person which would be a totally steal if we hadn’t each drunk $30 worth of alcohol! The bill arrives with a complimentary Kit Kat, Butterfinger & Reeses! And you wonder why Wisconsin holds the title as the #1 state of obesity?
Looking at the keyboard is much more satisfying than looking at my belly which has swollen a few inches since my arrival here. Might as well throw down a recipe that indoctrinates the philosophy of storing fat! I give you: the ice cream cake.
With Culinary Blessings,
Chef Scotty
Oreo Ice Cream Cake
Now, this isn’t exactly what I did . . nope! I bit off more than I could chew making my own ice cream, baking an actual cake then slicing it and attempting to make two ice cream layers stacked between two Oreo ganache layers . . all whilst a little gnome was clinging to the inside of ear drum and performing his own variation of the aria "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's "Die Zauberflote" Cool whip can also be added to the ice cream mixture for a softer transition . . you're teeth have enough on their plate with fighting sugar induced cavities!
Ingredients:
- 30 Oreo cookies
- ½ cup margarine
- 1 package of chocolate chips
- 3 beaten eggs
- 2 cups powdered sugar
- ½ gallon ice cream (any flavor of your choosing)
Directions:
- Crush 25 cookies; pat down in 9x13-inch pan.
- Melt chocolate in double boiler
- Add the margarine
- Add beaten eggs a little at a time and powdered sugar.
- Stir until warm and fudgy (do not boil).
- Spread over cookie crust.
- Freeze 30 minutes.
- Cut ice cream into sections and place in pan.
- Softened ice cream works best.
- Use a rubber spatula to smooth out top.
- Sprinkle remaining cookie crumbs on top.
- Freeze at least 2 hours, until solid.
- Cut and serve.
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