Today was the day. Nine months of speculation and anticipation had brought to term the love child of the unholy alliance of the King and Queen of the ballpark. Yes, I’m talking Bratchos. Since that fateful trip to old Busch Stadium last April, the idea had been percolating: what if we were to mix bratwurst and nachos? In all honesty, we were pretty sure the world would collapse into the black hole of awesomeness created by the supernova of taste.
Thankfully, that was not the case. I am, however, quite pleased to report that Bratchos were a big success. Everyone gathered over at Kenny and Krissy’s for the Super Bowl tonight, although the game clearly played second fiddle to the smorgasbord. Hot wings, boozy dogs, egg rolls, unpronouncable greek spinach pastries and Bratchos all contributed to the general feeling of bloatedness, but the Bratchos were my sentimental favorite. Mmmmm, bratchos.
In other news, the game was OK (I’m glad the Steelers won), and the commercials were actually pretty good. My favorite was the Sprint phone with crime deterrent, while Jen’s was the Budweiser baby-clydesdale-pulls-the-wagon-with-secret-help one. It made her cry from the cuteness.
Also: Super Mario Strikers rules almost as much as Bratchos. That is all.