Put Thanksgiving In My Face & Then Leave Me Alone.

Our country of fat fucks are about to hit their annual apex of indulgence and I couldn’t be happier.

You see, I fancy my self a fairly learned sensualist. Certainly, at times, my adventures slant nearer towards escapes than escapades, but I’m comfortable with my batting average. And what kind of sensualist demands perfection anyway? Be it moral, idealogical or otherwise, perfection is anti-septic and boring. Sensuality lives in those lines between intent.

But there’s a great divide between properly dipping your neurons into the velvety rivers of impress and flat-lining your fat ass into a narcotic stupor with cheap, shitty food, lousy music and bad conversation. Which is why, every year at this time, I’m reminded of two of my favorite men of letters, Allan Watts and William S. Burroughs.

First, everyone’s favorite philandering philosopher, the Zoro of Zen, that drunk monk you know and love, Mr. Alan Watts:

“The commonly accepted notion that Americans are materialists is pure bunk. A materialist is one who loves material, a person devoted to the enjoyment of the physical and immediate present. By this definition, most Americans are abstractionists. They hate material, and convert it as swiftly as possible into mountains of junk and clouds of poisonous gas. “

Amen, Doctor.

And then there’s Uncle Bill, who, in his inimitable way, can carve down any bogeyman to it’s proper size, weight and gravitational pull with a few choice words.

Between these two pillars I level my gravy boat.

This year we’ll have a few selected handmade beers to enjoy during our 4 day bender:

We’ve got a decent American Pale Ale I lovingly call the Maggie Thatcher as it’s very dry, extremely bitter and the yeast has it smelling a bit like eggs. I used the White Labs WLP060 in it, so I knew that the eggy smell would be around, but figured it would pass. Maggie’s been sitting for about a month now and she’s still a stinker. I actually kind of like the sulphur stink a bit and the agressive dryness of the yeast is impressive, but it’s hard to convince other people that her sulphur stank is all that “interesting”. I probably won’t be using WLP060 again.

We’ve also got a yummy belgian golden strong ale weighing in at 7.77% ABV and named for another brit, this one a queen. The Golden Dawn has been given it’s title in honor of that fat little cocksucker Aleister Crowley and his first hermetic society. This was made with the Achouffe yeast and some spices. It’s really quite good and a little fruity, just like Frater Perdurabo.

Lastly, we’ve got the Lemmy, an 11% coffee stout that clocks in at about 51 SRM, made with Metropolis coffee. We monkeyed around with a couple different ways to get the coffee into this, but found that racking on top of coarsely ground coffee and letting it sit for 60 hours was the best way to get the most flavor without any shitty side effects. Thanks to the Jamil show and the guys at Terrapin for this bit of insight.

There’s our beverage profile. Add into that a few bottles of decent bourbon, some Bailey’s and a theives ransom of coffee and we should be solid. Some red ambulance never hurt either.

For food this year I think we’ll try something different and make a Turkey on Thursday and then maybe eat shredded Turkey and mayo sandwiches for the rest of the weekend. But, seriously, why mess with success? There is a Platonic ideal that is the Thanksgiving Turkey and to stray too far from that premise is treasonous at best. But, since we’re talking about it, I did come across a recipe for braising the turkey that sounds amazing. Seriously, say that slowly with me: Braised Turkey.

So there you have it: turkey, beer, and booze. Throw in some guns and bath salts and we can send off this holiday with the panache it requires.

My money is on Green Bay.

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