I’ve often accused my husband of being a fair weather fan of our local sports teams, yet it couldn’t be farther from the truth.  No, I’d qualify for the position far more than he ever could given the amount of time he spends cheering and, yes, jeering about their wins and far too frequent losses.  As much as I’ve been right there in the excitement of recent years of Super Bowl possibilities, watching the resident menfolk high-five one another after a good play, and engage in exuberant chest bumping when the Chargers squeaked out a win, this year, I just don’t have it.  Sure, the game is on each Sunday and I usually can be found in the kitchen about that time, but I’m sadly just not interested.  I’m whispering, mind you, because you just can’t say that very loudly around here.

The best I can do is think about what to cook for the “occasion” knowing that I’ll have a small group of men interested in food when the action on the field isn’t going our way — and it often seems not to.  Although they’re often subjected to my routine experimentation, I do occasionally treat them to food that is more in line with what one may want on game day.

Like Buffalo Wings — or more accurately — Hot Wings.

My husband loves Gorgonzola, so guess what’s in the sauce?  And then there’s the crazy Asian hot sauce.  Mmmm….

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