I can’t claim to be a fan of the Super Bowl. I can claim to be a fan of Super Bowl food. On Super Bowl Sunday, I like to just go where the food and friends are. This year, I’m spending my first Super Bowl living with a major football fan. Although this might have inspired me to go all out, making a huge spread to signify the date, I instead just gave into a day of low on the foodie chain fare: beer, potato chips and dip, chicken wings, and frozen pizza. No fuss. Lots of muss.
Isn’t the binge really the point of Super Bowl Sunday? Binging on sports. Binging on male comraderie. Binging on over-budget commercials and even more over-budget commercial slots. I’m from a family of people who didn’t ever watch football. Yet, I remember my dad having Super Bowl parties for the youth groups in which spreads of food and bowls of chili were passed around with gusto. I more recently have found out more about football from playing touch football with my boyfriend and his friends, but I still don’t really know enough to watch the Super Bowl with intrigue and insight. Still, I’ve been to many a Super Bowl party. Why? Why not?
In the middle of February, with cold air and post Christmas food binging repentance keeping the ewie-gooie and fatty-fried as far away as possible, don’t we all need a reason to just have a day to stop battling the bulge?
Over Super Bowl weekend, Americans will eat 1.25 billion wings. We will have drunk 325.5 million gallons of beer. Balance that with 13.2 million pounds of guacamole, 8 million pounds of popcorn, and 28 million pounds of potato chips. One bakery even created a Chicken Wing Cupcake with cornbread, bleu cheese frosting, and, yes, a chicken wing to bring it all together. If that isn't a sign of America giving into the joy of gluttony, then I don't know what else is.