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burbon milkshake

Some might say "my milkshake brings all the girls to the yard," but I say that 2 straws in a vanilla burbon milkshake is a festive way to break up happy hour.

Mr. A kindly asked me if we could possibly, by chance, and would it be ok if, we watched half of the Eagles pre-season game on date night. My answer was, of course..... can it be at a bar? I knew that asking that question was like asking him if he likes to eat, so I knew it was gonna go my way...

We went to PYT at the Pizazza.... at first Mr. A was worried we weren't hip or cool enough (or that we were too old) since the place was relatively empty when we arrived. Of course, sitting at the bar, he ordered and wasted no time. We started out with Bulleit burbon... it is possible that we shared (close to) a bottle, though he had me beat at a 2:1 constant rate. For that quantity we probably could have bought a bottle, stayed home, and called it a night, but that (fortunately) would never happen with A. We had spots to hit and our weekend numbers had to be satisfactory. 

PYT started with cheese wiz and jalapeno stuffed tater tots wrapped in bacon (hence the 3 mile run that followed the next morning). The tots were followed by 2 burgers-- of course shared-- one with fried pickles on the top and the other a standard, yet well made, sample. Onions rings and fries. Oy.

At some point after the Patriots had a 62 yard run and the Eagles were looking less than stellar Mr. A decided it was alcoholic milkshake time. We didn't want anything sweet or fruity or fancied up. We wanted it to be hard core (as hard core as alcohol bastardized by ice cream could be) so we ordered vanilla with burbon and something else.... topped with whipped cream and a few jimmies for effect. Two straws. It was delish.

Post-PYT we stopped at the Blind Pig because from across the street A was announcing that they had fried meat balls and we should really just stop for one. Maybe A forgot that we had just eaten close to a pound of meat between us, or forgot that we had deep fried plastic "cheese" stuffed potatoes, or that we drank our dessert disguised as a cocktail. Whatever the case may be... we were headed across the street and inside for some fancy meat ball extravaganza.

Blue Balls as they were precisely named.

That night they were deep fried balls of mashed potato filled with blue cheese and short rib. Served with au jus (not an old Jew) on the side for one's dipping pleasure. These could have been the most fun I have ever had with balls (off the softball field, that is). Very yum-eeee.

The long walk south kept us in check before stopping for one final drink. 

Nice night.

Weekend quota not yet filled, but off to a good start... we knew there was more to come the next day.