You’re probably thinking, so Tom, how was Nightmare on Elm Street?
Well, I don’t know. I was going to go and catch it on Sunday around 10:45am, with Rob and Mike Rothe, but then my wife pulled that thing where, even though you planned everything just fine in advance and all the paperwork is in order, suddenly a new set of expectations emerges, and you don’t get shut down or anything. You can just tell by the frown, the little snippets of unnecessary clarification, that you’re not doing what you thought you were going to do, not anymore.
I wasn’t really paying attention to the rationale – it was just like Charlie Brown’s teacher was talking to me over coffee. “Waw waw waw. You’re not going to the movie. Waw waw waw.”
Okay, no problem. So I called Rob and told him, after my crappy review of Kick Ass last week, I don’t see why I need to see this movie at all. It’s too scary anyway – I might pee my pants. Why not just break me off a text and let me know how it was? I’ll just review the text, and it will probably be as good as last week’s.
Rob said, sounds like Mike yanked the stick out of his butt, stuck it up yours. Wah Wah Wah, Tom’s a big sissy, wah wah wah.
So I instead had a delightful breakfast – sausage and spinach omelet – and then at approximately 10:46, Marilyn completely and abruptly lost interest in me and whatever I might be planning to do, and she went downstairs to watch Doctor Who.
Well, hard to be mad, cause I didn’t want to see the movie in the first place. When I go and see scary movies, I get carried out like Scooby Doo, teeth chattering, arms locked around the shoulders of one of my frowning, more psychologically secure pals – carried usually all the way to the car.
Oh, hell, I knew what I’d do. I’d go link up with my pals Shawn and Jason, two guys who were a lot like the Wright Brothers, because they had a vision and on Sunday around 1pm – I remembered – they were planning to make it real.
Jason had used the Internet – a system of tubes that one can access with a “computer” – to order a bottle of Bakon vodka. Yes, that is exactly what you are thinking it is. It’s bacon-flavored vodka. And it had arrived weeks ago, taunting Jason in his fridge, until now. Now, he was going to do something about it.
So I said, good news, wife. Now that I’m late for the movie, I’m going to head on over to the King Avenue Five, start drinking bacon-flavored vodka at noon.
Groovy, Tommy C, she said. Knock yourself out.
A strange bird, my wife, moves in many strange and mysterious ways. Was she planning to put a tail on me or what? I backed out the front door, eyeing her warily.
Twenty minutes later I blasted in the front door of the King Avenue Five, and had a beer in front of me, vaguely thinking, does this ever turn into a good idea, a beer at noon? Maybe I should dump this out, go have a deep and meaningful parenting conversation or something. There were probably churches open – I could go and turn over a new leaf, learn to play the piano, sing some hymns…
Then Shawn arrived, said to come and take a look at this.
So I followed him back into the kitchen, where Jason was whipping up some garnishes. What he was doing was wrapping romaine lettuce hearts in bacon, and then cooking the bacon onto them.
Jason has black hair, happy eyes, and then a weird, matching frown. If he smiles, the eyes turn sad, like stoplights at an intersection – they’re connected by a hidden switch. Because I occasionally wander into his kitchen and start talking to him, he’s not really surprised to look up and find me standing there, asking him, “What the hell are you doing there, man?”
A nod and some eyebrow movement, and a poke in the chest – he’s glad I asked. Shawn beaming over over his shoulder, kind of giving me that maniacally triumphant It’s Alive look, while Jason explains the garnish to me.
The first time I met Jason, he handed me a plate of homemade enchiladas, and then I embarrassed us both by following him around for several weeks, singing songs about them. But what has he done for me lately?
Well, here’s my answer. Not only did he order up some bacon vodka for my Nightmare on Elm Street review – at least I assume that’s why he ordered it, why else would he? – he prepared an unbelievably appropriate and complicated garnish, to go with it.
BLT-inis, Shawn dubs them. Of course.
Bacon. Lettuce. And tomato juice, in the mix.
That’s enough hanging around in the kitchen, Mr. I Don’t Work Here, so I scuttle on back to my bar stool and for some reason I drink several beers while waiting on the BLT-inis. It’s just not one of those days where I’m planning things effectively.
Shawn makes a bloody mary mix from scratch. It’s like a Food Network show – nothing is too complicated. Nothing’s too good for Bacon Bloody Mary Mix Nightmare On Elm Street Day.
The moment of truth arrives. Here’s a picture of what was thumped down in front of me.
Yes, that’s a strip of bacon wrapped around a lettuce heart, sticking out of it. You might have thought that one thing you would never want in a mixed drink was pork fat, but I’m here to tell you, you’re making a big mistake. In fact, I intend to stir my drinks with bacon from here on out, whenever I get the chance.
After that, someone suggested a shot made of chocolate liqueur and bacon vodka – okay, no problem, said the bartender and all of us, for some reason, agreed – great idea. Let’s drink chocolate bacon vodka shots. And guess what? They were pretty good, too, like a piece of French toast, wrapped in bacon, and dunked in a shot of vodka. Three great tastes that taste great together.
The thing about drinking a few beers, and then a BLT-ini with a stick of bacon in it, and then another two beers, and then a chocolate bacon vodka shot is, you don’t tend to stop drinking beers at that point. It was like a normal football Saturday for lots of guys, except yeah. Without the football, and it was Sunday.
And then I realized, Rob didn’t even send me a text about the movie, so I’m going to have to review Nightmare on Elm Street based solely on the bacon vodka.
Which means, five stars. Everyone should go and check it out.