Mardi Gras Meanderings

Time for the Carnival post mortem.

The king cake was a noble failure. On Sunday morning, the temperature in Toronto was -25C, with the winds making it feel like 40 below. So the Nerve Centre was already thermally challenged. Then the furnace conked out. I imagine the yeast microbes were too busy huddling together for warmth to do any fermenting and leavening.

As former prime minister Jean Chrétien once said, “A proof is a proof. It’s a proof. And when you have a good proof, it’s because it’s proven.”

Well, we didn’t have any proof at all. Only allegations that I was trying to make a Mardi Gras treat.

On the other hand, Shrove Tuesday gingerbread pancakes, using a recipe from The Old Rectory B&B in Stratford, Ontario, turned out mighty fine (seven and a half teaspoons of baking powder — who knew?). Used a bit of Steen’s cane syrup from Abbeville, Louisiana, in place of molasses, to give it a bit of a Mardi Gras element.

Served with some maple-syrup-and-five-spice sausage from Sanagan’s Meat Locker. Dee-lish. Makes you fully appreciate why you’d swear off such indulgence for at least 40 days.

I’d love to have been able to supply you with the photographic — um, proof. But it was so good, it didn’t last long enough for pictures to be taken.

So, in its place, here’s Professor Longhair.

In Bud’s Super Bowl Ad, the Empire Strikes Back

Budweiser goes all red state on us, complete with a soundtrack lifted from one of Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s Action Plan™ ads.

And copy that might as well have been written by Nick the bartender in the bizarro Pottersville of It’s a Wonderful Life: “Hey look, mister, we serve hard drinks in here for men who want to get drunk fast, and we don’t need any characters around to give the joint atmosphere. Is that clear, or do I have to slip you my lip for a convincer?”

So all you pansy-ass beardos can just sit there an’ sniff yer beer. Our beer’s got bubbles, and Clydesdale piss and beechwood chips to give it the little flavour it has.

I mean, seriously, the weirdest marketing approach since Billy Dee Williams told us Colt 45 “worked every time,” in a voice that just oozed “panty remover.”