Ice Cubes and Peanuts… that’s all you need to party!

I’m white. Doesn’t really matter, usually. But every now and then you find your happy white self in the middle of a dance floor at an After Party for a strange Hispanic boy that just graduated from High School. That’s when it matters. Oh, and it really only matters because you have now been labeled “la dama blanca loca” by the sixty-seven local Hispanic teens enjoying the party. Yup. The Crazy White Lady. But, jokes on them ‘cuz I already call myself that.

So I know this isn’t actually food I created, but the environment itself was seriously calling to me. It was just urging me to add this crazy-ass night to my blog. Food-Schmood. Plus, I’m totally going to talk about the food here at some point anyway, I would not allow you to miss that joy!

Rewind to the entry moment of said party… I did not know the Graduate. I did not know his sister. I did not know his family. In fact, I did not even attend his graduation. But here I am making an appearance at the After Party. I’m pretty much a stud at this point. I am a Party-Crasher. Hell ya. Crashing teen-oriented-family parties is what I do. I look around,  waiting for the right moment to make my approach. The F-Bomb echoes out from the DJ booth and I just know that’s my sign. Besides, a table decorated with “Congrats Grad” and “The party’s over Here” signs caught my eye and I was in motion, with my posse of two.
We sat and waited. Not sure what for, dinner maybe? Someone to get up and dance perhaps? We just waited. Polite, Obedient little mommies.

We visited. Each other. Sort of.                                                                                                                   Is this music too loud? Wait. Was the music too loud? what?! Can you hear me? Can they even hear me? Why am I freaking yelling? What the hell? I’m getting a headache. Am I that old already? Is anyone else trying to just read lips? Really, is this music too loud? Can you hear me? Why aren’t you answering me?                                                                                                                                    Why is there a random bowl of peanuts at this table?
They bring us plastic cups of ice. Jesus. We didn’t even get a table with pop at it. The people next to us got a 2 liter of pop at least. We eat the ice. The people behind me slowly stand and turn their table away from us. Crap. Did they get ice? Do they have peanuts? What is this night? We have ice cubes and damn Peanuts! I stare longingly into the silver glitter of the “the party’s over here” sign and dram of wonders that could be…
Then it hits me. Ice Cubes and Peanuts… that’s all you need to party!
No one’s dancing, so my posse aka “us mom folk” gotta go up and get it banging (you’re actually supposed to say bangin’ but I was trying to be grammatically correct). My daughter would be so proud (of the proper use of slang terms, not grammar. Love ya babe!) So the DJ is pleasantly informed of “what’s what” by my counterpart and BOOM! the Cupid Shuffle and that “Cha cha real slow, Criss Cross, Hands on your Knees, Hop three times” song came on, whew weeeee, that’s when the shit got real!!!
We were just a-hippin-and-a-hoppin with all sixty-seven teenagers! Bouncing around like the fools we are. No cares in the world. White or not. No problemo! When finally the last “Right foot now stop” rang out from the DJ booth, we knew it was time to take a booty break and enjoy our meal…
The food arrives. Let me tell you about how hard it was to decide where to begin with this. I really feel, deep in my heart, that any part of tonight could actually be the start of my story. I say this because I feel like the dinner we were served was more than worthy of its very own blog entry.

the lights dim, the mood is set by blaring curse words intermingled with fiesta-esque music, the dishes are served one patron at a time. Anticipation builds, my mouth begins to water…
The petite slice of brisket, glazed in its own juices, was beautifully accented by the ice cream scooped potato salad lump. The meal was plated ever so delicately on Styrofoam dishware. Finally, topped with just the slightest touch of a slice of freaking white bread. They took that one right outta my play book! I always say, the best way to fancy up any dinner? Slap some white bread on top of it.
Really. This happened. I Promise.
Now the peanuts and ice look more appealing to me. Damn it. Teasers. That’s what they are. Teasers.
~I later found out that a nearby church was selling brisket plates yesterday. Could these be the very same? Leftover church fundraising. That was our dinner on this ever-so-amazing of nights out? Awesome. It may have been served to me. Jesus on a plate. Shit. Great. Now I kinda feel like we need to pray or something. You feel that too? Should we take a minute~
One of my partners in crime leans in and screams over the loud-ass music, “What time is it?!” I thought I almost heard a hint of hopefulness in her voice.
Until I responded, “We’ve only been here an hour.” and I think I saw her die a little inside.


Above you shall witness the Complimentary Appetizers, if you will.  Those are in fact peanuts and not a bowl of chili like I first thought. Christine tasted them. definitely not chili. Besides, who serves chili at a Mexican Graduation After Party?                                      Come on people. Be realistic



Hot Chile Peppers really are hot. I’m dumb.

When the directions caution you to “use copious amounts of soap” when washing your hands, you know those Peppas are H-O-T Hot! I mean, What the Hell?! Why am I so WHITE? I’d title this entry, “Dear White friends” if I didn’t think it’d piss off at least one of my brown friends, ha! But crap, I never knew the importance of soap and the non-touching-of-ones-eyes-and/or-nostrils when cooking with hot chile peppers. I mean, REAL chile peppers, like from Mexico real. Like the kind you have to look up on Google because you’re white enough to never have used them before. In anything. Ever.

FYI, there are a butt-load of peppers out there too. Who knew? Not only am I learning about the benefit of copious use of suds but I am also educating myself in the World of Peppers. Life goal. Met.

So normally I change a recipe I follow. I tweak amounts and flip flavors and all sorts of fun stuff to make something into my very own. That being said, hot chile peppers are not a toy kids. They are not to be played with or fussed about. Do what your directions say. Exactly. So mainly out of fear for my life, I actually found a recipe that sounded delish and followed it to the T. I give crazy mad props where they are due, so please copy, tag, like, post, follow, etc my new Hero, Linda Stradley at

and seriously, check out her post with the recipe I used to burn my face off with the best friggin’ Salsa Verde eva!!


Tomatillas! Coolest little guys ever
diced tomatillas, tasted a raw one, a little bitter, but meh, we shall see…
Hot Chile Peppers, broiled then washed, then chopped… and ew, my stove is naaaasssttyy!
these are the chopped chiles, I used rubber kitchen gloves after I rubbed my nose. BTW, do not rub your nose.
My beautiful Salsa Verde!!
…with chips makes it look even prettier! Almost close enough to taste!! 😉